by Zee Monodee
“Logan, don’t start—”
He chuckled, cutting her outburst.
“I’m not being an arse, I swear. Griff really likes you, it’s all I’m saying.” He paused. “He’s a good judge of character.”
“Should I take this as a compliment?” she snapped.
He stared back, not the least intimidated. “You should.”
She didn’t have a chance to retort before Bryan barged into the room.
“Hey, guys.” He breezed past them on the way to the fridge. He took out a can of Pepsi and closed the door with his hip.
“Hi, Bryan,” she said. “What are you playing today?”
She focused her attention on the short, chubby young man. Anyone who listened to Bryan would imagine him to be a lanky, bustling fellow, but it would startle them to see the man with the energetic voice and punchy lines and programme resembled a geeky lab rat more than a trendy RJ.
He ambled over to the table and propped his elbows on the back of a chair. “So, my lady,” he said with a wink. “The usual. Guess who I’ll be honouring today.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Your latest crush?”
“Close.” He popped his can open and took a gulp. “Who told me her favourite songs are from eighties rock bands?”
Neha gasped. “Oh, no, you didn’t—”
“Did, too! Programme’s for you today, my lovely.”
With those words, he sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving her gaping at him.
“You like eighties rock?” Logan asked after Bryan left.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, dismissing the heavy note of disbelief in his words with a small shrug. Not a topic she wished to elaborate upon, and certainly not with him. Bryan had wheedled out her preferences through an informal conversation on his birthday. She’d never thought he’d use it against her.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she heard the always-over-excited tone of his voice over the loudspeakers. And true enough, he’d dedicated this ‘Backtracking’ slot to her.
She groaned. Did it get any worse?
Logan’s eyebrows had knitted in a heavy frown. Not at all a good sign.
“What?” she asked.
“Madonna?”
He had to be kidding. Did she look so conventional? A part of her yearned to stay mum and not jump onto the bait. The other part won. “Scorpions, REM, Pink Floyd.”
He sputtered some coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Seriously?”
She rolled her eyes. And so it would start again. Nobody believed her when she spoke of her tastes in music. “Throw in some Genesis and Police, too, while you’re at it.”
“And Depeche Mode.”
How did he know about this one? She frowned.
“I heard you singing along to ‘Enjoy the Silence’ the other day.”
She’d forgotten about that one.
He shook his head and laughed. “I never had you down as someone who’d like rock music.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t look like a rock fan,” he replied, his smile sheepish.
Could his tone be an almost normal, conversational one? No way could she let this pass—suddenly, she had an irresistible urge to take the mickey out of her boss.
She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. “You mean, I don’t pass for a metal-studded and makeup-heavy groupie?”
“I wouldn’t put it this way, but to answer you, no, you don’t.”
“Hmm. Might be because I remove all the piercings in the morning before coming here, and keep the Goth white paint and black liner and lipstick for special days?”
She had the pleasure of seeing him gasp and cough a little on a sip of coffee.
Neha pitched her head back and laughed. “Joking. The only piercings I’ve got are to my earlobes, and the Goth makeup belongs to Suzanne.”
“Now, that’s a relief,” he muttered.
“Why? Seriously, does it come as such a surprise? I’ve always loved rock. Actually,” she paused. “I love those songs from the eighties and nineties, mostly. The lyrics had depth back then, the music unique.” She sighed. “Not like the stuff my kids listen to nowadays.”
Logan wore a pensive scowl on his features.
“Something wrong?” she quizzed.
“No,” he said softly. “No. It’s funny, but that music is my favourite, too. And for those exact reasons you mention.”
If Neha had been drinking, she would either have choked on her sip or she’d have blown it into his face. For starters, no one understood her when she confessed her love for past decades’ music. To figure someone—and Logan, of all people—shared her passion bewildered her, to say the least.
“Suzanne wears Goth makeup?” he asked.
Neha cringed when she thought of the time when her daughter had slathered on the white and black paint. “She went through a phase. She shook out of it, fortunately.”
“Yeah.” He tipped his mug back and drowned the contents in one long gulp. “I better get back to work.” His shoulders however sagged. “With this flu outbreak, I wonder how we’re not tearing apart at the seams.”
The mention of work brought something to her mind. “Logan, for Vanessa’s programme today. She was supposed to cover a letter we received about a teenager asking about the path to true love. I figured she wouldn’t be in the best of spirits to handle this today, so I asked Cecilia to change the data sheet to another query, this one pertaining to a work dilemma.”
Logan had started to stand up, but he settled back into his chair. “Great foresight. Well done.”
She couldn’t stand it when he looked at her like so. Blast it, she’d had enough of being their saviour around here. How to defuse this situation? “She mentioned she’d suggest cutting the guy’s balls off. Couldn’t risk having this go on air.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “She really threatened to do that?”
“And worse. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“Very true.”
Something made her think he spoke from personal experience.
She gave herself an inward shake. What was wrong with her? What did she care if Logan had been at the receiving end of a woman’s wrath? He must be strong enough to handle such a situation. She had trouble imagining a woman not turning to mush in front of his fiery gaze, especially not when passion would also blaze in their depths.
A very business-like ring resounded in the room, and he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans.
People still used those old, ‘ring, ring’ kind of alerts in this millennium?
He glanced at the screen and answered right away. “Ty?”
Not wanting to listen to his conversation, she stood, picked up her empty cup, and walked to the sink on the far right of the counter opposite her. Yet, even as she opened the tap and the water thumped onto the steel sink, she could still make out every word he spoke.
“I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re in a remote area with the army as protection. I want you out of there,” he barked into the phone.
She flinched at his cursing. It turned into a grimace when every successive sentence sounded more and more like a string of expletives worthy of an Eminem hard-core rap track. Who was Logan swearing at like so? She herself was bristling at his words, and they weren’t even directed at her.
“Ty, next time I see you, the first thing you’ll receive is a knuckle sandwich, you clown. I’ll have your guts for garters. I don’t bloody care if you’re well protected. Get out of there. Alive.”
He slammed the phone on the table, and she jumped.
Logan must’ve heard her gasp, because he turned in her direction. When it dawned on him she still stood there, confusion and dejectedness clouded his features.
“Neha.” He lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to hear this.”
She was rattled by his sincere tone, but the heavy discouragement in his voice made more bells ring inside her head. “Is something
wrong?”
Logan tipped his head back and covered his face with his palms. Dragging his hands down, he looked at her.
“Everything’s wrong.”
The quiet way he said the words, as if he had lost all hope, made her pulse thrum all through her. Try as she might, she couldn’t quell the stirrings in her protective instincts. All she could think of amounted to how Logan needed someone.
“Wanna talk about it? Sometimes, getting it off your heart works wonders.”
He drew out a long sigh. “That was my younger brother, Tyler. I hadn’t heard from him in ages, and when I do, it’s to find he’s risking his life again.”
Logan had a brother. Fresh news. He never spoke of him.
“What is he doing?”
“Trying his best to be killed before he turns thirty.” He slammed his fist on the table, and she jumped again. “Sorry. He’s in Syria. Who the hell goes into bloody Syria nowadays with every intention of staying alive?”
“What’s he doing there? Is he in the army?”
He gave a small laugh. “That’s the point. He has a choice. He’s a freelance photographer. Covers all war-torn areas.”
Neha walked back to the chair she had vacated and sat down. “You want him out of there.”
“But he doesn’t want out. Ty revels in this kind of life, in this never-ending adrenaline rush. I wish there could be something to tempt him out of it. I can only hope.” A small smile touched his lips. “Maybe one day—soon, I pray—some woman will catch his attention and take him away from this madness.”
She smiled back. She hadn’t missed the concern and affection in his voice, and to see Logan without his hard shell provided a new experience she could only cherish. He didn’t show himself to many.
“Your brother knows you’re there, and believe me, he’ll always come back because of you.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Nobody enjoys being alone, Logan,” she said softly.
Their gazes locked. Everything around them melted away as she lost herself into the fathomless depths of his coffee-brown eyes.
“You seem to be speaking from experience,” he said.
A soft laugh escaped her. “You could say that.”
Right then, she didn’t want to think who she was talking to. It didn’t matter. The only thing to count was how the world had drawn a bubble around them and only the two of them existed in the suspended warp.
Something warm settled over her hand, and she welcomed its heat when nothing but numb cold invaded her at the thought of the abject loneliness permeating her life. Now, and always in the past, too. She’d always been alone; she had just never acknowledged the fact before.
The gentle warmth soothed as it rubbed against the back of her hand. Someone’s palm, she reckoned, and she peered up into that someone’s face. A man sat there across from her, a big one, but pain filled his dark eyes, too. His pale lips moved to form a string of words. She heard them, but the message didn’t register right away.
He stood and left. Yet, she remained unable to do anything. Not saying another word. Not calling back. Simply letting him drift out of her surroundings while at the same time knowing he would be there as from now, all around her.
A calm insight flowed into her, and Neha didn’t battle the peaceful feeling. She only let it take hold of her. A soft sigh escaped her lips, the air she expelled being replaced by a quiet certainty.
Logan. He’d held her hand. He’d shared her pain. And before he’d left her, he’d said, “You’re not alone anymore.”
Chapter Six
Logan cradled the phone to his ear with his shoulder and looked up at Griffin strolling into the office. The buzz of the ring in the receiver cleared with a click, diverting to voicemail. Again. He sighed and slammed the phone down.
Griffin grimaced. “Blimey, mate. These phones cost a bomb. Why are you so intent on breaking them?”
“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s no punching bag around to indulge my fury on.”
Griff pulled a chair and sat down. “Want me to have one installed, so you’ll stop vandalizing the premises?”
There lay a hint of humour in the words, and Logan bestowed his friend with a scathing glare. If only Griff knew what a mess he’d gotten mired in. Everything was falling apart. Bugger, where was the time when he’d lived for the next boxing match? And the next handle of beer, a little voice chided.
Overwhelmed by anger at the disturbing memory, he crashed his closed fist on the desk. The glass surface gave a crack, like the sound an egg made when the shell broke. As tiny splinters spread across the smooth, clear expanse in a pattern resembling a spider’s web, the utter ineptitude in the situation caught up with him and drifted through his system in the same way.
“Uh-oh. Now you’ve done it, mate. What’s going on?”
His focus still lay on the jagged fissure, where a dark stain started to build into the lines of the glass. Blood. He turned his palm over to find sharp pieces of glass glinting like diamonds in the skin.
“Bugger,” he said softly. “Bloody Pamela.”
“Blimey, her again? What’s she done, now?”
Placing his injured hand back on the glass, he gritted his teeth when the shards pressed farther into his flesh. Let it be. He had no time for first aid; not the first time he’d ended up with a bleeding hand, either.
“I’ve been trying to reach her all day, but all her calls divert to voicemail. She’s late yet again. We’re supposed to go on air in a little more than an hour. She should’ve been here by now, so we can go over the segments for today’s bulletin.” He shook his head and ran his other, uninjured hand in his short hair as he pressed his back into the chair.
Griffin groaned. “She’s being a pain again.”
“Yeah. She’s turning more and more into a liability. I threatened to fire her last time she came in late, but she brushed the warning away and tried to talk me into renegotiating her salary package.” He took a deep breath. “Where do we stand, legally speaking, regarding a possible sacking?”
“You’re not gonna go this far, are you?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to.”
Tension thrummed heavy between them as the statement hung in the air. Griffin’s face took a closed, concentrated expression as he squinted at Logan, who didn’t squirm under the steady gaze.
He had to come to a decision, right then.
“Where do we stand?” he again asked.
Griffin didn’t reply right away. “According to her contract, we can terminate her employment with extreme prejudice. We hired her as a freelancer.”
Logan clenched his jaw. “Good. She’s fired. I’ll ask Debbie to call her and leave a message.”
A heavy weight seemed to plop down on his shoulders. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then ran his thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows. The movement failed to work the pain out of his forehead.
But then, he shrugged the uncomfortable feeling off and picked up the phone. Reaching Debbie, the news bulletin producer, he asked the woman to inform Pamela of her dismissal and to call in the young woman who freelanced as the news anchor on weekends, with another young bloke, when Logan and Pamela were off duty.
Ending the call, he sighed. When, and how, would he ever get out of this mess?
The phone rang a few minutes later. “What?’
“Don’t snap my head off,” Debbie said at the other end. “You’re not gonna like it. The replacement has laryngitis. I had to speak with her mother.”
His whole weight slumped into the chair as he put the receiver down and closed his eyes. Suddenly so tired, even the prospect of hitting something held none of its appeal.
“We’re guts for garters,” he said.
“Why?”
Having completely forgotten about Griffin, Logan popped his eyes wide open. A mask of barely concealed panic tensed his friend’s pale features. The poor bloke would surely suffer from apoplexy when he learned the truth.
“We have no female anchor for today’s bulletin. And you know the station’s policy. The format is a male and a female anchor for the news. It’s the same for all the worldwide stations. We cannot escape this rule.” He gave a small laugh. “The weekend woman has no voice from laryngitis. How twisted is this? Where the hell will we find someone at such short notice?”
That’s it—they were done.
Silence blanketed them, then Griffin jumped up and out of his seat. “I’ve got it!”
Logan frowned. “You’ve finally lost it, mate.”
“I’ve not gone mad, Logan. I’ve found the perfect solution.”
And it’s something I have to dread, I’m certain. Thick discouragement coursed along his veins, rendering him as heavy and useless as a piece of lead.
Griffin came back to his chair but didn’t sit down, instead bending forward to face Logan.
“The Crisis Resolution Manager,” he said with excitement brimming in his tone.
“What?”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “Neha.”
He sat up straighter. “Now I know you’re insane.”
The other man sat down. “Think about it. She’s perfect. There’s no need to brief her since she’s the one who wrote the news in the first place. She knows every item in every segment, and she has such in-depth knowledge of the information, she can certainly improvise something with a snap of her fingers.”
The idea sounded great, and Logan could see the reasoning behind it.
But another part of him resisted with all it had. He didn’t know if working so closely with Neha, even for a day, was such a good idea. The woman already did strange things to his mind and body when across the station. With less than a few feet between them, wouldn’t it be akin to teasing and prodding temptation too blatantly?
Griffin however rattled on. “She’d look great on the screen, especially next to you. Soften up your tough guy image, too, not like Ice Queen Pam. And she’s got great diction. Think about it. She talks exactly like those BBC people. She’s also got camera experience. Remember how she stood in for the mock bulletins when we still ran trial conditions? Granted, she’s never been on air, but this surely won’t be any different than when we shot the promo segment for the news with her and then uploaded the clip on our website. She did that one in a single take, remember?”