Calculated Exposure

by Holley Trent

  Whoa. Did she just?

  When he didn’t respond, she asked, “You still there?”

  He cringed. “Yes, I’m still here.”

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Well, what could he say? I’m aware of my shortcomings as a man and apologize for taking advantage of you even though at the time I thought you wanted the same thing I did, which was nothing?

  No, that didn’t seem right, especially since it wasn’t true anymore. He did want something from her. He just didn’t believe it was sustainable, given who he was. He didn’t even care she’d been pretending. It was certainly the most creative way a woman had ever come on to him, and…well, she was a catch. In a lot of ways, she was the ideal woman. That’s why he didn’t deserve her.

  “No, I don’t have anything to say, Ercilia.”

  “So it’s true. You have no feelings. Hell of a way to live. Goodbye, Curt.”

  And she was gone.

  He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and swore loud and long. When he was done, he sat up, stabbed the key into the ignition, and drove to the inn to inform his mother of her lot in life: that she had no home to go to because the only one she had was being occupied by the man who’d taken away her livelihood in the first place.

  At least he wasn’t that kind of asshole.

  Chapter 17

  Erica drummed her fingertips against her thighs and chewed the skin inside her cheek. Tate, across the desk, was the recipient of what she hoped was her deadest expression.

  He didn’t seem put off by it. He rocked in his fancy desk chair and spun his pen between his fingers while giving her a solicitous grin.

  “You got something to say to me, or did you call me into your office to stare at my tits?” she asked.

  “You’re so funny. Always have been.”

  She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood. Hadn’t been since she woke up and slapped her alarm clock only to knock a pile of Curt’s paperwork onto the floor. That’d been a week ago.

  “Know what’s not funny?” He leaned his elbows onto the desktop and planted his chin atop his fists. When she didn’t respond, he grunted, “Hmm?”

  “I can think of a lot of things that aren’t funny. Narrow down the list for me. I don’t want to play guessing games with you today, culo.”

  He squinted at her. He’d look it up later and get pissed when he found out what it meant. “Check your attitude, lady. That is, unless you want me to write you up.”

  “Write me the fuck up then. Stop threatening and do it.”

  “You must think I won’t.”

  She crossed her legs and tipped her head so her neck rested on the back of the chair. “Actually, I don’t care if you do,” she said to the ceiling.

  If he heard her statement, he ignored it as he pressed on. “You think this is some kind of little bubble, Erica? This newspaper office? You think I don’t hear things?”

  She sat up. “This is getting tedious.”

  “Know what’s even more tedious? Unemployment.” He walked around to the front of the desk and leaned his butt against the edge, drumming his fingers on the sides of his arms impatiently.

  She scooted her chair back a few inches and gave him a long blink.

  “Word gets around, Erica. Heard you were looking for a new gig. Folks wanted to know why. They all know how good I am to you.”

  She scoffed. “Really? Is that what they know?”

  He sniffed and rubbed the scruff of his beard. “I’m good to all my staff. But let’s face it. Your value has always been quantity and no so much quality. We could do better.”

  “Okay then.” She stood. “Do better.”

  He skirted around her and blocked her egress, likely not caring how his position would look to the folks in the outer office. “I’m not kidding, Erica.”

  “Move. Me neither.”

  He didn’t move.

  She tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not playing. Get out of the fucking way. If you need me to be more clear on what I’m saying here, I’m saying I quit. You can’t manipulate me anymore. I don’t give a shit about this newspaper.” She started to laugh but it quickly devolved into cackling. “I don’t even care that much about photojournalism at this point, truth be told. Until recently, I didn’t realize how little I cared, so thank you very much for reminding me.” She bobbed her head to the side indicating he should move. She was done.

  “I’m not giving you a reference.”

  “Go suck your reference, Tate. Get out of the way or I’m going to yell. I don’t give a shit about my job, but I bet you care about yours a little bit, don’t you?” She tweaked his nose. “Gotta finance your extracurricular activities, right, cabron?”

  His bottom jaw grated left, then right. He knew he had nothing left to throw at her. Slowly, he eased away from the door.

  She opened it and managed to walk into the newsroom with some dignity. It was amazing: unemployed, love life in shambles, and absolutely no prospects, but she felt so free she could skip. So, she did. Just a little bit down the aisle until she reached her deserted cubicle area, where she stood on her chair and announced in a sing-song voice, “I quit! You hear that, everyone? I quit! Yay!”

  “Wish I could,” someone across the room grumbled.

  Erica hopped down, lifted her bag’s strap over her head, and turned off her computer one last time. She didn’t skip, but walked with unbridled jauntiness to human resources and gave them the skinny before Tate could. If left up to him, he’d be telling them he’d had security escort her out of the building and her final paycheck should be withheld. She gladly handed over her building badge, signed what needed signing, refused the exit interview, and thanked them all for their time.

  “Guess what?” she said into her phone as she pulled her Jeep out of the employee lot.

  “Either you or Curt has grown a pair?” Sharon quipped.

  “Funny, but no. I quit my job. I feel fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “Great! So, I guess that means you’ll be on time for that party tonight.”

  “Huh?”

  Sharon sighed. “I don’t know why I talk to you people. I’d have better luck talking to a hole in the wall. The boring party? It’s for an accounting organization. They didn’t even want me to order good booze. It’s all cabernet and Heineken.”

  “You’re not convincing me.”

  “Please? I could ask my friend Meg, but she’s too surly.”

  “Don’t you have an assistant who helps you plan these things?”

  “We’re double-booked tonight. I owed him a favor so he got the theater opening night party.”

  Erica sighed. “What do you want me to wear?”

  “I love you so much. Wear what you want. Nothing too scandalizing, though. Accountants don’t like breasts.”

  “No wonder Curt didn’t become one, then,” Erica mumbled.

  “I heard that. Just call him. Seeds, honey. Plant those seeds.”

  “Nope.”

  * * * *

  Curt didn’t see the ball coming, so when it pounded against the side of his head, he barely reacted except to put his hand up to his mud-caked hair and rub his scalp.

  Seth ran across the field and placed his hands on Curt’s shoulders, stooping down to give him a little shake. “Hello! Anyone in there? That should have been a clean catch! You were wide open.”

  Curt rubbed his bleary eyes, depositing a fresh coat of dirt to his cheeks in the process. “Sorry.” He scanned the cluster of men huddled nearby and found them all giving him death glares. “Whoops.”

  He’d taken up Seth’s suggestion to join in with the old intramural rugby team for an afternoon game, thinking he’d burn off some frustration, but instead, he mostly stood on the field with his arms crossed, grinding his teeth, and studying the wear on his cleats. “I’ll just sit the next one out.”

  “You’d better. If we lose this match, we have to cover the other side’s beer ta
b. We’ve got rent due soon, and they drink like whales.”

  “Like fish, you mean.”

  “I like my way better.” Seth ran off to rejoin the squad and Curt made his way to the sidelines, plopping onto the ground near the water cooler like a disjointed rag doll. It’d been two weeks since he’d heard a peep from Erica and it’d taken every ounce of restraint he had to not pick up his phone and call like Sharon had been needling him to do.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she kept asking.

  “Why can’t it just be casual?” he kept asking.

  “You don’t want casual,” she kept retorting.

  “That’s all I can give,” he kept explaining.

  He wanted to call. Hell, he even wanted to apologize and maybe explain why he was the way he was, but what woman in her right mind would tolerate that? For his mother, staying away from his father was a daily struggle. Jenny checked in with Curt each morning and let him know how she was faring. So far, Mum’s innkeeper friend was keeping Mum suitably occupied, and was probably saying more than her fair share of prayers about the situation.

  Curt, not a praying man by any stretch of the imagination, had said a few prayers of his own.

  Dear God. If you’re listening, please set her free. She can’t help the way she is, and neither can he, I guess, and that’s why they shouldn’t be together.

  He struggled to his feet and walked toward his car at the edge of the field.

  “Where are you going?” Seth called out from the formation their side was making. “You can’t quit now. That’s like automatic default. They’ll make you buy them booze for being a welcher.”

  “I have to make a phone call.”

  “It’d better be for work.”

  “Yep. Work.” Curt kicked off his muddy cleats beside the car door and slipped behind the steering wheel. He found his phone in the center console and checked the time on the display. Four. Not naptime. He dialed Sharon’s number.

  “Yes, dear?” she answered on the third ring.

  “Tell me how to fix this.”

  “Call her.”

  “You keep saying that, but it can’t be that simple.”

  “I know you’re a geek, but quit overanalyzing. By the way, she’ll be here in about five minutes, so unless you want me to hand the phone to her, spit it out.”

  “What’s she going to be there for?”

  “She’s moving in for a little while. Yay.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Yep, that’s something you’d know if you called her.”

  He groaned and closed his eyes. “Explain, please. No riddles.”

  “Okay. It’s just until she finds her own place. She picked up a part-time gig in Carrboro and is doing some party stuff for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ask her.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “That a threat or a promise? Can’t tell from your tone. Either way, please deal with this. The two of you are causing me skin issues. Zits and wrinkles are not so becoming on a twenty-eight-year-old.”

  Curt looked through the windshield to find Seth walking toward him wearing a scowl and holding up his arms in a What the fuck, man? gesture. Curt rubbed his eyes and blinked hard to re-seat his contact lenses.

  “Erica’s here and you’re a coward, so goodbye.” She hung up.

  “I need better friends,” he mumbled to himself.

  Seth smacked his fist against the roof of the car and bent down into the open window. “Yes, me, too, coward!”

  Chapter 18

  “What’s gotten into you, Erica? When’d you learn to take pictures?” Jean asked.

  The two women stood back from the monitor and assessed the photograph of the steaming hot burger dressed with everything queued up on the editor’s computer. They were setting the hamburger issue, and Erica’s shot of a local diner’s college special was the kind of photography that made people want to reach through their computer screens.

  “I dunno. Something just clicked. It’s gotta be something I want to take a picture of, though, so having creative freedom helps a little.”

  “Well, praise the lord. I’m proud to witness your renaissance.”

  “Thanks, I think. You need anything else from me today?”

  Jean shook her head. “Nah. You can head out. We need to start compiling images for next week, though. How’s that going?”

  Erica shifted her weight. “Slow.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. See you later, huh?”

  Erica forced a smile onto her lips and nodded. When Jean was out of earshot, she mumbled, “Fuck,” and retreated to her desk to gather her things.

  She drove around for a while, ruminating on her next assignment and trying to figure out where to source images beyond the obvious person that came to mind. The issue was about white-collar crime.

  Jean wanted to piggy-back on a recent government scandal and was doing an entire spread about get-rich-quick schemes, famous extortionists, scam avoidance, and so on. She left it up to Erica to find suitable imagery. She was running out of ideas.

  Finally, she gave in. She parked in the visitor lot at Curt’s university and walked slowly across the quad to the math department. She climbed four flights of stairs to the graduate studies office and offered the administrative assistant a smile when she looked up from her keyboard.

  “Hi, I don’t have an appointment, but I need to speak with Curt Ryan. Is he on campus today?”

  The young woman chewed her gum a few beats and resumed her typing. “You a student? I think he holds office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “This is professional, not academic.”

  The admin cut her gaze to Erica once more and popped her gum. She narrowed her eyes and Erica wondered if there was something between her and the Irish asshole. “317-B,” she finally said. “He may or may not be in there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Erica walked around the corner and down the long corridor, studying room numbers as she passed, and finally stopping in front of the closed door of 317-B. She knocked and took a step back.

  “Yeah?” came a nasally Boston twang that was most certainly not Curt’s.

  She put her hand on the knob and pushed the door in. The office was small and cramped, with the owner of the twang being just inside the door on the left-hand side.

  His eyes widened as she took a step in. “Well, hello. I hope you’re not a student.”

  That made her raise a brow. “Nope. Uh, I’m sorry. The lady in the office told me this was Curt Ryan’s office.”

  The man sighed and crooked his thumb to the space on the other side of the door. “Figures.”

  She took another step beyond the threshold and found Curt on the other side.

  He spun his rolling chair and faced her. If he was pleased to see her, it didn’t show. He raked his hair out of his face and crossed his arms over his plaid-covered chest. She knew that shirt. Had wrinkled it against a garden wall in Maynooth.

  “Hi. I should have called, I guess, but it seemed just as easy to stop in.”

  “What’s up? Don’t want to rush you, but I’ve got a class in half an hour.”

  She cringed. I see how it is. “Uh, I’m working on an assignment for the magazine. I need some financial crime content. Pictures, video.”

  He raised one thick brow. “Financial crime?”

  She nodded. “I thought perhaps you could connect me to someone at Prizm or if you have any other contacts, it wouldn’t take very long. We’re really just looking for encyclopedic information.”

  “I could give you that!” officemate said.

  Erica offered him a grin. “What do you know about white-collar crime?”

  “Not much, but I can tell you all about counting cards. How do you think I’m paying for my education?” He wriggled his brows, but somehow Erica knew he wasn’t joking.

  Curt stood, wrapped his fingers around her forearm a
nd led her toward the hallway. “We can go in the lounge. Less crowded.”

  “Should I come, too?” officemate asked, also standing.

  Erica opened her mouth to tell him to come along, but Curt intercepted with, “We’ll call you if we need you, Bobby.”

  Bobby shrugged.

  They didn’t say anything until they were in the deserted graduate lounge. He tapped on the light switch and waited for the door to swing shut before looking at her.

  “I’m sorry to drop in out of the blue like this, but I figured you would know who to refer me to and–”

  Before she could eke out another word, he had her back pressed against the door and his lips locked on hers.

  She was nearly paralyzed as he nipped at her mouth and teased the seam between her lips with the tip of his tongue. What the hell?

  And then hands–those hands that knew every part of her and had so skillfully brought her pleasure in the past–were under her shirt, grazing up the sides of her waist toward her ribs and higher. She gasped as the pads of his thumbs skimmed over the lacy peaks of her bra.

  Whoa whoa whoa. She nudged him away and fought to catch her breath. “Stop it. You stop it.”

  He pressed his body against hers, erection probing her belly, and nudged the cups of her bra down. “Hmm.” His gaze met hers, and where it had been cold before, now it was obvious that iciness had been only a mask. “You don’t want me to stop.”

  “I thought what I wanted didn’t matter.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She scoffed. “You pretty much said so.” She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate amidst the press of his body against hers. Wasn’t working, so she opened her eyes and said to his chest, “I believe your exact words were that you didn’t have to check in with me.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like something I’d say.” He gave her nipples a squeeze between his thumbs and forefingers and a noise escaped her throat that sounded a lot like a dolphin’s keen.

  She batted his hands away.

  He relocated them to her waist.

  “And I’m pretty sure I said I was through being fucked,” she said.