Montaine

by Rome, Ada

  His door was halfway open. I rapped my knuckles against it. No response. I gently eased the door open a few inches and caught a heated conversation in progress.

  “No way,” said one male voice. “The Jets are going to start Nolan at quarterback this year. They’d be crazy not to. He can run. Davis can’t run for shit. He’s washed up. Nolan is the future. He’s a Heisman Trophy winner, for crying out loud.”

  “I’m telling you,” said another voice, this one deeper and more commanding. “Nolan will flop. Davis still has one of the best arms in the league.”

  I tried to covertly back away, but I was too late. I had already been spotted.

  “Can I help you?” said the deeper voice.

  I swung the door fully open and stood nervously on the threshold.

  “Hi. I’m Kat Raney.”

  “Hello, Kat Raney. What are you doing in my office?”

  Trent Montaine sat behind a polished steel desk, impatiently tapping a pencil on a stack of papers. I immediately recognized his blue plaid shirt. He was the one who’d nearly knocked me flat on the street only minutes earlier. My shoulder still stung from the impact. I unconsciously rubbed it with my left hand. He smirked and held his pencil poised in midair.

  From this close range, it was clear that his reputation as one of the world’s most beautiful people was entirely justified. His piercing eyes were blue as a polar ice cap. He had jet black hair cut short on the sides and a bit longer on top, where it flipped back boyishly. His chiseled cheekbones stood out above a strong chin coated in a thin layer of stubble. His muscular arms, bared to the elbows, were a landscape of colorful tattoos. The right arm was devoted to sea creatures – a mermaid, an octopus – while the left arm was covered in images of flames and spinning, fire-breathing dragons that coiled around his sculpted forearms.

  I was completely tongue-tied. A clock ticked somewhere nearby. I opened my mouth, but no sound emerged.

  “For fuck’s sake, Trent. Is this another one of your conquests?”

  For the first time, I noticed the room’s other occupant. He lounged in a chair facing the desk, his left ankle resting on his right knee. He looked to be in his early 30s. He was thin and pale, with spiky blonde hair and a patchy goatee. His beady, close-set eyes were a washed out gray like dirty laundry. He reminded me of nothing so much as a weasel.

  “I should be so lucky,” Trent replied with a suggestive leer at my generous cleavage – the fourth button had somehow come undone during my travels – and my thighs, which were far more exposed than I realized beneath the lifted hem of my skirt. Anger snapped me out of my momentary stupor.

  “I’m the intern,” I declared with purpose and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Intern? Seriously? Her?” The weasel looked from Trent to me and curled his thin lip in disgust. “Sweetie, we write about fighting at this magazine, not nail polish. Don’t you think you’d fit in better somewhere else?”

  “Cool it, Kill,” Trent interjected. He turned to me. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here. He doesn’t interact with gorgeous women very often, so he may be in a state of shock.” He winked. I felt my cheeks flush pink. “Allow me to introduce you two. Kat Raney, Kill. Kill, Kat Raney.”

  “Kill?” I asked, confused.

  “Colin Killigrew,” said the weasel with a huff. “They call me Kill. Have you really never heard of me?” His voice oozed disdain. I recognized his name from many KTFO bylines.

  “Play nice, Kill.” Trent said calmly. “Kat will be our intern for the summer. You’re going to mentor her.”

  “Why not hire an intern who actually wants to be a sports writer? How am I supposed to work with…with this?” He jabbed a thumb in my direction.

  Trent paused, looking up at me where I shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. He looked back at Kill.

  “I needed to hire a chick, ok? The media’s been getting on my case, saying this place has too much testosterone. We require a woman’s perspective. She fits the bill.”

  He leveled his gaze at me. A spark of curiosity flashed in his blue eyes. My heart sank like a stone. I had foolishly imagined Trent Montaine as a kindred spirit who would recognize my talent and help launch my career. But he was no different from the others. He discounted my abilities without even giving me a chance. Worst of all, the guys at school were right. I wasn’t hired by KTFO because I was the best. I was hired because of demographics. They needed a female name on the list.

  With a sense of mortification, I felt hot tears forming at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away and glared at Trent through lowered brows.

  “For your information, I am fully qualified for this position. I want to be a sports writer. I will be a sports writer.” I stared hard at the back of Kill’s head. “And by the way, the Jets are going to start Davis at quarterback this year. He has the arm. Nolan won’t last through training camp. No one gives a shit if he won the Heisman Trophy. Plenty of Heisman winners have failed when they hit the big time, and he’ll be one of them. Running doesn’t take a quarterback very far in the NFL. He needs to be able to throw. Nolan can’t. Davis can.”

  Trent leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed behind his head, elbows pressed outwards, the exotic kaleidoscope of tattoos on his arms lending him a mysterious and slightly menacing aspect. The corners of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. I turned toward the door.

  “Honey,” Trent said from behind my back. I spun furiously on my heel. Honey? Is this guy serious?

  “Excuse me?” I said with venom.

  “Honey. For some reason, looking at you, I suddenly have a craving for honey.” He pointed to a mug on his desk. “For my tea, I mean. I think we have some in the break room. Would you mind grabbing it for me?”

  Kill snickered with a wet snort. I glanced down at my yellow shirt and black skirt. Marcie’s voice echoed in my brain. Be the bee. Of course. Honey. I was dressed like a damn bumble bee.

  “Sure.” I nodded curtly. Trent broke into a wide grin that revealed a set of perfectly gleaming white teeth.

  “Thank you,” he said and shooed me away with a flick of his fingers.

  My temples pounded with indignation as I clomped down the hallway. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I don’t belong in this world. Maybe I should give up and go write about seasonal shrubbery and probiotic yogurts instead.

  I stopped and closed my eyes, breathing slowly for a full minute to steady my nerves. When I opened them again, I stood face-to-face with a handsome young Asian man in a preppy green polo and khakis. He smiled pleasantly and raised his eyebrows.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked.

  “No, not at all,” I stammered, embarrassed to be caught in an unguarded moment of weakness. I felt my cheeks flush pink for the second time in ten minutes.

  “Hi, I’m Tony Wong.” He held out his hand into the space between us.

  “Kat. Kat Raney.” We shook hands. His grip was firm and decisive.

  “The intern!” His expression brightened. “I was beginning to worry that you’d gotten lost somewhere! I’m supposed to show you around the office and help you get settled.”

  “Um, actually, where is the break room? Trent asked me to bring him some honey for his tea.”

  Tony stared at me in disbelief. He gave a hearty laugh and patted me on the shoulder.

  “Forget that. He was just playing with you. Trent doesn’t drink tea. He drinks straight up black coffee that’s as thick as tar and tastes about as bad. Come on. Follow me.”

  He marched with long strides into the maze of desks. I tried to keep up, my heels clip-clopping in mincing steps on the laminate flooring. Tony turned and looked down at my shoes.

  “Word of advice. I would lose the high heels. You’re going to do a lot of running around this summer.”

  “So noted,” I said with relief. I wanted nothing better at that moment than to slip into a pair of comfortable flats.

  “Here is your desk.” He gestured to a plain metal sla
b. It was empty except for a small laptop, a yellow legal pad, and a ballpoint pen. “The IT guy will get you set up with email. I know how overwhelming your first day can be. I was in your shoes a couple of years ago. Well, not those shoes exactly.” He grinned and chuckled.

  “You were an intern?”

  “Yup. I did my penance of grunt work for a summer. Now I write for the magazine full-time. Play your cards right, do a good job, impress Trent, and you may be able to turn this internship into a permanent gig once you graduate.”

  “Seems like a tall order.” I laughed. “I get the distinct feeling that Trent is not easily impressed.”

  Tony paused thoughtfully, his hands on his hips. His clean-cut look reminded me of a Boy Scout.

  “That may be true,” he said. “One thing you should know about Trent, though, is that he’s fair. He can be a little cagey and difficult to read. It’s sometimes tough to know where you stand with him. But he recognizes and rewards quality work. He’s been in the trenches. He knows how the business works, and he’ll have your back if you have his.”

  I lowered my voice to a near whisper. “What about that Kill guy? Colin Killigrew? What’s his deal? He acted like he completely despised me right off the bat.”

  Tony frowned, pulled out a chair, and gestured for me to have a seat. I plopped down with a sigh, glad to be off my feet. He perched on the edge of the desk and leaned over me, his voice also barely above a whisper.

  “Be careful with Kill.” Tony looked around warily. “He and Trent go way back. They were buddies in college, but Trent was the one who ultimately became a huge success. Kill puttered around at a series of small-time local papers writing about parades and shit while Trent was reporting from Baghdad and Kabul for the Times. When Trent started the magazine, he brought Kill on board. Kill knows that he owes Trent everything, and I think he secretly hates him for it. Or maybe not so secretly. Anyway, he’s not angry at you. He’s just angry at life in general. I wouldn’t advise poking the bear, though. Steer clear of Kill if you can.”

  I nodded, thankful that Tony was so willing to spill the workplace gossip and dole out helpful advice. I already felt somewhat recovered from my episode of frustration.

  “Uh, can I ask you something else?”

  He leaned in closer, his ear angled toward me. “Yes?”

  “Where is the ladies’ room?”

  “Ah!” He pointed to the glass door. “Out that way and to the right. Congratulations. You get it all to yourself.” He raised his hand palm-up and swept it in an arc around the room of reporters and staff. I suddenly realized the truth of Trent’s earlier observation about testosterone. I was the only woman in the room.

  “A dream come true,” I said sarcastically.

  “The break room is down the other way to the left. You know, in case you want to get that honey.” He hopped adroitly from the desk. “Come back soon though. I already have some proofreading projects to get you started. Don’t go…um…buzzing off for too long.”

  Another bee joke? Really? I definitely planned to have a word with Marcie when I returned home later. Sexy queen bee, my ass.

  “You don’t have to be a dick, Tony,” I said matter-of-factly. Part of me instantly worried that I may have offended his Boy Scout sensibilities. To my great relief, he threw back his head with a raucous laugh and slapped his knee for emphasis. He patted my arm good-naturedly.

  “You’ll do just fine here, Kat Raney. Welcome to KTFO.”

  Chapter 3

  “Pleeeeeeease. Please please please please please, Kitty Kat?” Marcie bounced on her tip-toes with her hands clasped in front of her chest. A grunt from the direction of her bed signaled that Vaughan had momentarily awoken from his stupor and rolled over. A raspy snore indicated that he had fallen back asleep almost instantaneously.

  “No, Marcie! It’s only my second day. I’m not bringing you to work for show and tell. I need to act like a professional journalist, not an overly excited tween dragging along her best friend.”

  “Awwww, you called me your best friend.” She leaned her head tenderly on my shoulder and batted her eyelashes mischievously. “You’re my best friend too.”

  “That’s not going to work, sweetheart. Pretty eyelashes will get you nowhere.”

  Marcie huffed and pouted like a disappointed child. I stuffed my wallet and phone into my purse and checked the mirror one last time. My outfit, a black and white polka-dotted shell tucked into simple black slacks, was not reminiscent of any member of the insect world that I could discern. My rubber-soled blue velvet flats were also far more sensible than the previous day’s stilts.

  “I won’t even say anything. I just want to get a glimpse of Trent, drool a little, and then I’ll be out of your…hair.” She smiled impishly. I stuck a few extra bobby pins into my librarian bun to avoid any last-minute tugs.

  “Nope. No way. He already doesn’t take me seriously. I refuse to give him more ammunition.”

  I knew that I was prolonging the argument in vain. Marcie always eventually got what she wanted.

  “Is he as hot in person as he looks on T.V.? Did you have to stop yourself from jumping into his lap?”

  She flopped onto my bed, her own then fully occupied by the sprawled and snoring Vaughan. She rolled onto her stomach and kicked her heels back and forth in the air.

  “He is pretty hot,” I said with a lilt of feigned indifference.

  “Oh, come on, Kat. You can’t fool me.” She threw a pink ruffled pillow at my head. I dodged it at the last instant. It thumped softly against the window.

  “Ok, fine. He’s hot as fuck. Are you happy? But it doesn’t matter. He’s my boss, not my love interest.”

  “You do know that the fact he’s your boss makes it even hotter. Have you never read a romance novel?”

  “No, I have not,” I declared primly.

  “Liar, liar, business casual slacks on fire,” she countered.

  I attempted to give her a withering glare through lowered eyelids, but she looked so expectantly cheerful that my tiny spark of irritation quickly sputtered out.

  “Fine. You can come. But I’m not introducing you to anybody. You may stand there and gawk for approximately three seconds. Then you have to leave!”

  Marcie leapt from the bed like a rocket. She was already dressed in a purple t-shirt and skimpy denim cutoffs. Her slender legs were smooth and tan beneath the ragged threads. She slipped into a pair of silver flip-flops and grabbed a floppy knit purse that was slung over Vaughan’s flat, lifeless foot.

  “Come on, Kat!” she shouted from the doorway. “Time’s a-wasting.”

  I gave my hair one last careful pat and an extra pin, just in case.

  “Is it ok to leave Sleeping Beauty?” With a fall of wavy blonde tresses covering his face, Vaughan could almost have passed for a dozing princess from the neck up. From the neck down, his sinewy tattooed physique looked more like a Russian prison inmate, and his tight undies left absolutely nothing to the imagination as he lay spread-eagled and dreaming.

  “Oh yeah.” Marcie cocked her head to the side and gazed thoughtfully at her boyfriend’s crotch. “He won’t wake up for hours. And when he does, he’ll just steal your jewelry and pawn it for heroin.”

  “Fair enough. My jewelry is fake anyway, so he won’t get much heroin for it.”

  As if on cue, Vaughan grunted and snorted from under his mound of tousled hair.

  “We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” Marcie said wistfully. She often surprised me with such unprompted Shakespeare quotes. Despite her erratic antics, she possessed a keen mind.

  She switched gears in a flash, slapping her palms together and sprinting to the open elevator, once again resembling an eager adolescent.

  “Your carriage awaits, milady.” She directed me inside with a bow and a spokesmodel flourish.

  Ten minutes later, we were jouncing through pitch-black underground tunnels in a hot and crowded car of the downtown local train. We both clung to the cold met
al pole, cheek-to-cheek with the horde of morning passengers who, in typical New York fashion, resolutely refused to look one another in the eye. Marcie ducked under the newspaper held by the tall man to our right and wrapped her skinny arm around my waist.

  “Tell me about the magazine. Are there any other interesting people there? Did you make any friends yet?”

  I glanced around to make sure that none of my new co-workers were in the immediate vicinity.

  “There’s a nice guy named Tony. He used to be an intern like me. Seems like a good source of info. There’s an asshole named Colin Killigrew – they call him Kill for short – who took an instant dislike to me. He and Trent are old friends. They both talked to me like I was a moron. Trent said they only hired me as an intern because they needed a woman.”

  Marcie’s jaw hung open. Her eyes simmered. Her voice dropped an octave as she spoke in clipped, serious tones. “That’s bullshit. You earned that internship. Don’t let that Kill guy get to you. He’s meaningless. Trent is just testing you. He wants to see how you’ll respond. Show him that you mean business.”

  I met her flashing green gaze. Her thin, bony arm gripped my waist like a rod of iron. “You know, Marcie, someday you’re going to rule the world. I hope you’ll remember your old friend Kat when that happens.”

  She smiled, her shell pink lips curving in a cagey grin. “You know it, my beautiful redheaded goddess.”

  The train slowed with a scream of metal as we pulled into the 23rd street station. Marcie and I were disgorged onto the platform in a stream of sweaty humanity that flowed up the grimy cement steps and out into the hazy sunlight of Seventh Avenue. We marched east and south, Marcie’s hurried steps struggling to keep pace with my longer stride.

  “You decided to come back!” I heard the merry tones of a familiar voice as we rounded the corner. Tony stood at the bottom of the building’s steps with a cup of coffee in one hand and a glazed donut in the other. He was again dressed in a preppy polo and khakis, though today the shirt was sky blue.