Text Me, Tweet Me, Need Me

by Susie Medwell

  “What do you mean?” Fear sharpened her tone. “What do you mean the skeptics?” The gnawing in her stomach increased.

  Why the hell hadn’t she seen this coming?

  She’d been a bloody fool again. This wasn’t about not trusting her or thinking she couldn’t do the job, it was about every last person in the industry who judged her by what her stepbrother had done. She hadn’t thought it was a problem until Andy had sounded off, had pointed out to her that she only had a job because of him. Without him she was nothing.

  The lead weight sank deeper in her gut. He was going to throw her out and all she could do was sit here with bile in her throat, saying nothing. Bowing to the inevitable. Except this time she wouldn’t.

  “Oh come on, Sam, you know as well as I do that everyone knows everything in this business.”

  “So this is about Mike is it? One day you like my work, then all of a sudden it doesn’t matter how I write, all of a sudden the gossip matters. Well, that stinks. You know that?”

  “Hold on Sam, why the hell has this all turned into hysterics about Mike?”

  “I’m not hysterical.”

  “As near as, dammit.”

  “And why the hell shouldn’t I be? It’s you who’s decided to sack me because of him.”

  “Sack you? Because of Mike? Is that what you think?” His voice was flat, but when she looked up the granite features had softened. It brought a hard lump to her throat. But she didn’t want pity. Pity would make her cry. Bring the tears she was fighting tumbling out. “I don’t get where you’re coming from, Sam. This is about you breaking our agreement, not about your family. You can be related to the pope for all I care.”

  “Then what’s all that shit about the skeptics? About industry gossip?”

  “Oh, Sam.” He sighed and leaned back resignedly in his chair. “You know people talk, and one or two mouth off about you two being related and what he did, but I honestly think it’s all crap. The whole Mike thing is a lot of fuss about nothing, Mike was Mike and you are definitely you. But then you do something like this and I just don’t get it. And,” he leaned forwards, elbows on desk, studying her, “I don’t get why admitting you were close to him is such a big deal.”

  “Close? He was my stepbrother.” Mike was gone, but his legacy lived on.

  “We all have the odd problem relative. That’s what families are there for.”

  “It‘s not funny.”

  “Not much is in your world is it, Sam?” His voice softened even further and she hated him for it. It was easy for him to sit there making judgment.

  “Do you know how hard he’s made it for me to make a living in this business? Do you know how many jobs I’ve lost the second his name has come up? Do you? Do you?” Her voice rose higher with each question. “You don’t even know what it’s like not to have a job, to be passed over however hard you work do you? To you it’s just a fuss about nothing.” She forced herself to her feet. It would be easier to go now, before she got thrown out.

  “Don’t be such a drama queen. Sit down.” He was leaning back in his chair. “Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? You’re making Mike into a bigger problem than he is, most people just don’t care about what he did anymore. It’s yesterday’s news.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

  “Is that normal conversation?” He gave a short laugh. “Hi Sam, oh by the way before the interview I’d like to state what I know about you. Sure. You are joking?”

  “It’s easy for you to judge.” She sat down slowly.

  “I’m not judging. That’s the point and you’re determined to miss it, which for someone so intelligent is weird.”

  “What do you know about my stepbrother?”

  He paused. “A bit. Enough. Look for a start he’s not actually your stepbrother is he? I mean he’s not actually related to you at all.”

  “He was like a brother to me.” She shrugged. “But no, strictly speaking he wasn’t. He was my stepdad’s son. But people still don’t trust me because of what he did.”

  “So you lost one job because of cutbacks.”

  “Allegedly.”

  “And had a couple of fob-offs recently. When he was alive people were still giving you work, you’ve turned him into a bigger problem than he is. But someone’s got it in for you, Sam and in this business it isn’t good to have enemies.”

  She grimaced. Oh yes, someone had it in for her. Someone who was teaching her a lesson, proving she couldn’t survive without him.

  “Anyway, he worked for my father for a while. You can ask Sophie for his staff file if you want. To be honest, he’s part of the reason I’m letting you do this. He was good at his job until he went off on the moral crusade, but he was still a nice bloke. And you’re good if you let yourself be Samantha.” He sat up straight at the desk. Drumming fingers sounding like he was making judgment.

  “But I still don’t understand why you’ve got me here if you know about him?” Sam hated herself, but she couldn’t let it go. Her stepbrother had been a good journalist until he’d started to uncover the murkier side of trading. The secrets, the deals, and then he had gone public. Printed things people didn’t want in the public eye. Things that she was sure led to his ‘accidental’ death.

  “Let it go. I’m judging you on your own merits. Why shouldn’t I? Unless you’re not telling me something?” He swiveled back to face his laptop. “Which bring us neatly back to what started all this.” He waved a finger at the screen. “What the hell have you got to say about this report of our date?”

  She flinched at the way he said it.

  “Well, I could just say it wasn’t me. But you’re not going to believe me are you?” He didn’t reply, was too busy with the keyboard, flicking switches. She hadn’t noticed the projector screen glide silently down, until it was lit up. Lit up with the tweet that was no doubt responsible for the look of fury on his face.

  ‘Online dating? Wonder if you will meet that billionaire? Easy when you know how!’ He watched her eyes run over the text, color flooding her cheeks. Clicked on the link wordlessly. Sam didn’t want to look. It was too gross. And so obviously a teaser. The blog hinted at his identity, hinted at the exclusive that would follow about a man who never did interviews–but he did after meeting his true love online. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She was a positive beacon, internal central heating.

  “You’ve got to believe I had nothing to do with this.” No one knew except her editor, her ex-editor, Dave.

  “But you told someone you’d met me.”

  “The editor knew I’d been on a date of course, but he didn’t know it was with you. I didn’t even know it was you, for heaven’s sake.” She’d been wondering how on earth she was going to turn in the article on dating, she needed another date. A disastrous one, a funny one, a bog standard normal letdown she could write about. But there wasn’t time. This job had taken over. She’d agreed with her editor to put it on hold, and he had been happy to agree, greedy to get the profile on Solway. He was confident Sam would sell it to him, over confident. Even if he had in effect sacked her.

  “You didn’t tell anyone? You’re sure?”

  “No.” No, she hadn’t told anyone. But they had been seen by someone, someone who had recognized Ben. Suddenly the HIM, capitals, made sense. Andy had known instantly who he was and had happily made up his own story. Primed one of the other journalists on the paper. It was the only explanation.

  Shit.

  “I’ll tell him that if he runs anything else, he’s not getting my story. I am still doing it?”

  “I’ll tell him myself.” His cell was already in his hand.

  “No.” She was on her feet, her hand on his. It had to come from her. It was one thing for the Mike mess to be known, but the last thing she wanted was her whole affair with Andy brought out in the open too. Especially as the two men seemed to know each other. How on earth had she got her life in such a mess?

  “I’ll sort
it.” She suddenly realised her hand was still gripping his. For the first time since their disastrous date she was touching him. It felt comforting, natural. But it shouldn’t. She pulled back abruptly. Feeling the heat in her face. Again. It must be so nice to be one of those cool, calm collected people who never, ever blushed. Ever.

  “Good.” He smiled. “I miss your texts, you know. Strange isn’t it?”

  “Very.” She missed his too. Though she was never going to admit it.

  “And I miss the fun, flirty you.”

  “That wasn’t really me. This is me.”

  “Are you sure? I think I saw a little bit of the real you and I liked her. She was all relaxed and confident and totally in control.”

  She shrugged, embarrassed. “Shouldn’t we be working?”

  He laughed easily. “Such a serious girl.”

  “I don’t want to be accused of being a slacker as well as untrustworthy.”

  “Ooh nasty, below the belt. I tell you what, you can work on me and I’ll work on you.”

  “Stop flirting because it’s not going to work.”

  “Seriously, Sam, I do miss the texts, and the feisty you.”

  “You know what I want?”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I want to find out about you.” She waved her notepad in the air. “For my profile.”

  “Okay, if you insist on being boring.” He glanced at his watch “I’m all yours for the next fifteen minutes then I need a shower before my next meeting. Do your worst.”

  “I want something personal.” She ignored his raised eyebrow. “About you. So people can feel they know you a bit.”

  “I don’t do personal.”

  “Maybe not normally, but you’re a nice guy and I want to show people that side of you.”

  “No. I don’t do personal. I do work. End of.”

  “Oh, come on.” This was going to be like pulling teeth, but she didn’t just do facts and figures she did hopes and fears, she did personal. “What about women? You have lots of girlfriends.”

  “Are you trying to rock the boat on purpose?”

  “There are all those reports in your own files, on Google.” Oh yes, she’d googled him last night and was shocked that she hadn’t known who he was when they’d met in the bar. And she called herself a journalist. Except there weren’t many photographs. Anywhere. He valued his privacy. And there were no actual photographs of him with women.

  “I’ve been seen accompanying women out. Not girlfriends. I don’t do women.”

  “What? But...” Why did he keep stunting her ability to speak? That kiss. The way he’d looked her over, that had been ‘women’, he couldn’t be gay, no, he just couldn’t.

  “You’re not gay.” She hadn’t meant to shout. It was a mixture of question, astonishment, denial. Panic. “I mean there’s nothing wrong with gay. I know lots of gay men.” The words were tumbling out okay now, and she couldn’t stop them. But she’d have known, surely she’d have known? She liked gay men. But he couldn’t be? Every time he touched her he set her off in a way she couldn’t ignore. She was crap at picking men, but not that crap.

  Was she?

  She glanced up, her face red hot as he smiled slowly.

  “Maybe I swing both ways?”

  She spluttered.

  “No, sorry I’m just winding you up. I just meant I don’t have the time or inclination for relationships. I do sex, not love. Is that a problem?”

  Was that a problem?

  “No.”

  Yes.

  “You just do sex?” She was squeaking again.

  “If you put that in your notes you’re in trouble, woman. I don’t just do sex, that’s a bit of an oversimplification. Let’s just say if you see me with a woman it means I enjoy her company, it doesn’t mean I want church bells and babies.”

  “Oh, so it is just sex.” Her voice was flat. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t even had sex with him and it bothered her, which was just ridiculous.

  “No, that’s not how I’d put it. They enjoy my company and I enjoy theirs. It’s fun until it gets boring and predictable and then it ends. But relationships are a bad investment.” He paused, studying his hands. “Greed has driven every woman I’ve ever know. Everything comes down to money at the end of the day.”

  “Well you must have known some weird women.”

  “You show me a woman and I’ll show you what she really wants. She wants marriage just for two things.” He ticked off on his finger. “Sex. Security.” His cell suddenly jerked into life, buzzing like an angry hornet and he paused for a moment to silence it. “The sex gets boring so that just leaves the security, cash. You get the same old thing day in, day out. Permanence, a bloody institution and who wants to be part of an institution eh? My passion is my business and it changes every single day. Permanence means fixed, stale.” He was on his feet. “Right, that alarm signaled the end of your slot. If you’ve got anything useful and printable I’d be fascinated to read it, but I think you need to forget the amateur psychology and concentrate on the business.”

  She suddenly realized she was staring at him. Whoever had rattled his cage had done a good job. No sign of the man she’d met online, the man who had kissed her and woken up every nerve ending in her body.

  Then he smiled, turned on the sex god. “I’m having a shower now. Want to join me, and then you can find out for yourself if I’m gay?”

  Chapter 4

  “Fine.” She squeaked, yes, it was definitely a squeak and tried to twiddle her pen casually. “Fine, I mean you have a shower, not the gay bit.”

  “Sure you won’t join me? Wasn’t a shower one of the things on your fantasy list?”

  “You remember my fantasy list?” Oh God, yes, that list of her top five fantasies she’d text him about. ‘You pin my wrists above my head, water runs over my breasts, your tongue following it…’ Shit, did she feel shivery cold or red hot now?

  “How could I forget something like that?” He’d covered the ground from his chair to her desk, was close enough to touch. “It’s been driving me mad.” His voice was soft, seductive.

  The pen spun from her fingers. Images of rivulets of water running down his toned body filled her mind. She saw him so clearly, tasted the salt as her tongue coursed a trail, as the water ran over both of them.

  “That wouldn’t be very professional.” Her voice came out stilted, and she couldn’t help it as her tongue traced nervously over her lips.

  “Call it fact finding, on a personal level. Isn’t that what you’re good at?” His gaze locked with hers, and then strayed down, the heat scorching a path down the V of her jacket. Her nipples hardened, taut against the fabric, against the scrap of lace that was her excuse for a bra.

  “Don’t you think it would be better if we got this thing between us out of the way then we can get down to the work stuff properly?” The rough edge to his voice was doing things to her that it really shouldn’t.

  “Okay, you’re hot. I admit it.” She swallowed. “We both know it.” She edged back on her chair. “But we can’t.”

  “Can’t? Won’t? Still running, Sam?” He leaned forward and traced a finger down the side of her face. “You want me and I want you. What do you suggest we do about it?”

  His fragrance wrapped round her senses, mingled freshness and the musk of man, real man. A smell that was clearing her head of rational thought.

  “I think I need caffeine.”

  He laughed, a throaty sound. “You need more than that. Caffeine is a poor substitute for the buzz I can give you.”

  “Modesty just doesn’t suit you.”

  His eyebrow lifted, part challenge part amusement, his gaze never leaving hers. Smoldering was probably the word most people would have used, but it was more than that. It was animal instinct teetering on the edge, threatening to burst out and engulf them both.

  Resist Sam, men just aren’t good for you. “Oh, shelve that Mr. Big I Am look. You might be used to gi
rls falling at your feet but I’m not the swooning type.” She wished she had specs on, so she could peer over them and look distant.

  Oh Christ, if only he’d move away.

  “Oh, I think that’s where you’re wrong.” Firm warm hands were on her arms, effortlessly lifting her to her feet. She could kick and scream. Have an infantile fit, make him let go. But she didn’t want to. “You wanted me the other night and you still want me now. Admit it. We wanted each other before we’d even met.”

  “That was the wine speaking, I don’t–”

  His lips were on her neck, his mouth burning a warm, wet trail. She felt rather than heard her small moan as he pulled her closer against him so that his erection pressed hard against her thigh. She fought the urge to wriggle, to press herself even tighter against him.

  His mouth reached her throat, sending a shiver through her as it drifted down.

  “I don’t mix business and pleasure. It’s got a habit of turning shitty.” She could barely force the words out, but she needed to.

  “We’re not mixing business and pleasure. We’ve not started the business yet, so why don’t we sort the pleasure bit out while we can? I think we need to solve this problem, get it out of our systems.” His voice caught in his throat and it was that sound, that tremor that decided her. He drew slightly away, dark intense gaze locked with hers, sending a wave of anticipation though her body. It was up to her. He’d turned her on, teased and tempted, shown how he needed her, how he wanted her. But she had control.

  She paused for barely a second, not wanting to give herself time to change her mind, to question herself. Then she reached up, tangled her fingers in the thick dark hair, pulled his head back down to hers. It was madness, it was stupidity. But he’d told her he didn’t do relationships. This wasn’t the same as Andy, a boss who wanted control. This was just lust. This was offering her something she wanted with no pressure. She was a grown woman, she didn’t need dating games.