He glares at me, arms crossed over his broad chest—not believing my lie.
I pretend to look at my calendar, and I’m relieved and so grateful when he starts talking about the article, ignoring the subject of Nate.
* * *
At nine o’clock,Gail walks through the office with a bullhorn, blasting it into everyone’s cubicle. I’m mid-sip when it scares the shit out of me and once again, I end up wearing my coffee. At least I don’t fall off the chair like Richie the intern does, because he was sleeping in a cubicle.
“Let’s go, people. We need news. We need sex and gossip. Tell me what you got!” Gail marches through the hallway and shouts the demands. “Pitch meeting starts in five, four, three—”
All the writers jump out of their workstation and it’s a mad dash down the hallway to beat her to one.
We’re all panting when we take our seats.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gail begins with her fingers tapping over the surface of the conference room table, “the rumors are true about Metropolitan becoming a digital-only publication. That means more outsourced writers and faster turnaround. They will no longer be a monthly subscription, but a bi-monthly one.” She inhales deeply, waiting for the weight of her words to settle in our thoughts. I know what Gail is going to want us to do to continue to outsell them; she’s going to want to make UPCLOSE a weekly subscription, with a ton more freelance writers.
“Ideas on how to be proactive will be discussed in our next meeting. Everyone comes with an idea or goes home unemployed. Now, to pitches—You, intern.” She points to a young girl I’ve never seen before with the kind of pin straight black hair I would kill for. “Talk to me. You interned before at Metropolitan, give me some original ideas.” Gail smiles wickedly, “Or whatever unique ideas you’ve overheard from our competitor’s offices.”
The poor girl mumbles something low, unable to maintain any eye contact with Gail. I close my eyes not wanting to witness the wrath that’s about to unfold.
“Do you have marbles in your mouth? Speak clearly, please,” Gail chirps.
The room is uncomfortably silent, and all I hear is the sounds of everyone squirming in their chairs.
“Uh,” the girl begins. “They were just working on an article about social media influencers.”
“That’s boring. How can we make that sexier?”
“What if we sell it with a twist, like at-home influencers who make money in their undies?” the intern stammers.
Gail nods. “Well, go then. Get out of my meeting and start working on it.” She fluffs up the papers on her desk and balances her glasses to the tip of her nose. “The rest of you. I’ve read through the pitches. They’re decent enough. Next meeting, I want an avalanche of sex, drugs, and stories that sell. Julia, I want you on the drug allegation scandal with the NBA. Wear a short dress and take the coach out to dinner, and get me the dirty details.”
I lean back in my chair, wondering if my pitch ofHow the Romance Novel Can Save Your Sex Life, will go over. Then I hear Gail mention an article about the new sex club that opened in some secret, mysterious building downtown and how she wants a twist on theoverwrittenBDSM relationship.
I don’t know what comes over me, but my mouth just starts talking, and I lose control over my brain. “I’ll write the story. But instead of the normal BDSM relationship, how about a single woman’s novice take on the place?” I blink my eyes and focus on Gail, trying not to embarrass myself. “From someone who has never been through—”
“Make it hot, Jane. I want the words to explode out of your vagina and onto the magazine. Title it:My First Kink.” That’s gross, but I get what she means. I bit at the inside of my cheek, wondering how to even start the article. “Why are you still sitting here? It’s going to take a few days to screen you and for you to get an invitation. Go, start now, I want you there this Friday night to get properly tied up and paddled.”
I’m hit with a hot flash as I quickly collect my papers and leave the conference room. I know all my colleagues’ eyes are on me when I go, I can feel the heat of their stares, but I feel like I need to do this article. I need to get over wanting someone I can’t have, and I’m sick of feeling like I’m not knowledgeable about sex and fun, like everyone else. It always feels like I’m out of the loop of some private joke when people talk about sex, and I want in.
I don’t go back to my desk right away, instead I head for the kitchen area and down an entire bottle of water. So far, just the thought of kink gives me cottonmouth. I melt into the counter, close my eyes, and belch.
“What were you trying to do in there?”
My hand slaps over my mouth. I can’t believe someone just heard me bust out a burp like that. My eyes shoot back open and Dex is looming over me like a possessive father.
“What?” I huff. I’m not even worried about burping anymore, it’s Dex. Last night we tried to see who could burp their entire name and I won.
He glances behind him to see if anyone is around, then steps closer. “Seriously, Jane. What are you trying to do?”
I fold my arms across my chest and straighten my back. “Erase him. Forget about him. Learn something new.”
He darts his eyes to the doorway again and leans in even closer to me. “In a fetish club? Jane, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re going to freak out in there.”
“Why does everyone treat me like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some asexual person who doesn’t need to learn to enjoy sex, or someone so pathetic they need to be set up on blind dates because no one in their right mind would ask her out unless forced into it!”
