by Vivian Lux
But when I opened the back door, I walked in to a shouting match.
I edged along the wall, trying to figure out what everyone was yelling about. I saw tear-streaked faces and some red-faced, bellowing executives.
When I reached my desk, Zoe and Jason were already across the aisle at her desk, huddled and anxious looking. "What did I miss?" I asked, staring at the mayhem.
Zoe sniffled into a Kleenex. "We just got bought," Jason explained grimly. "We're all going to lose our jobs."
Chapter 1
Keir
Her hair was not the correct shade of blonde. It was closer to platinum than honey, but she had the same sardonic smile.
That's the only reason I went over.
"Can I ask you something?" she whisper-screamed over the din of voices around us. This place was far too packed for eleven in the morning.
"Anything you want." I smiled at her. Not that I would answer.
"You're Keir Wilder, right?"
I leaned back against the bar and slung my arm out. "Do I look like him?" I asked, feeling the wariness that always took over when I was recognized out in public.
"Absolutely," she slurred, leaning over and planting her hands on my thighs.
I glanced over to the booth and saw my brother laughing with the rest of the band. He raised his glass in my direction. I rolled my eyes.
"Sorry, honey," I told her. "You've got the wrong guy."
"Are you sure? Come on, sing for me. Sing Basic Desires."
A deep album cut. This chick wasn't fooling around; she really was a fan. "Don't know it," I lied.
"You're such a liar." She smacked my shoulder. I looked over to where her hand had landed. "What if I just prove to you I know you're Keir? I know everything about you. I'm your biggest fan."
I could hear Rane's dorky laughter echoing across the bar. My brother was enjoying this immensely. I wondered if he'd put this chick up to it. "My biggest fan, huh?" I sighed, feeling a mixture of reluctance and dull acceptance. It felt like crap. "Well,I wouldn't want to disappoint a fan."
She laughed and interlaced her fingers with mine. As I allowed her to lead me towards the back room, I tried to just let go and think with my dick. For the first time in my life, maybe I could try just having a good time. Get my dick sucked with no consequence--the way my brother did back before he met Maddie.
But my brain would not cede control.
Once she shut the door to the back room, she pounced, jamming her hands down my jeans, her eyes widening for a flattering second as she wrapped her fingers around me. "Why are you so shy?" she cooed. "You've definitely got something to brag about right here."
I grunted. She was working her fist so fast it felt like she was trying to start a fire with my cock. "I'm not shy," I clarified, squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth against the chafing.
"You let your brother do all the talking."
My dick was broken. That was the only explanation. This chick was a champ, and working diligently, but absolutely nothing was happening down there.
"Yeah, I guess I do," I gritted out, closing my eyes again and trying to picture something--anything--sexy. Make this worth both our while.
She hissed a little, and I winced as she started pumping harder. When I opened my eyes and glanced at her, she looked about as frustrated as I felt. Her tongue poked a little out of the corner of her mouth, like my limp cock was an especially frustrating math problem.
But when she dropped to her knees and started fumbling with my zipper, I gave up. I had to cut this charade short. "Sweetheart, thanks. But it's not happening."
She looked wounded. "Was it me?"
Yes? But that's not your fault? "No, babe. I'm just...too drunk." I'm as sober as a priest, doll. You're just...not my type.
My type consists of exactly one person in the world.
She glared at my crotch like it offended her, then suddenly darted forward, mouth open. I fended off her attempts to devour my cock whole and swiftly stepped to the side. "You can tell people whatever you want about being in a back room with Keir Wilder," I told her. "But I'm gonna go now."
She grinned triumphantly. "Thanks for the great time, then," she cooed.
I clenched my fists and exhaled, barely looking up as she slid out the door again, blowing me a kiss as she went. So that's all this was. Just a notch in her groupie belt. First time in my life I'm grateful I couldn't get it up.
I knew how this would go. She'd make up something about us fucking, how good I was, how hard she came, and for the rest of her life, that'd be her claim to fame--the girl who fucked Keir Wilder in the back room of a bar the month before he left on tour.
People told their stories and you couldn't stop them. That was the part of this rock 'n' roll gig I never got used to. How I didn't count as a real person anymore. I was an image now, an icon, something outside of reality.
Except, I was still me. With all my memories and regrets and limp-dicked hang-ups about the past. Nothing had changed except the fatness of my wallet.
Fuck.
I shut the back room door behind me and sighed when I saw Rane and the rest of the band watching my shuffling exit. The nameless chick had already disappeared into the crowd.
Rane lifted an eyebrow.
I lifted my middle finger in return.
I needed another drink. Signaling the bartender, I leaned back and waited for Rane.
Sure enough, my brother immediately unrolled his lazy ass from the booth he had commandeered the second we walked into this place. Maddie, his girl, gave him a warning eyebrow, but he was in "give Keir shit" mode and nothing could dissuade him from his self-appointed task.
"That was quick," he said, coming over and leaning against the bar with his stupid smirk pasted across his face.
I grabbed the round of shots I intended to hog all for myself. "Lasted longer than you would," I growled.
Rane laughed out loud and slammed his card down on the bar. "This round's on me," he crowed. "My little brother finally broke his dry spell."
Several heads whipped around and a few people cheered. "You absolute asshole," I muttered.
"How was she?"
"Rane..." I sighed. "Shut the fuck up. Please?"
"You always had a thing for blondes." He slung his arm over my shoulder and half dragged me back to the booth with the rest of the band.
"You okay, Keir?" Maddie looked concerned.
"I'm fine," I blustered.
"You know she's selling that story to the tabloids," Balzac pointed out. Our big, bad-ass bassist was the most level-headed guy I knew.
Maddie grimaced at the mention of tabloids. Her own battles with those vultures had only escalated since she and my brother started dating. It didn't help anything that her mom had married our dad. It was still something I was trying to get used to.
"Yeah, well..." I hedged. The less I said, the less chance I could be caught up in my own lie.
Twitch, our spastic drummer, bounced in his seat like a kid eager to join the adults in conversation. "As long as she doesn't sell it to Grip, he doesn't care!" he blurted.
Everyone stared.
I tried my fucking best not to wince. But I winced anyway.
"Low fucking blow, dude," Rane snarled.
Twitch looked like a puppy smacked on the nose with a newspaper. "Shit. Goddammit. Fuck, I'm sorry, Keir. That was fucking stupid. I didn't mean it," he babbled. "I'm drunk as fuck. Don't listen to me."
"Never do," I told him. I meant it to sound light and joking, but it came out angry.
Grip, the music magazine. Where Scarlett worked. I found out she was there by complete accident. She hadn't even bothered to tell me she was in the same business. Or in the same town, even. She clearly didn't think of me at all.
So, I shouldn't care if she thought I was some kind of dirtbag manwhore. I owed her nothing. And after five years, it seemed pretty clear she didn't give a rat's ass about me either way.
"You're buying the next round
," I informed Twitch, grinning until I had him convinced I was okay. He sprang to his feet, eager to make amends, and I kept grinning, hoping I could convince myself as well.
Rane leaned back in the booth, his arm settling around Maddie's shoulders. His eyes narrowed once, and that was it, but that's all that needed to be said. Maddie settled her head into the crook of his arm and eyed me sympathetically. I grabbed my shot and turned away from both of them.
There was a reason I didn't talk to the press. A reason I don't talk to anyone. I didn't like it when my shit was spread out for the whole world to see. But the shit with Scarlett? That, I couldn't hide. I never could in the past, and maybe I never would be able to in the future.
"You gotta let it go," Rane said softly.
He had said those five words to me so many times that they lost all meaning. "I know," I replied, equally meaninglessly. It wasn't me that was holding on.
It was the memory of her that was holding on to me.
Chapter 2
Scarlett
For once in her life, Zoe Chandler was on time. That's how I knew things were bad.
I stood in the doorway that led into the former offices of Grip, watching her stride through the parking lot like it was her personal runway. She always looked fierce, even when she was moving my boxes, but today she was approaching bombshell levels of gorgeousness with her cream pencil skirt, matching stilettos and the fall of caramel-colored hair flowing over her shoulders like a silken ribbon.
"You look cute," I muttered over the coffee mug I clutched for dear life.
She took off her oversized shades and stuffed them into the Coach bag she only brought out for special occasions. "What's the expression? The worse you feel, the better you should dress?" she said.
I looked down at my standard black-slacks-and-blouse work wardrobe. "Then I should be wearing a freaking ball gown."
"Save it for after the assembly," Zoe sighed. "Shall we get this over with?"
The main conference room was already packed to standing room only. A few executive types milled in the front, chatting and checking the AV equipment, seemingly oblivious to the wall of terrified humanity staring them down. When the clock over the doorway ticked over to nine a.m.--and not a second before--the smooth, smiley-faced embodiment of evil known as Thaddeus 'Just call me Thad' Finch looked up from the podium, and the entire place abruptly went silent.
"Thank you all for coming!" he oiled.
"Like we had a choice," Zoe muttered. I shushed her with an elbow to the ribs.
"As you know, Grip has been acquired by Auteur Magazine, one of the print industry's shining stars."
The PowerPoint clicked forward to display the slick logo of the music and lifestyle magazine that was about to end my career before it had even started.
"For nearly forty years, Auteur has been the premier source of stories that matter, whether music," the slide clicked over to show Mick Jagger's craggy face on the cover, "to lifestyle," Martha Stewart, "to movies," Angelina Jolie. "We pride ourselves on having a true connection with our readership..."
"Because you buy out anyone who you think gets in your way," Zoe hissed.
"Save it," I hissed back.
"This is just propaganda. Like he's trying to get us on board with the idea that losing our jobs is somehow 'noble.'" Zoe's voice was rising, and several of our co-workers turned to stare at the wayward junior reporters in the doorway.
"Wrong time and place, Norma Rae," I whispered, and strained to catch up with what 'Thad' was droning on about.
"...this is a period of transition."
"No shit."
"Zoe...sssh."
"...areas of efficiency."
"What'd he say?"
"I don't know since you won't shut up."
"...Kelly here has more on that." Thad gestured for us to applaud, and the weak smattering of claps died out before the icy blonde VP of Operations even reached the podium.
But she beamed out at us like we had greeted her with a standing ovation. "Thank you so much,everyone. I'm so excited to bring these storied halls into the digital age."
"Oh, fuck you," Zoe huffed, and then went mercifully silent.
"Obviously, this is a period of transition for both workforces as we work to identify areas of redundancy in the departments," Kelly went on. I found myself staring at her hair, wondering how she got it to lie like that. No matter how closely I tried to pay attention, my brain simply refused to hear what she was saying. The loss of Grip, my title, my job, my fledgling identity...and more. My apartment, my independence... I'll have to go home. I'll have to admit I couldn't do it. I'll have to... No. I can't. I refuse.
"...executive team understands this is a time of stress for the entire workforce, and we feel like we have hit upon a fair and equitable way of determining what positions will be redundant."
"Will you bloody get to the point already?" I snapped out of my downward spiral of anxiety when I recognized the aggrieved voice of Grip's lone Brit, Niall Lofton, hectoring from the back. Luckily, he was so short that no one in the front could see him.
Kelly's bland smile slid off her face,and for a minute, the true evil that lay beneath her mask was revealed. "She's gonna have Niall whacked behind the dumpsters," Zoe murmured.
"Fitting, since she's killing all of our careers anyway." I gave up on trying to hear the rest of the speech. I'd get the gist of it from the gossip that would be swirling around the office in about six minutes.
"What's your plan?" Zoe whispered.
I spread my hands. "No fucking clue."
"You could come live with me, you know." Zoe still lived with her parents and was extremely close to them. I had met them a couple times, and they were unfailingly kind and supportive.
It made me uncomfortable.
"Thanks, babe, but I literally just signed that lease." I wasn't going to lose my hard-won independence. Not now. Not even Kelly Johnston or Thad Finch could take that from me. I'll just have to think of something.
I closed my eyes and composed the article in my head. Twenty-three-year-old Scarlett Sawyer is a woman on a mission. Not willing to take a lay-off lying down, the genius reporter hatched a genius plan to...to...
Fuck. I have no plan.
I pressed my trembling hands against my sides and exhaled sharply, willing the panic to subside.
A whispered rumble of discontent flowed through the crowd,and all of a sudden, people were rising to their feet, stomping and muttering. The meeting was over. I had missed the takeaway.
So had Zoe. Jason shuffled towards us. He was the type of employee who always took notes at these things.
Zoe leaped at him. "What did they say?" she hissed.
Jason nervously fingered the bow tie he no doubt had called Zoe about last night. The two of them were far too stylish for the likes of me. "Honey, what did I tell you about paying attention?"
"Why, when I have you?"
"You know, someday I'm not going to be able to bail you out."
"Fuck that noise," Zoe scoffed, sliding her arm into his. "You're never getting rid of me."
"See, it's shit like this." Jason rolled his eyes. "When I tell you people think we're a couple, it's because you do things like this. You're dooming us both to perpetual singledom." But he didn't pull his arm away.
Zoe bopped him on the nose. "Notes, Jase. Tell us what you wrote down."
Jason huffed and raised one precisely plucked eyebrow. "We have to pitch to them." He rolled his eyes before slumping against the wall. "Can you believe that shit?"
I imagined a single black rain cloud hovering directly above his head.
"Pitch what?" Zoe's equally manicured eyebrows nearly zoomed off her forehead.
Jason stared at his feet. He was a shy guy, terrible at social interaction with everyone except us, but brilliant and encyclopedic in his knowledge of music history. "Ourselves," he sighed.
"Fuck," Zoe exhaled. "No wonder you look like death, Jase."
"I'm fuck
ed," he agreed. "Only reason I got this job was I sent in a writing sample. I don't really do face-to-face." He said all this while staring a hole in the carpet.
"Well..." Zoe was frantically searching for an upside. It's what she did. It was her role in our little trifecta of weirdness. Jason was the detail guy, Zoe was the sunny, positive cheerleader.
And me?
I wasn't really sure what I was. The awkward girl they took under their wing? The dreamer? The goody-two-shoes who made for inadvertent comic relief? The East Coast small town girl to play fish out of water to their California cool?
"Well, shit," Zoe finished, unable to find a single positive thing to say about this bullshit. She turned to me with a wan smile. "Hey, maybe Prince Cuntingham will get canned and you won't have to be worried about it anymore?" I winced at her crude nickname for Kevin. Zoe craned her neck and looked around at the rest of the exiting crowd. "Hey, I don't think he even came in today, so he won't even know!"
Zoe and Jason both looked at me so supportively that I had to look away. "He had to have come in," I said, shaking my head and scanning the crowd. "Attendance was mandatory."
"Prince Cuntingham isn't known for his stellar life decisions," Jason pointed out.
I shook my head again. Kevin was too smart for that. He worked in the art department, and his job was on the line just as much as mine was.
But then again, it would be just like him to think the rules didn't apply to him.
Once we were certain not to run into Kevin, Zoe and I made our way back to our desks. "So we essentially have to interview for our jobs all over again," Zoe rehashed. She needed to repeat things to herself several times before she was able to absorb them and plot her next step. "That's brutal. Good thing I've got an up-to-date resume on my computer. I can send it out while I wait for my turn on the chopping block." She turned to me. "But at least your job is safe."
"Um, how do your figure?" I asked, plopping into my rolling desk chair. My desk was pristine. It wouldn't be too much work to pack it all up. Just needed to find a box before the rest of the company scrounged them all.