Mister Romance

by Leisa Rayven

  He makes a sympathetic noise. “I just want you to know I’ll never forget that you were willing to give up you dream for me. One day soon, I’m going to make it up to you.”

  “With sex?”

  He chuckles. “Among other things.” His voice gets softer. “You’re an amazing woman, Eden Tate. I hope you know that.”

  I look both ways then cross the street. “I don’t think Derek would agree with that assessment.”

  “You never know. He might surprise you.”

  “Sure. And I might suddenly sprout a tail.”

  “Is it wrong that I’d still do you with a tail?”

  “Not at all. Mutant-girls need lovin’ too.”

  He laughs, and I pause at the mouth of the subway and take in a breath and then release.

  “Okay, I gotta go and meet my doom. Will you call me later?”

  There’s silence for a second, and then he says, “Absolutely. I love you.”

  I take one more deep breath as I head down the stairs. “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, when I arrive at the Pulse offices, I suspect the writing’s already on the wall for me. Every head turns my way the second I step in the door.

  Shit. Not a good sign.

  Despite his faults, Derek has a pretty good sense of people. He’s probably predicted what I’m going to do and informed everyone I’m not long for this office. That suspicion unnerves me more than I’d like.

  As I mutter greetings to everyone, Toby peeks his head over the top of his cubicle, but before I can say hello to him, he ducks out of sight.

  I walk over and find him hunched down in his chair. “What are you doing?”

  He looks around and sits up, as if he didn’t know I was there. “Oh, Eden! Hi. How are you?” He stands and gives me an awkward hug. “Great to see you. Good to hear about Nan. I hear Asha’s coming home today? That’s fantastic. How’s everything? Good?”

  “Toby.” He snaps his mouth closed. “What’s going on?”

  “Going on? Nothing. Why? Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You’re babbling. You only do that if you’re drunk or nervous, and since it’s not even lunchtime, I hope you’re not drunk.”

  He blinks a few times then glances over at Derek’s office. “I can’t say anything. You’ll have to see Derek.”

  “Is he suing me or something? I haven’t even told him about the story yet.”

  “You’ll have to talk to him.” He’s like a damn chicken, looking everywhere but at me.

  “Do you want to catch a bite afterward? Help me drown my blues? I’m buying.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I have a lot of work. I’ll see.”

  Now I know there’s something wrong. I’ve never known Toby to blow off a free lunch before.

  “Tobes, please promise me that if I get fired, we’ll still be friends. Just because I no longer work here doesn’t mean we can’t hang out, right?”

  That makes him focus on me, and he gives me a reassuring smile. “As if you could get rid of me that easily. I’ll always be there for you.”

  “TATE!” I look over to see Derek standing in his doorway. “Let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

  I give him a nod before turning back to Toby. “Okay. I’ll see you later, yes?”

  He pats my shoulder. “Absolutely. Good luck.” I’m a little hurt Toby isn’t more distressed. Doesn’t he understand what’s at stake here? I’m about to beg a man who has the temperament of a cranky Rottweiler to allow me to go back to churning out memes, a job I’m terrible at and despise. And if I’m not successful, which I doubt I will be, Toby will lose his cubicle buddy forever. How is he okay with this?

  As I walk into Derek’s office, everything seems to go into slow motion, and I swear I hear gallows drums. If he’s feeling generous, maybe Derek will allow me a last cigarette. Despite everything, if this ends up being my last day here, I’m going to miss this place. I really liked the people, not to mention a steady paycheck.

  As I approach the door, I pull my shoulders back. I’ve been trying to prep myself all morning for Derek’s reaction to what I’m about to tell him. Maybe I should have worn a rain poncho just in case his head explodes with rage. I’ve heard brains are a bitch to get out of silk.

  After closing the door behind me, I sit in the chair in front of his desk, and for once he’s not typing away on his tablet. He’s sitting calmly with his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, and he’s staring at me with those cold, gray eyes. I cross my legs and clear my throat, and I’m about to lay everything on the line when Derek says, “Nice dress.”

  I look for the sarcasm in his tone but can’t find it. “Uh ... thanks. Nice ... uh ... haircut.” I’m not lying. For once his hair doesn’t look like he’s been pulling it out by the roots all day.

  “I hear your grandmother is recovering well.”

  “Uh, yes. Thanks. She loved your flowers.” I clear my throat. “So, Derek ...”

  He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth. “You’re a sly one, Tate, I’ll give you that. You kick and scream for me to give you this assignment, then you bitch about protecting your sources, you tell me that you’re going to write a ball-shriveling scandal that will have New York’s social elite scrambling under the nearest rock, and then after I give you an extension on your deadline ... well, then you don’t deliver on any of it.”

  Okay, so he already knows. I wonder if Toby told him, and that’s why he was acting so strangely. “I’m sorry, Derek. I really am. I know I haven’t given you what I promised.”

  “No, you haven’t. But goddammit, woman, you’ve given me something better, and I wanted you to be here to see the reaction when it went up on the site. Honestly, I think it’s going to break records, Tate. My ass is tingling just thinking about it.”

  I roll his words around in my brain for a second, hoping they’ll re-form into a different pattern that makes more sense, but they don’t.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  He holds up his finger and looks at his watch. “Just be patient. It went live a few minutes ago, so any second now ...” He seems to hold his breath for a full five seconds, and then, as if on cue, every phone in the entire place starts ringing at once, including his.

  He smiles, and it’s such a foreign expression on his face, it looks all wrong. “I knew it.”

  He taps some keys on his computer then turns it around so I can see. Staring back at me, front and center on the Pulse Features page, is my story, and beneath it is a counter showing the number of clicks it’s receiving, as well as incoming traffic to the site.

  “Jesus. It’s even better than I predicted. Look at this.” He brings up his inbox. “We’re already getting requests to use it on subsidiary sites. There’s one from the New York Times. This is insane.”

  He continues tapping on keys and mumbling excitedly as I sit there in shock, my blood pressure getting higher every second. This can’t be happening. How is this happening?

  In my purse, my phone starts vibrating, but I ignore it.

  “Derek, how did you get that story?”

  He keeps his eyes on the screen as he lets out a short laugh. “Oh, you really want me to eat crow and say you were right to browbeat me into giving you a chance? Fine. The story was your idea. Mind you, when you emailed it through to me this morning, I didn’t think it would be so fucking good. Sorry I doubted you. There. Happy now? Because I only throw out two sorrys per year, and you’ve just used up your quota.”

  People start knocking at the office door and come in bearing messages about other news outlets wanting details about Mister Romance so they can run their own features, but I barely hear them. All I can think about is that someone sent him that story, and now, in the space of a few minutes, Max is out of business.

  Goddammit.

  “Derek, this came from my email account?”

  He stays glued to his screen
. “Yeah. Why?”

  No matter how much I deny that this is my fault, Max won’t believe me, and I could hardly blame him. After all of those noble sentiments about me giving up my dream for him, it’s going to look like I turned around and betrayed him.

  I get up and walk out of Derek’s office in a daze. He’s so busy, he barely notices. People congratulate me as I pass, but it all rings hollow. I feel like throwing up.

  When I reach Toby, a light bulb goes off in my brain.

  I poke him in the chest. “What the hell, Toby? You hacked into my email? You sent Derek the story?”

  Toby stands and holds up his hands. “Okay, just wait a second before you murder me. Yes, I didn’t want you to get fired, so passing along the story was the best way of preventing that.”

  “I can’t believe this! You’ve ruined everything! Max’s business … his trust in me.”

  “Wait, stop. I’m just the tech genius in this scenario, not the mastermind.” He holds his phone out to me. “There’s someone you need to speak with.”

  I take the phone, my face burning with anger and embarrassment. “Who is this?”

  “Eden.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Max, I have no idea what’s going on. I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to happen. I promise, I intended on coming here and killing the story. You have to believe –”

  “Eden, stop. I know it wasn’t you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Because it was me.” I turn to Toby, who’s now smiling from ear to ear. “I couldn’t let you throw your career away for me, and seriously, that story was so damn good, everyone needed to read it. I’m so proud of you, I can’t put it into words.”

  “But ... your business.”

  “We have a lot to talk about. Can you come to the warehouse?”

  “Now?”

  “Well, as soon as Derek pulls his head out of his ass long enough to give you a huge promotion and a substantial raise, yes.”

  I sit down in Toby’s chair. I don’t trust my legs to hold me up anymore. Now I know how Alice must have felt the day she fell through the rabbit hole.

  “Max, what the hell is happening?”

  “It will all become clear soon. I’ll text you the code for the warehouse door. Come straight in when you arrive. I’ll be waiting.”

  Then he hangs up, and I feel like all the air has been knocked out of my lungs. I sit there and stare off into space as a cyclone of activity swirls around me. Just when I think I have a handle on everything, this happens. I’m so confused, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  * * *

  By the time I make it to the alley behind Max’s warehouse it’s midafternoon, and I’m hoping that whatever I’m walking into is good news. I still can’t believe he exploded his career in order to save mine, but I don’t know what that means for us. Being made the new Head of Features at Pulse, and the sizable raise that came with it, means nothing if I can’t keep Max in my life.

  When I get to the stairs, I notice the mural is different. Instead of a man half hidden in shadows, there’s a couple embracing, and they look remarkably like Max and me. The motto on the door is different, too. It used to read, Abandon hope, all ye who enter. Now, it reads, All you need is love.

  A rush of flutters takes flight in my stomach as I pull open the door and step inside.

  When the door closes behind me, I’m engulfed by darkness. There’s a dull glow from the exit sign above the door, but otherwise all I can see is inky blackness.

  “Max?” My voice echoes, but not as much as I expect considering how big and empty the space is. I grab my phone to use the flashlight, but then I remember it ran out of juice about thirty emails ago, so I drop it back into my purse and take a tentative step forward.

  “Max? Are you here?”

  “Eden.” His voice wraps around me, deep and resonant. “How are you feeling?”

  “Confused.” I squint when I think I see something glint a few yards in front of me, but there’s not enough light to make it out. “What am I doing here? And what happened today? You asked Toby to hack me and send that article to Derek? Knowing what it would do to your business? Is this ...” I clench my hands against the tightening in my throat. “Are we done? Is that what this is all about?”

  There’s silence, then he says, “You tell me. Am I too late?”

  “Too late for what?”

  “Proving that you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

  I hear a click, and then a path of light illuminates the floor from where I’m standing to where Max is, a dozen yards away. He looks slick and sharp in a grey suit, but his expression is troubled. “I know you hated thinking about me with other women, and ... I should have told you what I was planning earlier, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew I could pull it off. I signed the final contracts a couple of hours ago.”

  “Max ... I still don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “You will. But first, I have to know ... do you love me?”

  I step forward, hating the distance between us like it’s a living being. “How do you not know by now that I love you more than I thought I could love anyone? It’s sad and pathetic and wrong how much I love you, and most days I’m so desperate to see you and touch you, I want to punch myself in the face.”

  He tries not to smile. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual. But loving me shouldn’t have a price tag, and if you hadn’t published that story, you would have been sacrificing your career for me, and I couldn’t live with that.”

  “So you decided to sacrifice yours? I thought we’d settled this. You need the money. Your debt ...”

  He walks forward, slowly. “Eden, the second I fell in love with you, I knew my career was over. As much as I tried to continue on, I couldn’t do it anymore. Not in the same way. I didn’t want to touch anyone but you, or kiss anyone but you. I was doing my clients a disservice, because when I was with them, I was counting down the hours until I could be with you again, and that’s not fair to them, or you, or me.”

  He stops a few feet away, but I force myself not to touch him, until I can comprehend where we stand. His words make my heart expand in my chest to the point of pain, but I’m still confused. “So ... you’re telling me you’re retiring?”

  “In a way. In nature, you either evolve or die. I decided to evolve.”

  He clicks something in his hand, and I hear a beeping sound. Then, all of the lights come on at once, momentarily blinding me, and I shield my eyes. When I lower my arm, I see the vast warehouse space has been transformed into a trendy, urban office space. On the wall behind the front desk is a stainless-steel logo.

  “Romance Central?”

  Max steps forward and takes my hands. “In your article, you said that everyone deserves to feel priceless at least once in their life, and I couldn’t agree more. By myself, I could only service a dozen clients, but if I pass my skills along to others ... I can make a whole army of Mister Romances. And Miss Romances. I think there are a lot of guys out there who could also use some self-esteem therapy, too.”

  “Wait, you’re ... franchising?”

  He smiles. “In a way. I’m going from a one-man operation to a corporation. Taking tailor-made romance to the masses.”

  The relief I feel is so powerful, tears prickle my eyes. “For weeks I thought we were heading toward this terrible apocalypse where you’d have to choose between me and your work, and I didn’t stand a chance.”

  He stares at me like I’m insane. “Eden, if it comes down to choosing between you and anything else on this planet, I’d choose you ... every single time.” He comes over and takes my hands, and all of a sudden I feel stupid for having ever doubted him. “Everything else in my life is optional, except you. You’re essential.”

  I look at our intertwined hands. “Well, now you’re just trying to make me cry.”

  He pulls me into his arms and
hugs me and after I’ve pulled myself together he says, “Would you like a tour?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He leads me into the office area where the whole space has been fitted out with an eclectic mix of secondhand furniture, and I’m positive I’m not nearly hip enough to be here. The design has made use of the original brickwork, and the rest of the spaces have been defined by tall glass walls.

  “How on earth did you do all of this so fast?”

  “We had a lot of help. Remember Vivian from Valentine’s Foundation?”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s the head of a multi-million-dollar construction and property development company. She brought in her whole crew. Come look.”

  He shows me around, and apart from several large offices, there’s a central kitchen, a spacious training room, and at the back, beneath the huge paneled windows is a giant conference room complete with a long wooden table, at the end of which is something underneath a black cloth. The rest of the table is covered in headshots of a huge range of men and women, all different ethnicities and ages, and judging by some of the bios, sexualities.

  Max gestures to them. “This is our first batch of Romance Central candidates. All experienced actors. All decent people. Training starts next week. Dyson will take over all of my existing clients. And with so many more people being available for dates, we can charge less and still stay financially viable.”

  He clicks the control in his hand again, and a large screen on the wall lights up with a slick-looking website. “Toby did the site for us and then sneakily inserted the link to it on the bottom of your article. We’ve had over three-hundred inquiries since it went live.”

  I feel myself gaping. What he’s achieved is astonishing. “Where did you get the money to do this?”

  He pulls away the black cloth. Underneath is a scale model of the warehouse, fully developed into a trendy apartment complex, with Romance Central taking pride of place in the ground floor. “Presenting New York’s latest apartment-warehouse development. Vivian and I are now partners. I’ve signed over fifty percent ownership of the warehouse, and she’s taking care of all construction costs, as well as giving me a healthy chunk of the profits. It’s going to take about a year for all the construction, and we’ll have to relocate the offices for part of that time, but the bottom line is still impressive. When all of the apartments are sold, I should be able to clear my family’s debts and even have a little left over.”