Читать книгу Bylines & Deadlines - Kimberly Vinje - Страница 9

Chapter Two

The next two months were filled with excitement - sometimes good, sometimes scary. The good excitement brought leads as she closed in on more and more facts about the story she chased. The scary brought calls to her apartment late at night, a broken lock on her desk drawer in the newsroom, a near miss with a car in a cross-walk, and she was pretty sure someone had broken into her apartment. She had arrived home one night and things were just not right - nothing obvious but an item here or there had been moved. At first she chalked these events up to paranoia, but eventually she conceded these weren’t just coincidence.

On the morning of the two month deadline given by Will, Kristine left her second floor apartment and stood a match up against the corner of the door. It was a little trick she had learned from a TV show, but it let her know if anyone entered her apartment. She began the ritual after the potential break-in.

It was a gloomy, crisp fall morning - the kind of morning when the dampness from the last night’s rain made the air feel colder than it was. She left her building and walked the six blocks to work. She considered the 12 blocks to and from work (and any other walking she did to tail a lead) her exercise for the day. She didn’t like to sweat - not even when she was playing tennis trying to get scholarship money, and she certainly didn’t see the benefit of the phrase, “No pain, no gain.” The only thing she liked less than sweating was pain. She would see people jogging on the streets, and they never looked like they were enjoying themselves.

Feeling threatened made avoiding pain an even more important part of Kristine’s life. She changed her schedule often so she had no routine. She went to work during the busiest time of the morning now. Instead of comments about being early, Ed the security guard made comments about her sleeping late or keeping banker’s hours. Burt Newman was beating her into the office on some mornings - a first since she began at the paper three years ago.

She also felt the need to perform security checks when she got to her desk. She knew better than to keep anything important in her desk or at her apartment – if anyone broke into them, they wouldn’t find any of her work. She checked the drawers of her desk and around the lock for scratches. She put a piece of clear tape along the side of her drawers so she could tell if they had been opened. Everything seemed okay.

“Don’t worry, Little Girl. No one cares what you have in your desk,” Burt Newman snarled from across his desk.

“Mind your own business, Burt,” she said as she docked her computer.

“The princess is paranoid,” said Burt amused.

“You know, if you spent half as much time on your personal hygiene as you do trying to piss me off, you wouldn’t be so repulsive to look at and smell. You must have to hold your wife captive so she can’t escape or is she a pathetic mess like you are,” she snapped. As the words came out of her mouth, she was sorry. Her sparring had never gotten so personal or so mean. She saw from the look on his face she had hurt him. “I’m sorry, Burt.”

“I expect as much from you,” he said and walked away from his desk. She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. Her phone rang. She saw from the extension it was Joyce.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Montgomery would like to see you.”

“I’ll be right there.” Her hand shook a little as she put down the phone. She stood up and picked up her bag, a note pad and a pen. She tried to think of something nice to say to Joyce. It also dawned on her how many people disliked her in that office. The men in the Sports Department liked her, she consoled herself. She sighed - that’s because she flirted with them. They weren’t competition for her. At the office holiday party (you aren’t allowed to call them Christmas parties anymore) last year, she spent the night hanging out with them - probably because no one else wanted to talk to her. Well, except Will. Most of the men who worked at the paper were married. Most of the men who worked in the Sports Department were divorced. Following a baseball team all season could take its toll on a marriage. She was a competition and focal point for male bonding for the men in Sports. They could say and do all the typical guys-tripped-out-on-testosterone things guys like to do when they’re together without her protesting, and she enjoyed the playful flirting. Her run-ins with the guys in Sports were rare because of their schedules, but they did a lot to boost her ego.

To everyone else at the paper, she was a pain in the ass. She always blamed them, though. After her exchange with Burt Newman this morning, maybe she was more of the problem than she cared to admit, she thought. Will was in Joyce’s work area when Kristine arrived, which prevented any of the niceties she hadn’t had time to plan.

“Kris, come on in,” Will said. Kristine just waved at Joyce, a gesture Joyce probably mistook for sarcasm. Will closed the door behind Kristine. She plopped down in one of the chairs across from him. Will’s office was almost the size of her apartment. He had a sitting area, 47 inch TV, his own restroom, a little stainless steel refrigerator and a huge, decorative cherry wood desk. He sat in his black leather chair. It was the kind of chair that would have made anyone else look small. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why?” she asked.

“You’ve been in my office for 30 seconds and haven’t said a word,” he said sitting back.

“I’d like to move my desk away from Burt’s,” she replied quietly.

“You’ve asked me to do this three or four times now and the answer is always no,” he said.

“Today’s different,” she said. “I was really mean to him.”

“You’re always really mean to him. You’re mean to everyone except me and the guys in Sports. That’s why no one wants to sit near you,” he said amused. She cringed at his words. She thought for a minute and realized she should probably tell him what had happened before anyone else did.

“I kind of went over the line this time, Will. I kind of attacked him and his wife,” she said. Will closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

“What did you say?”

“I said he was repulsive and he probably had to hold his wife captive so she wouldn’t escape from him unless she was just as bad as he is,” she said and sighed. Instinctively, she felt the need to defend herself. “But he is repulsive. You’d have to admit that. And he’s always picking on me, calling me ‘little girl’ and you know how much I hate that!”

“Let me tell you something, but I’d like for you not to repeat it,” Will said leaning forward in his chair his voice deep as usual but with an almost scolding tone she hadn’t heard in the past. “Burt’s wife lost both of her legs and her eyesight as a complication of diabetes. Burt spends all of his money and energy taking care of her. During the day, he pays for a nurse to come in and help her. The medical expenses, the nurse and taking care of her are taking their toll on him. I think he likes you, because you don’t treat him like you feel sorry for him.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Crap,” she whispered.

“Now, let’s forget we had that conversation. I want to know what’s going on with the story,” he said leaning back in the chair again. “We haven’t talked in a week.” She cleared her throat and tried to erase what she had just heard from her mind.

“Do you have a radio in here?” she asked looking around and feeling two inches tall. She walked over to the TV and picked up the remote. She stepped back, pointed it at the TV and clicked the power button. The television was set to a 24 hour news channel, which she didn’t take the time to identify. She pushed the volume button to create background noise. She motioned for Will to come around his desk and join her on the sofa closer to the TV. He did, and they sat facing each other.

“I have a strong story,” she said. “But it’s not great, yet. I’m sure there’s more out there. I brought you this,” she stood up and turned away from him. She untucked her shirt and reached under her blouse to retrieve a disc. She put the disc in her mouth and tucked her white button-down shirt into the black dress pants. She didn’t consider herself a fashionista, but she knew what looked good and stylish on her. She took the disc from her mouth and turned around to see a highly amused, yet very concerned look on Will’s face. She sat down and put the disc on her leg. “I need you to keep this somewhere really safe and do not tell anyone you have it.” He was looking at the disc.

“You’re off the story,” he said quietly looking up at her. This brought the life back into her.

“What?!” she said practically jumping off the couch and the disc fell onto the floor. She picked up the shiny circle and held her work between her thumb and index finger.

“If you’re walking around with your story stuffed under your clothes and turning on background noise, you obviously think there’s some sort of danger,” he said taking her arm and pulling her back down on the sofa. “Why?” She searched her mind for something to say. “Tell me why or I’m completely killing the story,” he said.

“Okay, just don’t kill the story,” she said unconsciously putting her hand on his leg. She realized where her hand was and drew it away quickly. “Sorry,” she said as she felt her face grow warm. “I noticed the lock on my desk broken one morning when I came into the office.”

“And?” he replied. Kristine wondered if he had some sort of magic powers that let him read her mind - like a Jedi or something.

“And someone may have broken into my apartment.”

“And?”

“And someone may have tried to run me down in a crosswalk,” she said putting extra emphasis on the word “may.”

“Run you down?” he asked shocked and panicked. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

“Hey, this is New York. People get nearly run over in crosswalks every day,” she said somewhat surprised at his reaction.

“This isn’t a joke, Krissy. No story is worth losing your life.”

“What life,” she said sarcastically. “Will, in case you haven’t noticed, this job is my life.” They stared at each other for a moment.

“You’re driven,” he said comfortingly. “This is my fault. A lot of pressure came with the job offer, but you’ve surpassed even my expectations as a reporter. You’re young. You have a lot of life left to live.” He didn’t sound like an editor. He sounded like a friend. She didn’t know what to say to this.

“I really want this story, Will.”

“I know you do. But you don’t want it for the right reasons. You don’t want to uncover some truth to right a wrong. You want to win. You want to be first,” he said now sounding more like a father - or worse…a psychiatrist. Still, there was truth in his words. “Let me give the story to someone else.”

“No, you can’t do that to me,” she nearly shouted gripping the disc tighter. “I don’t want you to understand my motives. I’ve done a hell of a lot of work on this, and it’s mine. Giving it to someone else will only take the focus off of me and put it on someone else. Do you want that?” She knew she had a point, but now she was afraid he’d totally kill the story. “Will, if you take away my story, I’ll quit and sell it to someone else,” she said without thinking. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed, hurt or disappointed by that threat.

“You’re not leaving me much choice here,” he said. They sat in silence, the only noise coming from an update of the stock market on the news, for what seemed like a few minutes. “How close are you to getting what you need?”

“Close,” she said. She didn’t know this for sure, but it was a gut feeling she had had for a few days.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said standing. He paced for a few seconds (he did this when he was deep in thought) before he sat down again. “Okay. We’re going to put you into a higher security apartment. You’re to do as much as you can via email and phone calls. I don’t want you to leave the building unless it’s absolutely necessary, and you will not leave alone. I’ll hire around the clock security.”

“Will, don’t you think that’s overkill? I don’t need a bodyguard,” she said uncomfortable at the thought someone would be babysitting her but curiously finding it intriguing that he wanted to take care of her.

“No. I don’t,” he said. She knew she wouldn’t win an argument with him. Her mind raced as she feigned listening to him as he continued to give her instructions about how to live her life. She spent most of the day in his office going over story details with him, and he received a delivery of a large sum of cash. He gave it to her so she wouldn’t have to use credit cards should the need arise for her to leave town. He also received a delivery of a new cell phone which he gave to her. By the time 6:00 arrived, she didn’t know if she felt safer or more panicked with him helping her. The only thing left for her to do was get some of her stuff out of her apartment, but Will told her he had someone run out to buy her what she needed, and everything would be waiting for her.

Will led her from his office, and she nearly had to run to keep pace with him. He led her to a set of elevators she had never ridden before today. After a walk down a strange hallway and another elevator ride, she was in a parking garage. It was dark - probably underground, she thought. Will was quiet as he concentrated and looked nervously around the garage.

“Remind me to get someone to take care of the security footage,” he said without looking at her.

“Right,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Total overkill, she thought.

Will pushed a button on his keychain and the hazard lights on a black Lexus LS sedan flashed. He walked to the passenger side. She followed, but he opened the back door.

“Get in,” he ordered, and she realized she was waiting for him to open the front door. She opened her mouth to say something, and he added, “Please.” She got into the backseat of the car. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. She looked around. The car was spotless inside and out. The leather was cool, even through her clothing. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car was so quiet she wasn’t even sure it started until he pulled out of the parking space.

“Stay down,” he ordered again.

“Will, the windows are tinted,” she said in a deadpan tone.

“Humor me,” he urged. She curled up on the backseat. Traffic in the city was bumper to bumper. Will nervously watched the rearview mirror. After a half hour of being curled up, she started to feel achy. She sat up slightly.

“Look, this is crazy,” she said. He didn’t respond. “Are you ignoring me?”

“I don’t want it to look like I’m talking to anyone,” he said. She thought he was kind of silly playing this cloak and dagger spy game. She humored him and put her head down on the seat. She closed her eyes and imagined how this was probably the most excitement he had seen in years.

Kristine met his wife Emily Wentworth-Montgomery once when she brought the twin girls in for Will’s 25^th anniversary working at the paper. She seemed as uptight as her name. She had blonde hair cut into a shoulder length bob with a headband holding her hair away from her face. Not one hair was out of place. Not even a fly-away. “How do you control fly-aways?” she thought. Never mind. Emily smiled at all the right times and intensely monitored the kids as they ate their cake. Heaven forbid they get blue icing on their white, wrinkle-free dresses.

The girls looked like dolls. They barely spoke a word and smiled at the right times, too. When they posed for a family photo, it looked like something you’d get when you bought the frame. Picture perfect - too perfect. Kristine wondered if Emily Wentworth-Montgomery ever passed gas. The thought made her giggle out loud.

“What’s so funny back there,” Will asked. Kristine hadn’t noticed, but the car was moving quickly.

“Oh nothing,” she said and wondered how long she had been lost in thought. The car pulled into a parking lot, or at least that is what it felt like as the motion sent her rocking back and forth on the seat.

“Can I get up now?” she asked.

“Wait until I get into the garage,” he said concentrating. She waited until the car pulled into a spot and came to a stop. Will released the latch on the trunk from the inside and got out. She sat up and rolled her stiff neck. Will opened the door and held his hand out to her. She took it and got out of the car with her purse and laptop bag. She looked down at his hand in hers. She wasn’t sure they had purposely touched since the first day of work when he welcomed her to the office. He let go of her hand and moved to the trunk. He removed some bags. They seemed to be new, black luggage - must be her store-bought items. There were too many for him to carry on his own, so she took some from him. They walked to a door, and Will flashed a badge in front of a reader. “This is a high security building,” he said and opened the door for her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she said as she moved through the door. There was a bank of mirrored elevators in the hall. He pushed the up arrow. She deduced there must be more levels of garage below them. They stepped into the elevators when the doors opened and turned around to face them again. Will slid a key into the opening next to the highest floor. “Wow. Penthouse? Nice.” Will didn’t say anything. They rode the elevator to the top floor and stepped off into a very nice apartment or maybe it was a condo. Either way, it was beautiful. “You know, this place is going to make it difficult to go back to the closet I call an apartment. Whose place is this?”

“Mine,” Will said as he carried bags around a corner. She crinkled her eyebrows and repeated what he said. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she saw the kitchen. She tried to remember if she had eaten anything, but the day seemed like it had been a week long. She put the bags she was carrying on a huge white, overstuffed chair. Everything seemed to be white, black or red - very masculine. Will came back around the corner. “I put your bags in the spare room,” he said and walked to the kitchen. “Hungry?” She was confused.

“Um, yeah,” she said and followed him into the kitchen. “Will? Won’t your wife be upset I’m here?” She didn’t know where Will and his family lived and hadn’t really considered a place like this.

“Emily and I are no longer together,” he said while opening the refrigerator. “How about Italian?”

“How about Italian? You just tell me you and your wife are separated and then go into the dinner question like it’s nothing,” she said as she closed the refrigerator and stood face to face with him. He was tall…maybe even taller than she thought. “I’m really sorry, Will.”

“It’s okay. It’s for the best,” he said looking down at her. “Now, do you like Italian? If you’re not hungry, I am.” To Kristine, Italian meant ravioli from a can or pizza take out.

“Italian is fine with me. What can I do to help?” she asked watching him pull out a pot and put it under the sink. She wanted more information on the separation. She tried to ignore the reporter questions spinning like a huge, mid-western tornado through her already over-burdened mind.

He was her boss. Their relationship was strictly professional, and she should keep it that way, right? What if he poured his heart out to her and starting crying about how much he missed his wife and kids? Would she be able to look at him the same way in the newsroom? The answer was no. She didn’t want to break her image of him. That made it easier to let the twister of questions rise back into the clouds.

“Just make yourself at home,” he said. She turned and walked around the counter to the other side of the wall and sat on a bar stool to watch him. The kitchen cabinets were white, the granite countertops were black and the walls were painted a deep red. He took a bottle of wine from a wine rack on top of the refrigerator and put it on the counter. He slid two wine glasses off the rack hanging from under one of the cabinets. He put them on the counter next to the wine and then opened the bottle with ease. When Kristine opened a bottle of wine, it looked more like a wrestling match. The bottles she opened had bits of cork floating in them by the time she was finished.

He poured the wine, twirled it so it could coat the glass and then smelled it. She was mesmerized by him. He was the most sophisticated man she had ever known. He took a sip, put the glass down and then poured one for her. She took a drink, and he smiled as he watched her.

“What,” she asked smiling back. She went to take another drink.

“That’s what I love about you,” he said, and she choked on her wine. She coughed several times and couldn’t tell if her face was red from coughing or what he had said. “You’re not pretentious. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said as she took the napkin he handed to her. She dabbed at the tears in the corner of her eyes. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” she added. He smiled at her again and went back to making dinner. She ran through the remark again and again. Harmless - she decided. He said “that’s what I love about you” just like people say, “I’m going to kill you” or “I could just die.” Yep. That was it, she thought a little disappointed and a little relieved. She took another drink of wine - a bigger one. She started some small talk about where he learned to cook - he was making spaghetti sauce using tomatoes and fresh herbs and things she didn’t even recognize. He put a couple of black plates, knives, forks, spoons and red cloth napkins on the counter.

“Want to set the table for me?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said and stood. She started setting the glass table, and he refilled her wine glass.

“Hey, don’t forget these,” he said and put a plate of Italian bread, a small dish with olive oil in it and matches on the counter. She thought a moment about why they needed matches. She turned around and saw candles on the table. No big deal. So he likes candles burning while he eats. Only the wicks were still white all the way to the tip. He picked up the matches and came out of the kitchen. “I’ll get these,” he said. He walked past her to the table and lit each candle. His aftershave hung in the air as he went past. Nice.

She tried not to look confused and picked up the remaining items on the counter. “It will be ready in a minute,” he said and went back to the kitchen.

The sleeves of Will’s white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbow. She’d never realized he only wore white dress shirts until now. Despite the dicing of tomatoes, herbs and all of the other ingredients she didn’t recognize, he didn’t have a drop of anything on this clothing. This is how Tara Butmacher would look if she was cooking, Kristine decided with a sly smile. The smile died when she realized what she looked like on the rare occasion she had tried to cook. She’d once had to wash her hair twice to get everything out of it. She was never going to be like Tara, Emily Wentworth-Montgomery or Will. She crossed her arms in front of her as she felt an inferiority complex trying to emerge.

“Shake it off,” she told herself. “You’ll be here for what? A couple of days tops. Then you can go back to your normal life. The story will run, everyone will admire and adore you and the fact you get messy when you cook - or even the fact you can’t cook - will seem charming.” She felt better already and unfolded her arms. She even smiled with a feeling of self-satisfaction.

Dinner was fabulous - better than anything Kristine had ever had in a restaurant. Of course, after paying her outrageous rent for the extremely modest apartment, there wasn’t much left of her paycheck for fancy dining - at least not the kind of restaurants Will was probably used to patronizing.

Half way through dinner, Will opened another bottle of wine. The wine relaxed her, and they talked like two old friends about current events, world affairs and the city in which they worked. Neither of them brought up anything too personal.

After dinner, they cleared the dishes and went to the living room with their glasses and the bottle of wine. Will sat on the big white sofa and Kristine sat on the ground next to him.

“What are you doing down there?” he asked.

“The wine. I want to be closer to the floor if I fall down,” she said, and they both laughed out loud.

“Good idea,” he said and shifted from the sofa to the floor. She was feeling tipsy and brave.

“You know, I never thought I’d get a job at your paper,” she said and took another sip.

“I knew you’d get a job at my paper as soon as I saw you touring the newsroom,” he said and looked down at his wine glass. “You’re a beautiful addition to any room.” Luckily, she wasn’t drinking when he said that or wine would have shot across the room. Alarms sounded in her mind.

“The only reason I got the job is because you liked the way I looked?” She felt her temper begin to scorch her face.

“Oh no,” he looked down in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t have offered the interview and tour if I hadn’t been impressed with your written submissions. You approached stories from angles I don’t know that even I would have considered. I matched the name with your face before I knew who you were. You have this electricity about you…and…well… you’re beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said as the alarms faded and her face cooled. “I always thought you were hot,” she said before she could catch herself. “Did I just say that out loud?” He laughed.

“Yes. You did,” he said and reached over to brush a piece of brown hair out of her eyelashes. “You have so much fire in you.”

“Fire?” she replied laughing out loud. “I’m impulsive, bordering on stupid… Look where I am and the reason I’m here.”

“You’re not stupid,” he said. “You’re passionate.”

“That’s a pretty word for stupid or at least doing stupid things,” she said, and they both laughed again.

“Like I said before, you have this electricity about you. You walk into a room and it becomes charged. Even if I don’t see you walk in, I notice the change. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I do when I’m in the same room with you,” he said. “I would try to be around you only when necessary, but when I went home at night… Well, it was a reminder that I’d never felt anything remotely close to that with Emily.” Alarms screamed again.

“Wait a minute,” she said straightening and sobering. “Are you saying you left your wife because of me?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but you were part of it. Even if I’m unable to have you, there was the promise of something more than what I had,” he said. “Kris, I know how driven you are. You’re also a lot younger than I am. No way would you give up working at the paper for an old man like me.” She sat there staring at him. Her mind stormed with wine rain, and the twister of questions started to funnel down out of the clouds again. He kept his eyes on her hair. Lighting struck illuminating a question.

“How long have you been separated?” she asked quietly.

“About a year and a half,” he said.

“That’s only about a year after I started working there,” she thought out loud.

“Yes,” he said now watching her. She avoided his stare.

“But your wife and kids came to see you at your anniversary thingy, and that wasn’t that long ago,” she said.

“I still see my girls,” he said. “I may not want to be Emily’s husband anymore, but I’ll always be the girls’ father.”

“Wow,” she said as she leaned forward and put her wine glass on the coffee table in front of her. “I had no idea,” she said.

“What I had with Emily wasn’t much of a life, Kris,” he said and pulled her back to the couch to face him. “I’m not putting pressure on you to be with me,” he added. “I just want more than I had.” She made herself look at him. Man, wine made him even more tempting. He was at least 20 years older than she was. He had two kids. He was her boss. There were so many strikes against him.

“I don’t know what to do right now,” she said.

“I understand. Want to tell me what you’re thinking,” he asked with a mixture of fear and hope in his voice.

“I don’t think I want to say it out loud,” she said.

“You can say anything to me.”

“You may not like it. It may even be offensive.”

“Go ahead. I can handle it.”

“Could this just be one of those mid-life crisis things they’re always talking about,” she asked timidly. He laughed.

“I don’t think so. I don’t have an urge to buy a red sports car or pick up random women.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t you rather have a sports car than me,” she asked hopefully. “I’m really not that great. I sweat and can’t cook.” Had she not had so much wine, she was sure the last part would have remained just a thought. His smile never faded.

“No sports cars,” he said, but the smile was losing its hold on his lips. “Are you involved with one of the Sports guys?”

“Oh! No!” she laughed and then wondered if he had seen her leave the holiday party with one of them. She decided not to mention it. “I just toy with those guys because I can, and it’s fun. They’re the only ones in the building who are nice to me. Since we’re being honest, I kind of like the attention.”

“Okay,” the smile returned. She sat there quietly looking at the wine glass. “Now what’s going through that amazing mind of yours?”

“You mean amazingly intoxicated, don’t you? Well, I’m sure Sober Kristine would come up with a fantastically clever answer. But since she seems to have taken the night off, Drunk Kristine has mixed thoughts. Part of her wants to rip your clothes off and part of her is scared as crap and wants to run out of here,” she said using her name in the third person to distance herself from the situation. “Neither of us wants to be a home wrecker, though.”

“Do I get a vote,” he said slyly, and they both laughed uncomfortably. “Look, Em and I weren’t going to work out whether or not you came into my life. There was a time when I thought she’s what I wanted. But she’s too… perfect. The kids can’t be kids in her house, because she’s afraid they’ll ruin her carpet. She spends hours trying to look perfect, make the kids look perfect, the house look perfect and put on a show for everyone. Want to know what she said when I told her I was moving out?” Kristine shrugged. This was a lot of personal information to handle at one time. “’What will our friends think?’ That’s what she said. Can you believe that? Not ‘what about the girls?’ She was worried about outside appearances. We have different priorities.” Kristine felt a little uncomfortable and reached for the wine glass again.

“I think I need to sleep on this,” she said. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were hot, and I’ve always had my little office fantasy about you, me and your desk, but I never thought I’d be sitting here like this,” she said.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked putting his hand on her face. His hand was big and warm, and it felt like she could fall asleep with his hand on her face. This was crossing a line she wasn’t sure she should. She closed her eyes and nodded tentatively. She waited in anticipation. She could feel him shifting to get a better angle. She wanted to open her eyes, but she couldn’t. She felt him lift her chin and noticed how heavy she was breathing. She was a little relieved she was remembering to breathe at all. Then it happened. His lips touched hers gently at first. She returned his kiss. She started to want more, and his lips moved from hers. He kissed her cheeks and her forehead. He stood up, and she was still sitting there with her eyes closed. She slowly opened them.

“Good gravy,” she whispered. He laughed out loud. He held out a hand, and she took it. He helped her to her feet, walked her around the corner and down the hall. She began to feel excitement build. He stopped outside an open door and flipped on a light within the room.

“This is your room,” he said. She looked in and then looked at him confused. “Sleep on it. You’ve had a lot to absorb this evening. Sleep well. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

“But,” she said, and he gently led her into the room by placing a hand on her back and moving her toward the bed.

“I’ll be across the hall,” he said. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.” He closed the door, and she was alone in his spare bedroom staring at the closed door. She kicked off her black heels and climbed into bed fully clothed. She grabbed her cell phone and called Derrick.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Kristine. What are you doing?”

“Reading Cosmo.”

“Are you at work?”

“Of course. This is where I do all my reading. Slow night. No one wants to shoot anyone tonight. Are you drunk?”

“Yes.”

“Are you naked in a strange man’s bed?”

“No and kind of.”

“Why not and who?”

“Because and Will.”

“The Chief Editor guy?” he blurted, and she heard the hard binding of the magazine hit the desk or counter where Derrick sat.

“Editor-in-Chief and yes. I’m in his spare room. He’s helping me with a tricky story, but he did tell me he likes me.”

“So why are you in the spare room?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what? You’ve been hot for him for as long as I’ve known you.”

“He’s my married boss,” she said.

“When was the last time you let yourself do something crazy? Buying purple lipstick that you never wear doesn’t count as crazy! Use the alcohol as an excuse to get naked and jump him,” Derrick said sounding more excited by the prospect than she could muster for herself.

“But that could screw up my job. Look, I’m hanging up before he wonders who I’m talking to in here,” she said. She could hear Derrick yelling, “Just do it!” as she closed the phone. She rolled over.

“Sleep on it,” she whispered Will’s words as she drifted off to sleep.