by Monroe, Lila
“Me either!” I promise eagerly. Then, hearing myself, I feel my face fall. “Well, not normally, at least. I don’t think even Pearl can live the seafaring life forever. She should be back from her cruise soon. If you don’t want to take her back, you can hire somebody with real qualifications—whatever that means.” I take a breath. “The point is, Mr. Vanderfleet, you shouldn’t hold my harebrained plan against the paper—or against Justin.”
He raises one bushy white eyebrow. “I shouldn’t?”
“No!” I exclaim. “Justin was a great CEO, and the financials he showed you were solid. He’s smart and creative and a quick thinker, and I’ve never seen anyone work so hard. He was the first one in and the last one to leave every single day.” I swallow hard. “I know that he has what it takes to turn the paper into something truly spectacular—to honor its history while still moving it forward.”
“Mr. Vanderfleet,” the secretary calls impatiently, looking at me with open annoyance. “Your car is waiting outside. I’m afraid you’re going to be late for your next appointment.”
“I’m seventy-eight years old,” Walter reminds him cheerfully. “They can wait.” Then he looks back at me. “I suppose I’ve got to be going,” he says, “but you’ve given me a lot to think about.”
I open my mouth to beg some more, but figure I should quit while I’m ahead. “Thank you for making time to talk,” I say instead. “Whatever you choose, just know, I’m sorry for all the mess I’ve made.”
And now, there’s nothing left for me to do but hope.
Well, almost nothing . . .
I head into work the next day like a condemned man facing the executioner. I check the job listings on my commute, figuring I may as well get a head start on my unemployed future. I could make a thousand bucks by letting some businessmen eat a cheese plate off my naked body at a party in midtown, I note with some queasiness. I could sit in one of those glass booths at the subway station, maybe, or sell essential oils as part of a multilevel marketing scheme. Worst case scenario, I could move back home to Queens and work for my dad. God knows I can snake a toilet with the best of them.
“How do you think the guy dressed as Elmo in Times Square got his job?” I ask Lori when I finally get into the office. “More importantly, do you think he needs an assistant?”
She’s opening her mouth to answer when the elevator door opens and Justin steps off, looking—if this is even possible—more handsome than ever in a pair of cords and a deep blue sweater that brings out his eyes.
Damn. My insides twist at the sight of him: he was all mine, for a moment there. And somehow I managed to mess it all up.
But he messed up too, thinks a tiny, stubborn part of me. He could have listened when I tried to explain what I was doing with Lucinda. He could have trusted me; he could have tried to understand instead of jumping straight to the worst conclusion. I deserved that much, after all the time we spent together.
Didn’t I?
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Justin asks now, standing at the far end of the newsroom. “I know you’ve probably all heard some pretty crazy rumors about the future of the paper. I’ve tried my hardest to be transparent with you in my time as your CEO—but unfortunately, that time is up.”
Wait, what?
A nervous hum goes up in the bullpen, and we all exchange panicked looks. Are we shutting down after all?
“Effective immediately, the Gazette is no longer a Rockford property,” Justin continues, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve assembled a private investment team and organized a buyout. This means my father won’t be shutting the place down, but also, I will no longer be here as CEO. They’ve assured me your jobs—everyone’s jobs—are safe. I’ll pass more information along to you as I get it, but in the meantime, I wanted to set all your minds at ease. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I owe you all my gratitude for how flexible and hardworking you’ve been during all this upheaval. I like to think we’re all parting ways as friends.”
The newsroom erupts in celebration, and relief floods through me at the knowledge that the paper—that my home—is safe, once and for all. But Justin is leaving?
He gave up the newspaper to save us all.
Crap. As if he wasn’t heart-meltingly amazing enough.
I take a deep breath, wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, and go knock on his office door.
“Hey,” I say quietly, easing it open. “So, all’s well that ends well, huh?”
Justin barely looks up from his computer. “Something like that.”
“I didn’t mean—” I shake my head, cringing. “I’m just really glad everybody’s jobs are safe, that’s all. That I didn’t completely ruin the newspaper with one bad decision.”
Justin doesn’t answer. “The buyout will work the same for you as it does for everyone else,” he says instead, shuffling through the papers on his desk without making eye contact. “There should be a staff position available for you again, unless you want to leave, in which case I can offer you excellent references.” He looks up at me then, his face like a mask. “Was there anything else?”
His coldness strikes me to the core. “Justin,” I breathe. “Come on.”
Justin’s expression doesn’t change. “What?”
“Can we talk about this? Please?”
He shakes his head like he has no idea what I’m talking about—like he hasn’t held my hand and kissed my thighs and told me all the things he’s afraid of, the two of us whispering under the covers all night long. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says icily. “We had a good time, Natalie. But it’s over now. And I think it’s best that we both get back to our lives and careers without any . . . distractions.”
“This wasn’t a distraction to me,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “This meant something to me, Justin, and now you’re just going to turn around and act like it wasn’t—like you didn’t—” I stop short, my voice cracking dangerously. I really, really don’t want to cry right now, but I’m coming apart at the seams here.
I should be happy—the newspaper is safe, I still have a job—but somehow, losing Justin hurts more than any of it.
I could find another job, but there’s no one else like him.
“Was any of it real?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Because you don’t just turn away from someone if you really cared about them. I’m nothing like your father,” I add, “and I know things are fucked up between you two, but it’s not fair to blame me for whatever’s wrong in your relationship—”
“Enough.” Justin cuts me off. For a second something in his face changes. Ever so briefly I catch a flash of the person I think of as my Justin—the same guy who stopped a cab driver in the middle of 8th Avenue to get me a dozen doughnuts and told me dumb knock-knock jokes while I brushed my teeth in the morning. Talk to me, I think urgently. You know me, come back. Then he blinks and it’s gone.
“I think we’re done here,” he says, his tone blandly pleasant as a vanilla wafer. “Would you mind shutting the door on your way out?”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste copper, aching. But part of being a journalist is knowing when there’s no more story left to tell. “OK,” I say finally, shoulders sagging inside my button-down. “Goodbye, Justin.”
“Goodbye,” he says, turning back to his computer. He doesn’t look up as I leave.
23
Justin
For someone who just pulled off a major coup and stuck my middle finger to my father, too, I should feel better. Hell, I should be downright giddy with victory, but somehow, it all tastes hollow without her.
Natalie.
Seeing her at the office was salt in the wound. I nearly broke and accepted her apology, but I just couldn’t do it in the end. She used me as a pawn in some harebrained scheme, and I fell for it like the chump I am.
“Jesus Christ, could you at least try to look happy?” Charlie says, shoving another beer in my direction. “I’m trying to celebrate here, too.”
>
“Uh huh.”
“The test results on that new cystic fibrosis drug we’ve been testing at work came back really promising,” he continues. “So to celebrate I took all my clothes off and ran around the lab naked, singing ‘Tubthumping’ by Chumbawamba at the top of my lungs and rubbing my dick all over all the microscopes.”
“That’s great, man,” I say absently, staring into space. Seeing Natalie and me together, laughing in bed. “I’m happy for you.”
“Dude!” Charlie hits my shoulder. “I knew you weren’t listening to a single word I said.”
“What? No, no, I was,” I say, coming back to myself with a start. “Uh, ‘Tubthumping,’ right? Celebratory workplace nudity?”
“Uh huh.” Charlie rolls his eyes at me over his pint glass. “You’ve got to pull it together, cuz. I left that dick-and-microscope joke wide open for you—swinging in the breeze, if you will—and you didn’t even bite.”
“Too easy,” I defend myself. “Low-hanging fruit.”
“Sure, sure,” Charlie snorts. “Seriously, though, enough of this emo sadsackery. You should be celebrating! You made money on the sale of the paper, everybody kept their jobs, and—most importantly—you totally stuck it to your dad. All’s well that ends well, right?”
“I know,” I say, trying my hardest to sound like I mean it. In my head I know Charlie has a point. Six months ago, the chance to prove my dad wrong about a business venture—hell, about anything—would have put me on top of the world. But it doesn’t feel like I’ve won anything at all. All I can think about is the look on Natalie’s face when I kicked her out of my office this morning. All I can think about is how she betrayed me. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”
“Girl problems?” Charlie asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I feel bad for you, son.”
“Thank you, Jay-Z.”
“Why don’t you just call her?” he asks, flagging down the bartender for another round. “I mean, she seemed awesome. She was good for you. You were actually, like, fun for a change.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say, downing the rest of my own drink. “She was awesome. At least, I thought she was. But she made me look—and feel—like a total idiot with that horoscope stuff.”
I blow a breath out, feeling stupid all over again. “My dad’s been pulling that shit with me my whole life, you know better than anyone.”
“It’s the Rockford way,” Charlie agrees.
“He tries to manipulate me however he can to make sure I do his bidding,” I say, feeling tense just mentioning it. “I thought things with Natalie were real. Finding out she’s actually just like him . . . it’s not the kind of thing I can just forgive and forget.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re being hard on her?” Charlie asks. “She’s not your father, in case you haven’t noticed. She looks way better in a dress, for one thing. And for another, she didn’t do this for you, she did it to save her friends’ scruffy newspaper jobs from the axe of corporate greed.”
I snort. “You realize what our family would say if they heard you using phrases like ‘the axe of corporate greed’?”
“That’s why I try to see our family as little as possible,” Charlie retorts pleasantly. “Quit deflecting.”
“I’m not deflecting,” I counter, though I definitely am. “I hear what you’re saying, sure. But the principle of the thing is exactly the same.”
Charlie gazes at me steadily. “Is it, though?”
“Hey, gents.” Luce materializes before I can think of an answer. She leans in and kisses Charlie in greeting. “Got started without us, I see.”
“We weren’t enjoying ourselves,” Charlie promises immediately, smiling the way he does whenever she’s around.
“Sure you weren’t.” Luce grins, then motions to the tall, willowy redhead at her side. “Justin, this is my friend Georgia. Georgia, Justin.”
“Nice to meet you, Justin.” Georgia holds one delicate hand out. She’s beautiful, sure, with long hair and an elegant dress. “Luce tells me you just singlehandedly saved the New York Gazette.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’d go quite that far.”
“He’s being modest,” Charlie puts in, “but he definitely did. He’s also got great teeth, is
an excellent listener, and can trace his genealogy back to the Mayflower.”
Georgia laughs. “Good to know,” she says gamely, settling herself on the sofa beside me and ordering a glass of wine. They all get chatting, and it doesn’t take a genius to notice that Luce is talking her up to me. Georgia even rests a casual hand on my knee as we’re talking, and if this was a couple of months ago, I’d definitely be angling to take her home at the end of the night.
But it’s not a couple of months ago.
And there’s only one woman on my mind.
“Another round?” the waitress asks, and I hesitate. Truthfully, all I want to do is go home and collapse into bed . . . alone.
“No thanks,” I tell them, reaching for my jacket. “I’m done.”
* * *
Done with the bar, maybe, but not with the bottle of whiskey I found back at my place. I wake up the next morning feeling like a subway rat half-flattened by the G train. My head throbs. My mouth tastes like the inside of a gym bag. And I’m late for my meeting.
But at least I’m waking up alone.
I blast the worst of the hangover with a cold shower and a giant iced coffee, then head uptown to meet the investors I pulled together to buy out my father from the newspaper. But when I walk into the conference room, there’s a face I wasn’t expecting to see:
Walter Vanderfleet.
“I . . . what are you doing here?” I ask, confused.
“Buying into that newspaper of yours, of course,” Walter says, picking over the sumptuous breakfast spread. We’re both early, and the rest of the team hasn’t assembled, so at least nobody is around to see my confusion.
“You’re still on board?” I gape. “But, why?”
Walter shrugs. “My advisors agree it’s a sound investment,” he says. “Though I have to admit, your Natalie was extremely persuasive in sealing the deal.”
“Natalie?”
“She came to see me,” Walter says, looking surprised I didn’t already know about it. “Parked herself right outside my office, in fact, like she was staging a sit-in. And when I met with her, I must say, she spoke very highly of you. About your work ethic, your integrity, your quick thinking,” Walter continues, while I just stand there, dumbstruck. “Which is why I’m moving for you to remain at the helm as CEO.”
“But, what about everything that happened with Pearl?” I ask.
“She took full responsibility for that business with the astrologer lady. I liked her style, honestly,” he confides. “This world could do with a little more creative problem-solving.” He smiles. “You’re lucky to have her.”
Damnit. I can’t believe she went and found a way to talk Walter back into the deal. I already knew Natalie would do everything in her power to save the company.
What I didn’t realize was that she’d also do everything in her power to save me.
“I was,” I say finally. “I was lucky to have her.”
I decide to walk back to the office after the meeting. I need some time to wrap my head around all these new developments.
She went all out, for me. The newspaper was saved, she didn’t have to lift a finger—especially after the way I’d treated her. But instead, she kept on fighting in my corner, making sure I’d be around to enjoy the spoils of my victory.
Because she believes in me.
But I couldn’t even return the favor when it mattered most.
I find myself detouring past the diner Natalie took me to the night of the casino gala, with its faded polyester booths and revolving dessert case. I can see our waitress from that night through the window, her hair in the same sensible knot at the base of her neck, and I’m hit with a wave of something that feels s
o much like homesickness it almost takes me out at the knees.
I meant what I said to Charlie last night—I do feel betrayed by what Natalie did.
But there are mistakes you can live with, and ones you can’t ever take back. And the truth is, if I let her go now, this is one I’m not ever going to forget.
I need to make things right, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make that happen.
I only hope I haven’t missed my deadline.
24
Natalie
By the time the weekend rolls around, I’ve basically grown into the sofa. Grey’s Anatomy may hold the record for longest running TV drama, but that 300+ episode count is no match for this particular wallow. On the bright side, I could probably perform a successful emergency tracheotomy with a butter knife and a plastic straw, should the situation ever present itself.
Which is admittedly unlikely, since I’ve got no plans to leave the house anytime soon.
But April has other plans: “This is the last one,” she announces, handing me a pear-and-raspberry smoothie from the place down the block. “I’m officially cutting you off.”
“What?” I say, looking up at her with pitiful alarm. “But Mama needs her medicine!”
“So, haul your own self down to the juice place,” April instructs, not unkindly. “Or, better yet, try eating solids for a change.”
“Rude,” I say, but I haul myself upright. “I eat solids.” For example, just the other day I hoovered a party-size bag of Cheez Doodles. I’m pretty sure I’ve still got the orange dust on my fingers to prove it. Every morning, I tell myself that today is the day I get my act together, that I get up and get dressed and rejoin the world of the living. But then I remember the flat coldness in Justin’s eyes when he offered me that recommendation, how clipped his voice was when he told me goodbye, and all my resolve just poofs into the ether like Kyle Chandler exploding in that bomb-inside-the-patient episode of Grey’s Season 2.