Chapter 4 Marsh #2
Nadia and I met up a little over a month ago when she told me there was going to be an opening on her news team.
Over dinner, she explained that there’s an intense quota for bylines and that she needs someone she can trust to get the job done.
The salary was comparable to what I was already making, and the job wasn’t anything that was particularly challenging.
I accepted because I love and respect Nadia.
She taught me some of my most valuable journalism lessons when I was starting my career and she took me under her wing.
While I will always see her as my mentor, she became a real friend.
So, if she says she needs me, I’m there for her.
“I promise it won’t happen to me, Nadia.”
She uncrosses her legs and stands up. “Make yourself comfortable. Get to know the people, and get to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nadia opens the door. “And happy Monday.”
Once I’m signed in to the assignment board, I dismiss the eight pending stories for the week.
I go to the folder related to the Alf Olson and Aditi Singh feature and download any necessary files and updates.
There’s an escort service or questionable prostitution service that has garnered an obscene amount of money from politicians, CEOs, and men of status, resulting in a multimillion-dollar lawsuit.
The names of the clients are unknown, and the service was run across five different online services and apps.
“Well then,” I say under my breath, and my phone starts vibrating.
“I’m at work, Ollie,” I answer.
“I’ll be quick,” Oliver says. I place my phone between my ear and shoulder and begin to scroll through emails, half listening. “We’re doing Sadie’s sixth birthday at our place and Mom’s flying in, so you have to be there.”
I frown. “Why wouldn’t I be there?” In the entire five years my niece has been alive, I’ve never missed her birthday.
“Because Julia and Chad are going to be there.”
My head jerks up causing my phone to fall onto my desk. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath, picking it up again. “Sorry, um, why exactly are Julia and her fiancé going to be there?”
“Because Quinn invited her,” Oliver says apologetically. “I didn’t know.”
“Jesus, Ollie.” I let out a loud exhale. Is this going to be the rest of my life? Running into my ex-girlfriend every time there’s a special occasion? “Since when are she and Quinn close like that?”
“They’re not,” Oliver says. “But Julia responded to one of Quinn’s stories and then started DMing her a bunch of reels for party ideas. One thing led to another…”
“I don’t even know what that means.” I blink. “Can’t you just uninvite her?”
“I tried, Marsh, but Quinn feels bad,” he says, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I’ve known Quinn since we were all kids, well before she and Oliver started dating.
She’s one of my favorite people on the planet and I think of her as more of a sister than a sister-in-law.
But sometimes she’s too nice, and this is a perfect example.
“Okay, fine.” I surrender. “Whatever. What am I going to do? Not show up?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I mean…no, not really,” I say. “You’re all my family. I don’t get why Julia even wants to go.”
“Some sense of normalcy?” Oliver offers.
I scoff. “Well, she can’t have it both ways. She’s lucky we’re all even going to the wedding.”
“Let me talk to Quinn again—”
“No, it’s fine. Really,” I say. “I’ll be there, and it’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for calling.”
“Yeah, you got it. I’ll text you,” Oliver says.
“Bye.” I set my phone down and try to refocus on work.
The trial isn’t set until, coincidentally, a week before Julia’s wedding. The timing is unbelievable. I clean my glasses, then continue to scan the supporting files until I hear a knock at my door.
My eyes are glued to my screen. “Come in,” I say, not looking away.
“Hey,” says a voice that causes me to freeze.
My eyes snap up. “Lucy.”
Lucy is standing in the middle of my office wearing an oversize dress shirt, jeans, and these red jelly flats that look like something from the nineties but work on her.
The last time I saw her she had more eye makeup and seemed a little taller.
Her hair is bouncy and smooth and she’s literally glowing before ten a.m.
“Surprise.” She gives a weak laugh. I’m still processing that she’s in front of me. Which I suppose isn’t the craziest thing, since she does work here. “Is now a good time?”
“Yes, of course.” I hold my breath. “Please, come in.”
“I found you in the directory. I hope that’s okay.” She closes the door behind her and my heart rate jumps a few beats.
“Um, yeah…” I run a hand through my hair. “About that…I had no idea you worked here. Otherwise, I would’ve—”
“You would’ve told me you’re a news reporter?” she finishes my sentence.
“I told you that,” I say.
Lucy squints. “Did you? Because I left the other night with the impression that you were in between barista and Uber jobs while you wrote for a local newspaper in your off-hours.”
I think back to our conversation and recall actively not wanting to talk about work. “Okay, I see why you would’ve thought that. In my defense, you didn’t tell me that you worked here.”
Lucy narrows her eyes at me like that is nowhere near the same thing. “Call it even?”
I feel myself ease up. “Even.”
Her eyes scan the walls around her. Past the framed accolades Jay insisted I hang on the bookshelf behind me. “Nice office.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Lucy takes a step forward. “I wanted to talk about my text from last night.”
Shit.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “What text?”
“The text you read,” she says, and my heart stops for a second. Lucy holds up her phone and shows me our message history and a small note under her text that says Read: 6:57 p.m.
Fuck.
“Oh, that text.” I make a mental note to turn my read messages off. “Sorry, I was trying to make a deadline and I completely forgot,” I say, bending the truth.
“So, did you find a date?” she asks.
This is where I should lie. I should lie and tell Lucy, Yes, actually, I coincidentally found a date in the past forty-eight hours so I will no longer need your matchmaking services. We can just go about our lives like nothing happened.
“I mean, technically…not yet.”
“Amazing.” Her smile widens like I told her good news. “I’ll go with you.”
My face drops. “What?”
“I’ll be your date for the wedding.”
I replay our conversation from the other night in my head, wondering if along the way I unintentionally made it sound like I wanted her to be my date. Or if she felt obligated to ask me. That was not my intention.
“Lucy, you don’t have to do that.” I shake my head, feeling awful. “That’s not what I was implying, believe me—”
“Marsh, I want to,” she interrupts me, taking a step forward.
I have no other choice than to ask the blatantly obvious question here. “Why?”
“Well, I was thinking about it yesterday and I mean, a weekend trip to Palm Springs? Another night where we get to hang out? I also love weddings, and I love dancing. It’ll be fun!”
My brows pinch and I stare at Lucy waiting for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she’s just smiling waiting for me to say something. While women are by no means my area of expertise, I wasn’t born yesterday.
“What’s the real reason, Lucy?”
Her smile falters. She looks like a contestant on Shark Tank who was just told they’re not getting the loan they’re asking for.
“I need a boyfriend.”
That’s the last thing I was expecting her to say. “Wh—”
“I mean, not a real boyfriend. Like a…temporary boyfriend?” she clarifies like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be saying right now.
“I’m confused…” I say slowly.
She sighs, tucks her hair over her left ear, and takes a seat in the chair across from me.
“Okay, so remember how I was telling you that the audience for my column isn’t relating to my stories anymore?
How they’re all focused on finding their one true love or looking for houses or trying to make babies or whatever else they think is important? ”
“Mhm,” I say skeptically.
“Well, what I need to do is start writing about being in a relationship…a healthy relationship.”
I wait for Lucy to continue, but she doesn’t. “And this is related to me because…”
“Because of the wedding!” she says. “You need a date, and I need someone to do relationship-y things with.”
I take a deep breath and adjust my glasses. Very much trying to understand how we ended up here. I haven’t a clue how this escalated so quickly.
“Look, Lucy, I’m flattered, really…but I’m okay. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?!” she says, a devastated look on her face.
“For many reasons. This is something I shouldn’t be agreeing to on a normal day and especially not on my first day of work.”
“Nothing will happen!”
“It feels like an HR case waiting to happen,” I respond.
“Nobody will even know it’s you! I’m not using any names. Just think of it as quid pro quo,” she says encouragingly.
“I fear that’s exactly how HR will see it.”
“Come on,” she says. “You help me, so I help you. Okay, maybe if I told you what my angle is it would help.”
“I don’t think—”
“What I’m going to do is write a weekly story for the column sharing that I’m in this new, incredible relationship,” Lucy starts, and I’m already so very much against this.
“I’ll embody feelings people get when they think they find the person for them.
First fights, furniture shopping, all of that.
Then as the month goes on, reveal the messy, real side of relationships and show my readers that they’re all mystified by the idea of love.
I’ll write about a breakup, and it’s going to empower those who are most likely already unhappy in relationships to break up with their partners and embrace being happy on their own.
Then The Rue will realize that my perspective on sex is valuable. ”
I stare at Lucy and blink. “You want people to break up with their partners?”