Chapter 14
Although, over the next week, things seemed to get easier, I still thought about Braden a lot, probably way more than I should have.
But each moment got a little easier. I thought maybe it was so hard because we’d never really gotten a chance. Unlike my relationship before that, it had ended in my mind before I’d actually called it off, and I knew Dean wasn’t the kind of guy I wanted.
Braden was the kind of guy I knew would be good for me and I’d grown to care about him a lot—but it wasn’t like we’d ever had a full-blown relationship. And somehow, that lack of even getting a chance, felt far more poignant than if we’d tried and it hadn’t worked.
So it was hard to let go.
On the third Tuesday of December, I was at the offices at Ferocity, cleaning up the tiny cubicle I rarely used, because it was easy enough to do most of my work at home or on the road—but we’d just had a big emergency staff meeting where Tom had explained why he’d let two reporters go…
and letting us know what that meant for the rest of us.
For me, it meant I’d be covering far more events on the road—and I was fine with that. New places were a good distraction and maybe just what I needed to get my mojo back.
“Whaddya think about the new assignments?”
I looked up from the pile of sticky notes I was sorting through to see Job Travis, a guy who had a cubicle right next to mine.
I didn’t know him very well, mainly because we usually only saw each other twice a year at things like this.
When he spoke during staff meetings, I got the feeling he was a little full of himself.
But, I’d learned, most of the men I knew through the business were.
He’d been with Ferocity a couple of years when I started, and he was both loved and hated by metal musicians because of his wicked words.
Although I was positive he never actually swayed any readers to buy or reject a new album, they loved reading the shit he wrote because it was usually controversial.
So he probably helped sell his fair share of subscriptions—and pulled more money for ads on the website—and I respected that, even though I didn’t necessarily agree with his views.
Still, he was good looking and seemed nice enough, even though he was probably in his early thirties, a good ten years older than me—and he was trying to make a connection. “I’m pretty happy about it. I always like when I can do more, especially when I get to do something new.”
Like interviewing musical celebrities on the red carpet. Holy shit!
“I miss that.”
“Miss what?” I asked, looking into his sharp green eyes.
“Getting excited about work.”
“You don’t enjoy it anymore?”
“No, it’s not that. But, like, when you’ve interviewed Brad and Valerie Payne with their kids under foot and you get exclusive pics for your huge article…nothing seems to compare.”
Ugh. I hoped he couldn’t see how I felt like I had a balloon that was deflating in front of my eyes.
He was practically waving his dick in front of me: look at the big interview I got.
Why did he need to get into a pissing contest with me?
Was it because of my interview with Braden earlier that year?
Or, more recently, because of the freelance article I’d been offered?
I couldn’t help the flatness in my voice when I replied. “I bet.”
And I went back to the Post-its, reminders to myself and other notes mostly from Tom, tossing a couple in the trash bin just under the desk.
But Job wasn’t done yet. “I’m getting ready to grab a drink at Benny’s. Wanna join me?”
It wouldn’t do me any good to flat out reject this guy—and maybe I could learn something from him. “No, but I might grab a taco.”
“No, not Benny’s Tacos. Benny’s Tavern. It’s just a couple blocks north of here.”
“Oh, no. I’m good.” Three o’clock was too early to start drinking, even for me.
“Well…if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.” For some reason, the way he said it reminded me of one of the last things I’d said to Braden.
And, despite what little I knew of this guy, maybe he was just trying to impress me because he was interested. As he turned off the desk light in his cubicle, I said, “Maybe another time, though—if that’s okay.”
He smiled, but the way it bared his white teeth made me think of a tiger ready to tear into its prey. “Sounds great.”
Once he was gone, the office was quiet except for the music overhead, one of the local rock stations in L.A., and I focused on going through the pile of notes, mostly discarding them. When I got up, I grabbed my phone…and saw that I had a text message from Braden.
As I stared at the screen, my hand started to tremble and my heart began thudding in my chest. Despite everything I had told myself, the boundaries I had carefully placed, I still cared. I cared a lot, way more than I’d admitted to myself.
His message was pretty simple: Will you be at the American Alternative Music Awards?
Yes, actually. That was one of the new assignments I’d been given, an opportunity I was both excited and nervous about. But why did he care?
Oh. I knew that Once Upon a Riot had been nominated for best album in the Hard Rock category, so they’d be there. Maybe he wanted to know if I’d be there so he could steer clear of me.
Frowning, I sat back in my chair, feeling as if all the air had been let out of me, and it had been the only thing keeping me upright.
Seeing each other professionally had been the one thing I knew I couldn’t avoid when I’d broken things off with Braden, but I’d hoped we could have had a little more time to get used to the new normal.
Really, though, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
I stared at the phone, trying to think of what to say, when the music overhead cut out and the lights shut off. “Hey! I’m still here.”
Tom’s voice from the end of the room by his office came to me loud and clear. “Oh, sorry, Rox. I didn’t think to look for anybody. I just assumed everybody had run out of here already.”
“That’s okay,” I said, getting up and grabbing my backpack, still holding my phone in the other hand. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
As I walked through the cubicles, I joined Tom near his office.
He was a great editor and a good guy, probably closing in on sixty.
Although he loved new rock, he often spoke with words full of nostalgia when he referenced hair metal and coming of age, cutting his teeth on bands like AC/DC, Slayer, and Queensr?che.
He was slightly balding but his wispy graying hair was still chin-length, his green eyes sharp and alert, and I couldn’t imagine working for anyone else in this business.
“I’m not used to you being here,” he said, again shutting off the fluorescent lights over the cubicles.
“That makes two of us,” I joked.
We walked past the conference room where we’d had our meeting earlier and into the tiny lobby. The receptionist/ office assistant who also served as one of our music critics still sat at the desk. Tom said, “You’re still here too? You can call it a day.”
“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to finish this,” she said, not looking up from her computer monitor.
Tom and I walked into the hallway and onto the elevator, Ferocity’s offices one of three on that particular floor.
In this day and age, I marveled that we still had physical space and wondered if that would change when Tom retired.
Although I’d never met him, the owner was purportedly a guy like Tom, one who loved music and knew a magazine was a great way for rabid fans to get more information about their favorite bands than those bands were sometimes willing to share on their own.
The owner had apparently made his money in Silicon Valley in the late nineties…
which made many of us working for Ferocity speculate that maybe the magazine wasn’t profitable and was instead just for fun.
But I’d talked to people in the Advertising Department and suspected we were earning our keep. Sometimes I wondered when I turned in my expense reports…but I’d keep working hard as long as they paid me and hope that work was paying off.
As the elevator started moving down toward the first floor, Tom said, “Have you ever thought about taking a vacation?”
I laughed. “A vacation? From what? I get to travel all over the U.S. doing something I love. Every day’s a vacation.”
His chuckle filled the small space as the elevator came to a halt. “That’s fair. But you only take off a day here and there—you’ve got plenty of PTO built up.”
Yeah…and what would I use it on? To visit my family in Montana? That was about all I used my time off for, other than the occasional sick day. So I cracked a joke as we walked into the hallway on the first floor. “I’m saving it up to take a two-month sabbatical traveling the world.”
But Tom thought I was serious. “You know I wouldn’t object to that—but give us a little notice first.”
I laughed again. “I’m not gonna do that. Only if I’m spying on a band touring the world.”
Once we said our goodbyes in the parking garage, I made my way toward my motorcycle. Before putting on my backpack, I looked at my phone again and typed one word response to Braden about if I would be at the American Alternative awards happening in less than a month: Yes.