Blake poured himself a coffee and leaned back against the counter. He watched the group fawn over Ruby and her bump. He tried not to listen, and for the most part, he believed their high-pitched voices could only be heard by the baby.
Ten minutes passed and Chris walked back into the room dressed in blue denim jeans and a white shirt. “Have you tried the office showers? The water pressure sucks.”
Blake looked around to see who the question was aimed at, before pointing to himself. Chris nodded. “No. I go to the gym after work. That way I get all my aggression out.”
Chris continued, nodding along. “Before work does the trick.” He lifted the kettle. “This still hot?”
Blake shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Listen. No hard feelings about this whole competition thing.”
“Sure.” Blake scoffed. “Although I hope you’re comfortable with losing.”
Chris patted Blake on the shoulder. “I’m accustomed to people hating me, but I’ve never lost anything in my life.”
“They hired me, specifically for what I do, putting me against you is what—a test, some HR crap they have to go through to justify keeping me on in instead of you.”
“And I’ve worked here, probably before you even hit puberty.”
Blake laughed. “How old do you think I am?”
Chris shrugged and poured the hot water into his mug. “Whatever. I’m not letting a teenager with a YouTube channel steal my job.”
“I’m twenty-six.” Blake narrowed his eyes at Chris. “And I don’t even have a YouTube channel anymore.”
“Like I said, whatever.”
“But sure, I could be controversial for the sake of it, I’m sure you wouldn’t have the patience to go through and respond to hundreds of messages from people with questions.”
Chris pressed his body against Blake as he passed him to open the fridge. He grabbed the skimmed milk. “I’m sure I could if they wanted someone with life experience, I could answer their questions with a real-world view.”
Blake scoffed. “Enjoy your coffee.” He emptied the contents of his cup into the sink and left it.
“You know you’ll have to clean that,” Chris called after Blake as he left.
Outside Blake’s office, Ava stood with her body squished against the door. Danny stood, nose-to-nose with her, trying to push her inside.
“Come on, let me in,” he said, biting his lip. “I can do that thing you like.”
“No, Danny. I’m Blake’s assistant.”
“Come on.” He kissed the side of her neck.
Ava tilted her head, giving Danny an easier angle. “My god, no. We can’t do this.”
“I just wanna see his computer.”
Ava stood straight and pushed Danny away. She pressed her lips with her teeth and shook her head. “I can’t. You’re working for the enemy.”
Blake caught a glimpse from the hallway. “What are you doing?”
Danny rushed off.
Ava removed herself from the door. “I came in early to see if you needed anything.”
“And what was he doing?” he nodded to Danny.
“He wanted to get into your office, but I’m good, I was a step away from kneeing him in the balls.”
“You should’ve. I almost did the same to Chris.”
Ava chuckled. “You did?”
“Yeah. He was stinking up the lounge. Like, who goes to the gym before work?” Blake rolled his eyes.
Ava opened Blake’s office door, welcoming him inside. “I can get you proper coffee?”
“Uh, please. I’m sure they’ll be cutting coffee runs soon as well to save money.”
She nodded. “They already have. They’re buying instant coffee in bulk.”
“Did he tell you why he wanted to get into my office? Something for Chris?”
She shook her head, swinging on the door handle. “Nope. But it can’t be to leave you a love letter. Or maybe he has a Dear Blake letter he wanted you to answer.”
Blake scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”
She grimaced. “Kidding.”
FOUR
Stomach lava
Five minutes passed between Ava leaving Blake and a loud deep guttural scream. Chris marched into Blake’s office to see him grinning at the red fury across Chris’ face.
“Salt?” He wretched and coughed, looking down into his coffee mug. “Really?”
Blake smiled. “How much did you drink?”
“You put salt in my coffee? Are you twelve?”
He pushed his hands to his lips and shook his head. “Why?” He’d drank more than half the cup.
“You seem salty.”
“I swear, if you get in my way, I’ll stomp all over you, and I’m not playing.” He poured the remnants of coffee into the plant in the corner of Blake’s office. “Watch your back.”
“It’s not a real plant,” Blake chuckled.
Nicole stomped into Blake’s office to see Chris in the corner. “What’s going on?”
Chris raised his arms. “He did it.”
“In my office, both of you!” Nicole marched back out, huffing to herself.
Chris glared at Blake and pressed a finger across his neck. “I’ll ruin you.”
Blake kissed the air. “Please, try.”
Nicole rounded Monica into her office on the floor above, where they sat in wait, pressing their fingers and thumbs together. Chris arrived first and took a seat, followed by Blake, panting. He pressed a hand to his chest and bent in at his stomach.
“Someone—closed the—elevator door.” Blake finally managed as they stared. He stomped forward and took a seat.
“I don’t know.” Chris shrugged. “It’s good to get in the gym early, loosens you for the day.”
Their editors looked at them both and sighed.
“We’re not here to start the next war,” Monica said. “I just want you to cut it out, whatever you’re both doing, whatever you’ve got plans to do. Stop it.”
“You’re both adults, act like them.” Nicole brushed her hair back with a hand. “Nobody is being fired. You’re acting like this is the end of the world. It’s not.”
Blake’s face squeezed into a frown. “One of us will be getting a pay cut, practically a demotion. And I was told when I started there would be web revenue, where did that promise go?”
Nicole waved a hand at him. “You receive many sponsored articles, Blake. Brands who’ve paid us and you money to write about them, it’s just unfortunate the company policy changed around online ad revenue, but by all means, run your affiliate links through Maureen in sales and marketing and I’m sure she’ll be able to help.”
Chris pushed ahead of Blake. “Whoa. What? He gets sponsored to write shit?”
Monica flapped a hand in the air, trying to quell Chris. “You get free stuff as well.”
“I don’t get money.”
Blake laughed. “Because nobody wants to pay you to slate them.”
Nicole grimaced. “He has a point.”
“It’s called an honest review,” Chris said, squinting around at them. “You should try it some time.” He stood, rolling his eyes at them. “I’m off, I have an article to write, because unlike some, I put time and effort in.”
Blake bit his tongue, literally and figuratively. He waited until Monica left before relaxing in his seat.
“You need to remember what Franco said, work with the team, be professional, and don’t make yourself out to be a dick.”
“Huh?”
“I saw Ruby, she said you were being hostile toward her.”
Blake scrunched his face. “Uh. She’ll say anything, just because I didn’t ask her how her baby was, or whether it kicked.”
She nodded. “Okay, just make sure you’re professional. And don’t forget that article, I need your first draft by the end of today.”
Blake stood and gave a nod. “Gotcha.”
Nicole nodded back. “I mean it, Blake.”
In Blake’s o
ffice, Ava waited, pacing around. She’d already presented a coffee and a pastry on his desk. She clenched her hands and flexed her palms around her pigtails, tugging at the hair ties keeping them in place. Blake watched her for a moment behind glass in the closed office door.
He knocked and opened the door. “What happened?”
She jumped to a stop. “Blake. I did it.” She reached to him and grabbed his hands. “I can’t believe I did it.”
He pulled away, moving to his office chair. “What?”
“I saw the coffee orders just there, and you remember that time when I ate too much rye bread, all of it clung to me, well, I have those laxatives.”
Blake half-smiled and pressed his hand to his chin. “Okay. Go on.”
“I added two into Chris’ coffee.”
“Oh shit.”
Ava fanned herself with both hands. “Literally.”
“I added salt to his coffee this morning, and he blew up, so—well, he can’t blame me for this.”
Ava finally took a seat. “He won’t even know.”
“Great.” Blake took his seat. He took a hold of the coffee. “Is this?”
“Nobody touched it.”
He nodded.
“And, I added some sugar packets in with the pastry.” Ava wiped her hands on her jeans before fiddling with her hair ties, pulling them from her hair. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Do I have any mail?”
“Letters?” She combed her fingers through her plaits. “I didn’t see anything about collection.” She stood and turned on a foot to leave.
“And thank you for yesterday, grabbing my stuff from Stefan’s place.”
She pointed two fingers at him and made a gun clocking sound. “No problem. He asked where you were, and I told him you were a very busy guy.”
Blake grinned. “Exactly.” He moved the mouse around on the desk, waking his computer to reveal just how busy he was, with several unfinished documents, and an influx of new messages, he was too busy for a Wednesday morning.
“Oh, and figures are in for yesterday’s site performance.”
“Great, great.” Blake’s eyes scanned the contents of his email inbox. He waved Ava away and took his coffee, sipping at the hot liquid through the small hole in the plastic. “Site performance, site performance.” He grumbled to himself. “Gotcha!”
Daily statistics on how writers and articles performed on the website for the day previous. At the top was Ruby, followed by Christian, then Archie and Sienna, the two gossip columnists, following them was, Blake; middle of the pack.
Chris obsessed over his figures. He put everything into his work, and when he wasn’t on the top, it meant he wasn’t doing good enough. He finished his coffee off, scanning through numbers. He called Danny into his office.
“Look at this.” Chris gestured to his screen. “Second place.”
“What did you post yesterday?” Danny asked, swiping his hand around the rim of his baseball cap.
“I didn’t.”
Danny held his hand to high five and Chris met him in the middle with a slap. “No need to even worry about the job.”
“I’ve worked too hard to give in.”
“True, true.”
Chris clenched his stomach as a ripple of bubbles grumbled through him.
“Hungry?” Danny asked. “I can see if there’s any pastries left over?”
Chris stood, his arms pressed tighter around his abdomen. “Hmm. No.” He clenched his jaw. “I’ve just eaten—this—ugh.”
“You okay? You look like you’re gonna explode.”
In the reflection of his computer screen, Chris saw the red in his face, the kind of red he found after he’d been at the gym for an hour. “Shit.” He barged passed Danny and ran through the open doorway, squeezing his legs together. He pushed through to the wheelchair-friendly bathroom at the end of the hall.
Chris spent over twenty minutes in the bathroom before walking out with a wet cold clump of tissues pressed against his forehead. Danny jumped to his side. Chris’ usual tanned complexion was drained and worn out.
Chris paused outside his office and turned to Danny. “It’s on. Whatever you want to do, do it.”
“Aye, aye.”
Chris closed his door and threw himself into his office chair. He glanced at the figures in the email once again and highlighted Blake’s name. He opened a new email message and typed in Blake’s name for it to autofill with the company email.
From: Christian Mendoza, Film Columnist
To: Blake Harris, Lifestyle Columnist
Subject: Thank you
I’m not into games, but if this was chess, they’d say it was my move. And thank you, I was trying to lose some water weight anyway. It came right out of me.
BTW. Have you seen your numbers?
Chris
Blake’s heart jumped from his chest as he saw the email pop in the corner of his monitor. Immediately he clicked it and read through it, once, twice, enough times for it to boil him.
From: Blake Harris, Lifestyle Columnist
To: Christian Mendoza, Film Columnist
Subject: RE: Thank you
Good luck x
It took everything inside him not to pour out an entire essay of passive aggression, and opted for the simple.
Five minutes later and another notification appeared in the side of Blake’s computer. Message unable to send. Please contact your administrator. He rolled his eyes and ignored it.
“I have an article to write,” he grumbled.
His goal was to hit 800 words on body image using dating apps, more importantly, gay dating apps. He fleshed different sections and categories; talking about gay tribes: twinks, bears, otters, etc. looking deeper into how they used body image to categorise gay men.
“So, where would you put yourself?” Ava asked, looking over the half-written article.
Blake spun in his chair, stretching his arms. “The whole reason for writing this is so we stop labelling ourselves. But, if I had to, I’d say otter, I mean, I was a twink, but I have a little body hair and twinks are hairless.”
Ava nodded. “And who do you go for?”
“Daddies.” Blake laughed. “I’m kidding.”
“You’re not.”
“My type are muscular men, I like body hair, but not facial hair when it’s all stubbly, I’m not out here to get a stubble rash.” He scratched at his own face, clean-shaven, just as it always has been since he started growing facial hair.
“I can honestly say I’ve never had a stubble rash around my mouth, or had beard hair in my mouth from kissing a guy with a beard.” Ava laughed. “I’ve found beards are usually softer anyway.”
Blake scoffed. “Well, I have to get this article to Nicole by the end of the day, and she leaves at 3 P.M. so that doesn’t give me long.”
Ava nodded. “Oh. And I couldn’t get any word from any of the apps you told me to contact. I told them I was contacting from the magazine but nobody would give me even a second.”
“I’d say try them again, but it’s always better to say they denied comment.” Blake winked. “It’s like getting a guilty confession.”
Ava chuckled. “Didn’t think it was a hit piece.”
“It’s not, but it can be if it sells copies.”
The clock on Blake’s wall struck 2:30 P.M. leaving him with thirty minutes to send over everything he had in the first draft of his untitled article. A red blinking X appeared over the internet box on his screen.
“Really?” he groaned. “Really!”
He pulled his desk phone closer to him and took the receiver. He punched in the number for IT and waited.
“Blake Harris?” a cheerful man answered. “What can I help you with?”
Dean Welch was the head of web design and IT technicians. A small balding man who closely resembled a mole in appearance with his nose pressed high in the air. Blake imagined him living in the basement of the company, but he was only on the floor l
ower. “Hi, my internet isn’t working and I have to get an article over to my editor.”
Dean chuckled. “Aint that something. Let me see if there’s anything here.”
Blake waited on hold to the sound of sea waves.
“Hmm. Looks like an isolated incident. We’ll have someone up to look at your computer.”
“Okay, when?”
Dean tssked. “Thirty, forty, gosh, could be a while come to think of it.”
“No, no, no, I can’t.”
“Wish there was more I could do.”
Beep. The dial tone of a cut call rang through.
Blake looked from his despairing lack of internet to see Nicole standing in the doorway. He placed the phone back and pushed it away.
“Hi, hey.” He stood.
She puffed through her nose and shook her head. “It’s been cut.”
“What? No. I was just sending it over.”
“Not my decision. I had Franco breathing down my neck, and then Donna, in photography, she wanted to know about models, and of course, I couldn’t do or say anything because I haven’t even seen a word.”
“It’s only Wednesday.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “You know I’d do anything for you, but everyone is under tighter deadlines now. Wednesday is Friday now, and not in the sense were we all get to go to Manhattan cocktail bar after work. But in the sense where everything needs to be finished.”
Blake pushed his weight back into the chair. “So, what?”
“Next week?”
“And my column?”
She shrugged. “That’s yours, all I do with that is make sure it’s quality content, and not going to offend anyone.”
Blake pressed his fingers together and pushed under his chin. “So, Chris is winning right now? I’m going to lose.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Not at all. We have weeks before any decision is being made.” She pursed her lips and smacked them, spreading the red lipstick. “But remember what I said earlier. Best behaviour.”
FIVE
Fire with fire
Blake locked himself in his office, pressing the earbuds of his headphones inside his ears. He cracked his knuckles on occasion, giving himself breathing room as he reread the last few lines he’d written. He spent hours heavily tapping replies to comments on his keyboard. He was proud to hold an interactive community on the website, but it almost like that’s all he had going for him.
Kiss Me Page 3