by Shelly Ellis
Despite himself, he released a rumbling chuckle.
“You’re relaxing with your feet up on your desk,” C. J. continued. “You’ve just finished having lunch. You’re scanning through your email, and your assistant suddenly calls you to tell you that a group of reporters is waiting for you . . . one from the New York Times, another from Forbes magazine, and one from Fast Company. They want to talk about Murdoch Conglomerated and the problems the company is having.”
Terrence’s eyes stayed closed, but he tensed ever so slightly, and she squeezed his hand to soothe him.
“You weren’t expecting them to come today, but you’re prepared anyway. This is what you’ve trained for. You tell your assistant to let them in. They’re pushing and shoving their way through your office door,” she said as she released his hand and began to undo the top buttons of his shirt. “They’re firing questions at you—asking about how some board members are calling for Evan to be let go as CEO.” She lightly placed a kiss on his cheek, then his neck. “Others ask for the company’s response to stock prices dropping by as much as forty percent. They want to know if the company will survive.”
She rose from the bed, stood in front of him, and slowly dropped to her knees at his bare feet, making him frown. She eased his legs open and knelt between them, gazing up at him. She ran her hands up and down his chest. She kissed him and tugged his bottom lip between her teeth. He reached out for her—wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and started to kiss her back, but she made a tsk, tsk and pulled his hands from around her and lowered them back to his sides.
“Focus, Terry.”
She could tell from his facial expression that he was becoming more confused.
“They’re firing questions at you one after another,” she continued as she reached for his belt and undid the buckle. “You’re trying to answer all of them the best you can, but you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.”
“Babe,” he said, cocking an eyebrow as she lowered his pants zipper, “what are you—”
“Stop asking questions and focus.”
“Okay,” he said, holding up his hands and fighting back a smile. “I’m focusing.”
“You’re wondering if you can do it. If you can pull this off without saying the wrong thing,” she whispered before pulling back the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. “But then you think back to this moment. You think about us alone in our bedroom.”
She reached inside, wrapped her hand around his manhood, and began to stroke him. Terrence’s facial expression instantly changed. The arched eyebrow fell. His mouth went slack, and his breathing deepened even more.
“You’ll remember how good this felt—and you won’t care what questions they ask or what quotes they use. You’ll be impenetrable, baby,” she whispered, “because you won’t be there . . . you’ll be here. And you’ll . . . be feeling . . . this.”
She then lowered her head and took him into her mouth as he groaned.
* * *
A little more than an hour later, C. J. arrived in the Washington Daily’s chaotic newsroom late but feeling triumphant.
“Hey!” she called to one of the other reporters over the sound of voices and clicking computer keys. She sipped espresso from her insulated coffee mug. “Morning!” she said with a wave as she passed another cubicle.
It may have been a bit manipulative to use sex to get Terrence to finally pull himself together so he could start his first day as director of public affairs at Murdoch Conglomerated, but she didn’t regret it. It had worked, hadn’t it?
She hoped that he made it through the day with no more crises of confidence. She planned to text him later just to do a friendly check-in with him, though she was wary to come off as a brooding mother hen.
He’s a big boy, she reminded herself as she walked through the maze of cubicles toward her desk. He just flipped out a little this morning, but he can handle it.
“Morning, Ally!” she said before setting her mug on her desk and removing her satchel from her shoulder. She tossed it into her chair, still grinning. “How are you today?”
“Ralph is looking for you,” Allison said grimly, blowing her blond bangs out of her eyes.
C. J.’s smile disappeared. “Looking for me? Why? Did he say what it was about?”
Allison shook her head. “No, but he looked pissed. I told him you were running a little late. I told him he could just text you if he had a question on a story. He said he had to talk to you in person.”
And just like that, C. J.’s good mood soured. Her stomach twisted into knots. Her editor was pissed and had to speak to her “in person.”
Good Lord, what did I do?
Her mind flipped to the stories she had filed yesterday and the day before that. Had she made some grave mistake on one of them? Did she misquote one of the council members? Maybe she had misspelled a source’s name entirely.
“Shit,” she whispered with a sigh before turning away from her desk.
“Good luck!” Allison called after her as C. J. continued across the newsroom to Ralph Haynes’s office, all the while feeling like weights were strapped around her ankles. Maybe she should have done her own “visualization exercise” this morning with Terrence before heading to work.
When she reached the entrance to Ralph’s office, she took a deep breath, pushed back her shoulders, and knocked on the metal doorframe.
“Ralph? Hey, I . . . I heard you were looking for me.”
He glanced from his laptop and wordlessly waved her inside his office before returning his attention to his screen. She stepped inside, not knowing whether to remain standing or to take a seat—since he hadn’t offered her one of the leather chairs facing his desk. She chose to stand. C. J. watched as he typed for another minute or so, then suddenly whipped around from his laptop and faced her. He looked as pissed as Allison had described.
“Did you see the Washington Post this morning?” he asked.
C. J. shook her head.
I was a little busy giving my fiancé a motivational blow job so he wouldn’t have an anxiety attack, she thought flippantly.
“No, sorry, I . . . I haven’t had the chance yet,” she said instead.
“Front page of the metro section, below the fold.” He tossed the broadsheet onto his desk, motioning for her to read it. “Late breaking version appeared on the web last night. The council voted on that controversial Whitaker bill. It barely squeaked by, but it passed. I want to know why a story about it wasn’t in our paper, considering you attended the meeting.”
C. J. picked up the newspaper and stared at the headline in disbelief. She had been following the bill for weeks, checking the hearings calendar religiously to see when the council was finally going to vote on it.
“It must have happened after I left the meeting,” C. J. murmured, disappointed and humiliated. “I’m so sorry!”
She had been eager to leave city hall soon after they finished the first half of the legislative agenda, which was all she had needed for the stories she was supposed to file that day. She had raced out of the council room, down the stone steps, and to the nearby metro station soon after, wanting to rush home to help Terrence prep for his first day at Murdoch Conglomerated.
“This was a big goddamn story—and you missed it, C. J.,” Ralph said sternly, peering at her over the rim of his glasses.
“I know but . . . but how could I have known they were going to vote on something that wasn’t even listed on the agenda? I couldn’t predict something like—”
“And this isn’t the first time they’ve beat you—beat us—on a story,” he continued. “It happened twice last week! I don’t like to get scooped, C. J. I don’t like it at all.”
“Ralph,”—she lowered the broadsheet to her side—“I just started here barely a couple of months ago. I’m still feeling out the beat and making contacts. It’s going to take some time to get . . . to get familiar with everything. Give me a chance! I swear to you. It’ll happen.”
She watched as Ralph grumbled, tore off his glasses, and roughly tossed them onto his desk. Removing the glasses didn’t make his face any softer or more human. His beady gray eyes grew smaller as he squinted at her, and the dark circles and wrinkles on his pale face made him look like Ebenezer Scrooge come to life.
“Look, C. J., someone who works at this paper has to be a go-getter. They have to hustle. I told you in the beginning that’s what we needed. At some point there’s a question all reporters have to ask themselves. That question is, ‘Am I really cut out for this job? Am I the right fit?’”
Her heart sank. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Was she about to get fired?
“Not everyone is cut out for the metro desk,” he continued. “Not everyone is cut out to work at a daily. Maybe it’s—”
“Ralph,”—she took a step toward him—“I am cut out for this job. Believe me! I’m a damn good reporter. I’m just going through a rough period. Today, it comes to an end, though. I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
C. J. thought frantically for a way to assure Ralph that she had just as much right to work at the Washington Daily as any of the other reporters outside his door. Even now, he was giving her that incredulous look that he gave whenever he thought a source was lying.
“I’ll . . . I’ll find a scoop. A . . . a big scoop that will put the Washington Post to shame.” She tossed the newspaper aside and held up her hands. “I promise.”
C. J. watched as Ralph slowly leaned back in the chair and interlocked his fingers over his chest. He stared at her a long time, not saying anything. He stared at her so long that when he finally opened his mouth she was prepared to head back to her desk and start packing up her things.
“All right,” he said, catching her by surprise and making her release the breath that had been on the verge of bursting from her chest. “Show me what you got.”
“I will,” she said with a firm nod. “You’ll see.”
She then scampered out of his office, relieved that she would live to see another day at the Daily, but now worried about what her big scoop would be.
Chapter 13
Evan
“Slide over here and raise your glass,” Evan ordered, smiling ear to ear, holding his glass aloft.
Terrence chuckled, loosened his silk necktie, and undid one of the buttons on his collar.
At the crowded restaurant, it was standing room only. And all the people around them were vying for the overworked bartender’s attention, holding up twenty-dollar bills and shoving for elbow room at the bar, but Evan wasn’t moving from his spot. For once he was not sitting in his office or in his study at the mansion. He was going to have celebratory drinks with his brother.
I’m gonna have fun tonight even if it kills me, he thought
“I mean it! Raise your damn glass!” Evan said again, nudging Terrence’s elbow.
Ever so slowly, Terrence picked up his glass and raised it into the air, looking amused by his older brother’s good mood.
“Terry, I want to congratulate you on doing your first full press conference and knocking that shit out of the park,” Evan said, slapping his brother on the back.
“I didn’t knock it out of the park, Ev. I did okay. Don’t exaggerate.”
“Bull! You handled it like a pro. I’d tell you I was proud of you, but I know you get tired of hearing me tell you that. So instead I’ll just say, ‘I told you so.’”
The two men then clinked their glasses together before taking a drink.
Terrence had officially been director of public affairs at Murdoch Conglomerated for almost two months now, and he was doing better than even Evan had anticipated. Joe Cannon had been right: Terrence was a natural. And with a little polish and hands-on experience, he was now putting their old director of public affairs to shame. When talking on the phone with reporters or on live television, Terrence was all smiles, charm, and confidence—showing the side of himself that used to win over the beautiful ladies he had wooed before he and C. J. started dating. Of course, it hadn’t always been flawless. Occasionally, Evan had seen his brother’s debonair mask shift midway during interviews, revealing the real Terrence underneath. Sometimes, at the end of conference calls, Terrence would seem shaken and exhausted from keeping up the façade. It had Evan worried about his little brother in the beginning. Would Terrence really be able to do this? Would the pressure get to him?
But Terrence seemed more relaxed with each interview and each briefing, and his reputation among the media as the handsome face who could provide a few good sound bites was growing. The company had already gotten requests from a few local stations, CNN, MSNBC, and Fox Business News, asking for Terrence to appear on air. Even the Murdoch Conglomerated stock prices were starting to uptick a little. Evan didn’t know if he could credit his brother with that one, but he could plainly see Terrence was hitting his stride, and it was having an impact.
Hell, Terrence even dressed differently! It had been months since Evan had seen him in a T-shirt and jeans. Evan took some humor in realizing that despite his protestations, Terrence was firmly a “suit-and-tie” guy now.
“So what do you have lined up tomorrow?” Evan asked, shouting to be heard over the clamor around them.
“Four interviews. They’re pretty straightforward. I’m going to sit in the background to monitor but let the executives do most of the talking.” Terrence took another sip from his glass, then shook it, making the ice cubes clink together. “I’ve got a meeting with Ed at one. My new assistant wants me to review a couple of press releases that—”
“Terry,” Evan said, lowering his drink to the countertop, “I told you that you don’t have to do that stuff!”
“I know I don’t have to do it, but it’s—”
“You’re the face and the voice! That’s why we brought you in. All you need to do is—”
“No, all you need to do is back off and let me do my job!”
Evan winced at his brother’s tone, making Terrence sigh, reach out, and squeeze Evan’s shoulder to soften the blow his words might have made.
“Look, I just meant . . . I’ve got it covered. That’s all. I appreciate you guiding me in the beginning. I couldn’t have done it without you . . . but I’ve got it now.”
Evan silently gazed at his brother for a long time. Gradually, he nodded and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll back off and let you do your thing. I wasn’t trying to overstep.”
“I know you weren’t, and I wasn’t trying to be an ass about it. I guess I’m just tired. I’m happy the press conference went well, but it’s been a long . . .”
Terrence paused midsentence. He frowned, reached into his suit jacket, and pulled out his buzzing cell phone. When he stared down at the screen, his frown deepened.
“Delete,” he said, pressing a few buttons on the glass screen before tucking his cell phone back in his inner pocket.
“Delete what?” Ev asked.
“Just got a text from some chick name Daphne I hooked up with in New York last year.”
Evan raised his eyebrows. “You hooked up with someone in New York? You were only up there for like . . . what? . . . a day, weren’t you? You’re telling me you slept with a total stranger while you were there?”
“Yes, Morality Police, I slept with a total stranger. I’m not proud of it! It just happened.” He shrugged. “I had just broken up with C. J. I met this chick at a hotel bar when I was feeling sorry for myself. We got drunk, we went up to her hotel room and hooked up. That’s it. We never saw each other after that—and I plan to keep it that way.” He finished the last of his drink. “I don’t even remember giving her my number, but she’s been blowing up my phone for the past week.”
“So what did she text you for?”
“She told me to give her a call. Said it was important. Blah blah blah.” Terrence shrugged again and stepped aside to open a path for a group of diners who were headed to one of the nearby tables.
“Blah blah blah? Terry, don’t be an asshole. If she said it was important, why not call her back?”
Terrence inclined his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Really, Ev?
“What? Why are you looking at me like I’m stupid? It’s a valid question!”
“Ev, these girls always say it’s important! Do you know how many times one of my exes or past one-night stands have tried to hit me up since C. J. and I got back together? Do you know how many times they told me they just ‘had to talk to me’ or ‘It’s really important! Call me back, Terry!’?” he said in a high-pitched voice, making Evan laugh. “I even relented and finally texted one of them back—this chick named Melissa—because she kept blowing up my phone. You know how she responded? She sent me a pic of herself butt-ass naked, holding a tabby with the caption ‘The pussies miss you!’”
At that, Evan almost spit out his drink and sprayed the couple sitting on the bar stools next to them. He managed to swallow his scotch only seconds before breaking down into laughter. “Oh, man! That poor cat!”
“That shit’s not funny, Ev! I was lucky C. J. didn’t see that pic. It could’ve started World War Three!” he lamented, shaking his head. “She already keeps throwing random shit out there sometimes—‘Are you sure you want to get married? Are you sure you’re really ready to do this?’—like she’s trying to give me an excuse to back out of the wedding. If she’d seen that text, it would’ve been over! C. J. could’ve broken up with me—again! So, no, thank you. I’m not falling for that shit anymore. As soon as I get a text or voice mail from one of them, I delete it. I’ve got nothing to say to any of them. I don’t want any drama!”
Evan’s laughter tapered off. “Okay, sorry I asked.”
Terrence glanced at his wristwatch. “Damn, I should probably be heading home.”
“Home?” Evan’s face fell. “What the hell do you mean you should head home? We just got here! It’s not even eight o’clock.”