Chris finished the coffee in his cup. “I don’t see why you’re cutting regular content.”
Franco shrugged. “Not my decision. This comes from the top.”
“But a pay cut?” Blake groaned.
Franco nodded. “Online exclusive.”
“What about online ad revenue?”
He chuckled. “Unfortunately, that’s a no-go zone.”
Chris stood and poured himself another coffee. “This is bullshit.” He turned to the window and smiled before looking back at the row of editors. “I write killer content, I help sell the magazine. People love getting angry.”
“No, people love to read Dear Blake, they know what they’re getting, they know to flip to page forty-six.”
Franco wrapped his knuckles on the table. “We’re not debating your content, it’s interactive, but our readers are mainly women, and women readers prefer women writers.” Franco tapped a pen against the clipboard. “So, here we are.”
Chris sat and ripped his muffin in two. “What about Ed and Noah? They run the music section.”
The panel of editors grimaced. Franco nodded, again, his head swinging like a bobble head. “Music has been cut, completely. It’ll feature on the website, but Ed and Noah are no longer a feature.”
Blake wet his lip with the tip of his tongue and gulped. “So, you’re cutting all the guys?” he asked, glancing across at Chris.
Franco waved a hand at them. “No, like I said, this comes from the top, and in the next couple of weeks we have to make a decision on which one will have their page cut, but we don’t want to lose either of you.”
Chris slapped a hand on his knee. “Great. So, how can I show you I’m the one to keep and he’s the one to cut, I mean, he is the one you’ll be cutting. He’s not hitting the female demographic.”
A groan came from the back of Nicole’s throat. “Blake has a high female readership, his tagline is your gay best friend, but—”
“No.” Monica raised her hand. “Christian brings in a readership on a weekly basis, people jump to page twenty-four because they know they’re going to get an unbridled film review, a no BS. And no offence to Blake, but he’s not exactly bringing anything fresh to the magazine.”
“Enough.” Franco dropped his clipboard and slammed his hands on the desk. “Now, as I said, we have a few weeks before we make any decisions. We’ll be looking at a few things, so keep them in mind.” He took his clipboard and flicked through pages. “So, we have job performance, how you work in a team, hitting deadlines, how well your part of the magazine performs, online web hits, interactivity, etc.” He rolled a hand. “You get it, I’ll send this to your editors, they can forward it on.”
“I’ll fight for you,” Monica said, winking at Chris.
“You’ve got this.” Nicole tapped her pen on the table, grabbing Blake’s attention. “I brought you into the magazine two years ago, we’re going to keep your column alive.”
Monica scoffed in Nicole’s direction.
Franco stood and raised his hands. “Tuesday is the new week, so please, go back to your offices, talk with your editors, decide on what you want to do over the new few weeks, and don’t disappoint.”
Blake and Chris stood to leave, Chris opened the meeting room door and let Blake leave, strutting in a huff. He pinged back his suspenders and sucked in as the ding of pain hit his chest.
Ava sat in Blake’s office chair, looking out the window. He slammed his office door, shaking Ava to turn dramatically like she’d pressed her button on The Voice. “Everything okay?”
Deflating in his shoulders, Blake sighed. “No, it’s much worse.”
She jumped from his chair. “Oh, shit. What is it? I brought reinforcements.” She gestured to the coffee and jam doughnut on his desk.
He slouched into his chair and stared at his feet. “I might be losing my column.”
“What? No!” She knelt beside his desk, looking up at his frowning face. “You said might be, what happened?”
Blake grabbed the coffee. “Now is it vodka time?”
She smiled. “Still no, but tell me what happened.”
As the coffee hit his tongue, he smiled and gulped hard before pulling away to keep himself from drowning. “I was in there with Christian?”
She stood and straightened herself out. “Christian?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Chris. You know, the film guy with the nice arms.”
“The film geek hottie?” She took a seat and pulled at her collar. “What was he doing?” She fanned herself.
He took another drink of coffee. “Did you put sugar in this?”
She smiled. “Extra. Just in case.”
“Good.”
“So, tell me. It was just you two?”
He squeezed the doughnut as jam spilled out of the side. “I hope you didn’t think I was being fired.”
“No, but you know, it’s either a celebration or a breakdown and a sugar binge, right?”
Blake sighed. “Anyway, I went in, and Nicole, Monica, and Franco are sat there at the end of the meeting table, like I’m on Dragon’s Den and about to pitch to them ten reasons why I should keep my job over some guy who’s angry at the world.” He snorted back a laugh. “And only cares about getting ripped at the gym.”
“What? You did?”
“No, that’s what it felt like I was about to do.” He paused to take a bite from the doughnut, coating his lips in the sugar frosting. “Now, we’re going head-to-head with each other because one of our pages is getting cut.”
A scream left Ava’s lips. “Blake!”
He nodded back at her, his eyes wide. “I know.”
“They’re cutting pages left, right, and centre.” She fanned herself again. “He can’t win. He’s a straight guy writing for women, mansplaining films to them.” She let out a tiny roar from the back of her throat. “I won’t let them fire you.”
“Oh.” He let out a single laugh. “Best part, or, whatever. We’re not being fired, just having our page cut, and getting paid less. Like, they said basic salary, I don’t know what that is, but I’m on twenty-seven a year, and they’re just going to what, slice it all the way down to minimum wage.” He shoved the rest of the doughnut in his mouth.
Ava waved a hand in the air. “Obviously, we have to kill him.”
He smiled, his cheeks puffed out with the doughnut in his mouth.
“Also, you’ll need to go to the gym to work that off.”
Chris arrived at his office in high spirits, smiling to himself. He looked around at all the film posters, at everything he’d built. Every single film was a memory, and some were hours he’d never get back, while others he’d allow to consume all his time.
He sat at his computer and cracked his knuckles, ready to wake the juices inside and tap a prize-worthy article.
Danny knocked on the door moments after watching Chris arrive; he’d waited down the hall, trying to figure out the situation before he approached, and whether he needed to spike his coffee. He held a large coffee cup in his hands.
“That for me?” Chris asked, nodding to the cup. “Think I’ve drank my weight in coffee already.”
Danny placed it on Chris’ desk. “Fresh from a coffee run.” He turned to leave, slowly.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Chris tapped the end of a pen on his desk. “I thought you assistants traded gossip.”
Danny turned to face him. “I wasn’t sure. I try not to feed into it all.”
“Yeah, right. Gossip is ammunition.” Chris offered the seat opposite him. “Anyway, the gay advice columnist, he was there, and one of us is going to lose our column in a few weeks, either me or him. I mean, he’s the fluff I was talking about.”
Danny took a seat. “Blake?”
“Yeah. Him.”
“Anyone can do what he does.”
Chris fist pumped the air. “Exactly.”
“You could do what he does.”
He chuckled to himself. �
�Don’t get me started, imagine, Dear Chris, I think my pet cat is in love with me, how can tell my cat it’s not going to work out?” He laughed harder.
Danny’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I can’t imagine you entertaining half the stuff he answers.”
“I don’t know how he doesn’t go completely viral with each post.” Chris nodded at his computer screen. “It might save his job if he learns how to. I had over a million hits on the last post.”
“Which?”
“The one where I said Jennifer Lawrence wasn’t a great actress, and gave ten reasons why.” He scoffed, thinking about the post. “Took me an hour to write.”
Danny nodded. “I remember, Monica wasn’t going to let you post it.”
“Right. I went straight to Franco. He can smell viral success.” He sipped the coffee. “Probably why most of the people here hate me, and why I’m doing so well. They can’t cut my page, if they did, who would they have to get them angry?”
Danny shrugged. “You think he hates you?”
Chris tipped his head at Danny. “He probably does now. I have a feeling it’ll be all out war.”
He stood. “That, I can help you with. I know his assistant, Ava. She’s easy, I can play her, and make sure Blake doesn’t win.”
“Is she the girl you’ve been talking about?”
Danny blushed red as he adjusted his cap over his hair. “Nah.” He smiled.
“Right, do what you can then.”
“When will they cut the page?”
“A few weeks.” Chris rolled his eyes. “Whatever you do, make sure it doesn’t look like I’ve made you do it.”
“Gotcha, I got this. I know the guy who works with the computers. Like you said, gossip is ammo for assistants.”
THREE
This means war
Blake lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his best friend Dannika in Ancoats, an inner-city area of Manchester. Dannika worked for a TV company on the Salford Quays putting her degree in marketing to use.
Dannika stood in the kitchen portion of the kitchen-dining-living area when Blake walked through the door. Her afro of blonde curls bounced excitably as she rushed to him.
“Blakey.” She squeezed him in her arms. “I heard. Ava texted me.
Blake sucked in as Dannika wrapped her arms around him. He looked down at her, she was much smaller without her heels. “I don’t even want to know.” He kissed her forehead, and rested against her. “Today was a shit show.”
She pulled away, rolling her large green eyes. “Are you going to tell me?” She placed her hands on her hips, resting on her tight purple knee-length dress.
“You already know, Ava told you.”
Dannika sighed, brushing back her hair with a hand. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have gone through all this effort then.” She pulled him into the room, stomping on his lazy legs to reveal the dining table full of white cartons and two bottles of Pinot Grigio. “Bought Chinese food, wine, and maybe there’s fresh cream cakes in the fridge.”
Blake moaned. “I’ve eaten so much junk.” He smiled. “But I can’t say no.”
“I’d be disappointed if you tried.”
Blake kissed Dannika on her cheek. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
“Okay, I need to get changed too.” She pulled at the fabric of her dress. “It’s exhausting being sucked into this all day.”
Blake rolled his eyes. “But it looks effortless.”
She winked. “It should.”
Fresh from his shower and dressed in a large fluffy navy blue dressing gown, Blake sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. Dannika joined him, sitting beside him in her pink silk robe.
They’d moved all the food to the coffee table, including their personalised wine glasses, ones they’d bought each other after graduating university; bedazzled with gems and polished with glitter.
Dannika poured wine. “She dropped off some bags earlier.”
“Who? Ava?”
Blake took his glass and pushed the rim to his lips, drinking it without a second thought. “Yeah, Stefan texted me this morning. If I didn’t collect my things, they were being thrown out from his balcony.”
“He was a dick.” Dannika clinked glasses with Blake. “I’ve barely eaten all day.”
Blake grinned. “But it was huge.”
“Okay, no, we’re eating. Go grab plates.” Dannika commanded. “I got everything, spare ribs, rice, noodles, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, shredded lettuce—or fried—anyway, there’s a lot.”
They sat and watched TV, cramming their faces with food. When they sat to eat, checking their phones was off limits, because that meant one thing, talking to men on dating apps, and after 9 P.M. they weren’t interested in comparing sleeping patterns.
“I only had the short version from Ava,” Dannika said, spooning rice into her mouth. “I want to know everything. Spill.”
Blake rolled his eyes. He took another mouthful of wine. “Everything? Well, anyone can write his column, so why should mine be cut?”
Dannika raised a hand. “Confused. Start over.”
“This guy, a film critic. One of our pages are being cut from the magazine. I don’t see why, firstly, he’s in a different section to me, he writes about films, and secondly, he doesn’t even write for the demographic. Which is stupid, because they’re only keeping him around because he goes viral.”
Dannika nodded. “Okay, but is he attractive?”
Blake waved a hand at her. “Like that matters. Attractive men keep their jobs.”
“No, but attractive men appeal to women.”
“So, you’d read an article spouting shitty opinions if it was written by an attractive man?”
She shrugged and smirked. “I’m not saying I haven’t done it in the past. I like it when an attractive man has a bit of an edge, y’know when he acts like a dick.”
Blake poured more wine into his glass. “You’re just explaining why the last three guys you dated didn’t work out.”
“They were dates, taster sessions, whatever you want to call them.” She flailed a hand in the air. “Guys want one thing, and sometimes, I want it too.”
“You want a man with a large house.”
“As long as that’s not the only large thing about him.”
Blake wiggled his eyebrows at her. “So, what do I do about this whole work thing?”
“You pretend to write yourself a letter. Dear Blake, I’m having an issue at work, I’m going against someone in my department and only one of us can keep their job, how do I show my boss I’m the right person?”
He grit his teeth. “You know I’m bad at giving myself advice.”
“Try it.”
He sighed and took a larger mouthful of wine. “Fine. I’d start with, To me, I get you want the job, and the easiest solution would be to kill the opposition.”
Dannika raised a hand. “Nope, nope, nope.”
“It’s the simplest way,” he chuckled.
“Go into work, and show them you’re the best, make sure everything you produce is perfect, and go above and beyond. If they’re asking for one feature piece, write two.”
Blake massaged the top of his nose. “You’re right. I should go in and be the model worker.” He held his hand to high five her and fell flat on his face, holding his wine glass perfectly still in the air.
On the same floor as the writers’ offices was a lounge area, a room for relaxation; a room without assistants. There was a direct view onto the city, much larger than the single pane of glass Blake had a view to. The cobbles were wet and the morning clouds were dark grey, a friendly reminder of the British weather in autumn.
Blake often arrived to work at nine, but given his new commitment to being the best he arrived fifteen minutes early. Being early meant no assistants, and no assistants meant no warm pastries or coffee waiting upon arrival.
A sweat-stained, rain drenched Christian was already in the staffroom, boiling the kettle for
a dark cup of instant coffee. He stretched and lunged on the spot, wearing a sports band around his forehead, a tank top, a pair of basketball shorts, and trainers.
“You ready?” Chris asked, laughing in Blake’s face.
Blake’s top lip turned upward. “Are you going to take a shower?”
Chris raised an arm and pressed his nose to his pit. “Probably. Why?”
“You’re disgusting,” Blake muttered. He opened a cupboard and dug around for a clean cup.
“Don’t use all the water, I’ll be back in a minute.” Chris gestured to the kettle as steam shot from the spout. “Got it?” He jogged off through the door.
Beside the kettle was his mug, filled with a healthy heap of coffee granules and a sprinkling of sugar. Blake opened another cupboard to find the coffee, sugar, and other condiments, including salt.
No. His internal voice told him. “Yes.”
Blake grabbed the salt shaker and poured it in Chris’ mug. He stirred it with the spoon, mixing the coffee, sugar, and salt. In his sweaty palms, he almost dropped the salt, returning it back to the cupboard. His eyes focused on the door as it swung open and Ruby walked in.
Ruby smirked as she approached him. “I haven’t seen you here this early.”
“New day, new me.” Blake fist pumped the air.
She let out a short laugh. “Job security will do that to a person.”
He creased his brows together. “Sorry?”
“I heard, you might be getting cut.”
He snapped his fingers in her face. “Let me put this straight. I have a column, and nobody is taking it away from me. If you think you’ve heard something, maybe keep it to yourself, because I don’t have time for you, and I’m surprised the readers have time for you and your mummy and me posts. You’ve not even given birth yet.” He turned away, straightening the cuffs of his shirt.
She stroked her baby bump. “Guess it’s true, gay men do PMS.” She rolled her eyes and walked her way toward the bean bags beside the window. There were other writers, sat with their heads in books and coffees nestled in their laps, but they welcomed Ruby with smiles and questions about her baby.
Kiss Me Page 2