When I get back to my desk, I grab my phone and immediately text Menace.
Me: Beningfield showed up to my office today. He’s pissed. lol.
I don’t get a text back right away, so I get back to work cleaning up his article.
I’m surprised more people haven’t shown up to my job when they found out me and Menace were together. After my name was put on blast in some Australian tabloid, I expected more than a few American paps to be waiting for me, but most of the photogs here know my reputation and have stayed away. One person has tried their luck to ask for a sound bite, but that didn’t last long. Not after the long, deadly look I shot him.
Hopefully, our relationship remains this low key. If not, it’ll make it so much harder for us to do what we do on our off times. There are plenty of people that slip through the cracks of the law that need to be taken care of. If fucking paparazzi follow us around, it’ll only be a matter of time before they see more than they’re supposed to and Menace and I end up behind bars.
We’ll just have to be extra careful. He’s had to do that far longer than we’ve been together, so he can teach me how to navigate this new territory.
My phone beeps just as I’m sending the finished article over to Clifton for review.
I pull it out and smile when I see Menace’s name.
Menace: That fucking asshole! Are you alright? I’ll come get you.
Smiling, I text him back, loving that I can feel his anger through his text.
Me: I’m good. He’s all bark, no bite. You know I can handle him.
He sends me the ‘hot’ emoji, making me smile.
Menace: I’m coming over tonight.
Me: I’ll be waiting.
Smiling, I put my phone away and get started on my next article.
My eyes hurt and I’m fucking exhausted by the time I leave work. I push out of the back entrance into the alley nearer whereI parked my car. I pause for a moment, breathing in the crisp night air, the gentle breeze ruffling the ends of my hair.
Instead of Clifton being wowed by my journalism skills, he sent back my article with so many red marks it made my eyes cross.
I spent the rest of the night making it perfect. Clifton left an hour ago, telling me he’d check the article tonight so he could run it the day after tomorrow. We’re on a tight deadline, what with Clifton hinting that there would be a big article coming. Most thought it would be what we released on Beningfield, which has blown up both online and in print. Hopefully his bullshit doesn’t overshadow Menace and his charity.
Before it was released, I told Clifton that we should push it for another week to give time for me to finish up my man’s article as well as give time for donations to roll in. But Clifton said people were anticipating hearing more about Menace and would?—
Light glints off steel and suddenly a knife is swiping at my belly.
I dodge back on instinct and use my messenger bag to block the next slice.
A man is in front of me. Knife by his side. Mask on his face. Dressed in all black.
A fucking hit.
Beningfield isn’t too smart. It doesn’t take a genius to know what this is about. The bad thing for him is he threatened me in a room full of people. No matter which way I play this, I’ll get off on self-defense.
Huh, I could kill this fucker and it’ll up my rep. People will leave me and Menace alone, probably worried I’ll kill them for fucking with us.
With the cameras posted everywhere around the building, anything that happens will show me in a defensive mode.
I fight to keep the smile off my face as the man rushes at me again, knife held out in front of him like he wants to poke me.
“Help!” I yell, just for the benefit of the cameras. The streets are always empty this late at night. No one will hear either of our screams.
The man chuckles as he comes at me again. “You fucked with the wrong person,” he snarls and kicks at me as he moves in.
“No, you did.”
