by A. M. Myers
“You all right, Miss Ali?” Kevin asks when we’re far enough away from Mr. Klein. I smile over at him and nod.
“Yeah, I’m good. This was my choice.”
He nods. “Do you want help out to your car?”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to get you in trouble. I can manage. Thank you, though.”
“Anytime. I’ll miss you around here.”
“I’ll miss you, too. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call, okay?”
He nods before we say a quick good-bye, and I step out into the late morning sunshine, wondering what I should do now. I decide to head to my car and call Carly to fill her in on everything that happened. Once I deposit my box in the trunk, I slide into my seat and dial her number.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asks as soon as she answers the phone.
“Oh, a whole lot. Where are you?”
“I’m at the coffee shop across the street. I wasn’t ready to go back to work yet.”
I frown because I know exactly how she feels. It’s the same way I’ve been feeling for months. This job that I loved wasn’t so fun anymore with Mr. Klein running things. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
We hang up, and I climb out of my car, locking up before walking across the street to our favorite little coffee shop to hide out in. As soon as I walk in, I spot Carly at a back table, and she waves me over. When I sit down, she slides a coffee in my direction.
“When you called me, I ordered your favorite.”
“Thank you. I needed this.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Tell me everything.”
I sigh before launching into the whole story, pausing quite often so she can get her laughter under control, and when I finish, she’s gaping at me.
“He’s fucking delusional,” she says, and I nod. “The man runs a small newspaper in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and he thinks he’s Walter fucking Cronkite.”
“I think getting sucked off by Chelsea is inflating his ego a little.”
“I can’t believe you said that to him.”
I shrug. “It was about damn time someone said it. How long has she been on her knees for him? Since she started there? And then she magically gets all these promotions? I don’t think so.”
“You’re my spirit animal,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee, and I laugh.
“Well, thank you, I think.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
I shrug and look out the window. It’s a fantastic question, and I wish I had an answer for her but I don’t. “That street corner looks nice,” I say, nodding to the corner of the coffee shop, and she laughs.
“Uh, no. You’re not hooking. You’re a talented writer, and you’ll find something.”
“I like your faith in me.”
She offers me a sympathetic look and stands, grabbing her coffee. “Well, I’ve got to get back before I end up next to you on that corner. You want to walk with me?”
I shake my head and lean back in my seat. “No, I think I’m gonna hang out here for a little bit. I’ve got nowhere to be.”
She smirks at my joke and nods. “Dinner tonight?”
“Sure, that sounds good. Bring over some Chinese.”
“You got it.”
I stand and hug her before sinking back down into my chair and sighing. What the hell am I going to do now? It would have been nice to have a little time to plan my future before I quit my job but I can’t regret what happened today. I’m a little angry with myself that it took me so damn long to stand up to him. That’s not me, and I hate that I let myself get in that situation. When Mr. Carlyle ran the paper, he looked out for me. He saw my talent and he wanted to nurture it and help me grow as a writer. And under his guidance, I did. A lot of the writer I am now, I owe to him. When Mr. Klein bought the paper, that all went to hell.
He didn’t have the passion for the written word that Mr. Carlyle did, and I have to wonder why he bought it in the first place. It didn’t take long for all of us to see that our little paper would never be the same once he took over. Sighing, I take a sip of my coffee and look out to the street, watching all the other people bustling past the coffee shop on their way to work or school. What the hell am I going to do?
“Excuse me?”
I startle, and my head whips in the direction of the voice. A gorgeous blonde about my age with piercing green eyes smiles at me, motioning to the chair across from me.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Uh, no,” I reply, looking around at all the empty tables around us. I didn’t think it was possible but she smiles even brighter and slides into the chair across from me before taking a sip of her own coffee.
“I’m Mercedes Richmond,” she says, holding her hand out, and I shake it, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Alison James.”
“Oh, I know who you are.”
My brows shoot up, and I glance around the coffee shop again before looking back to her. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry. That sounded a little creepy. What I meant is that I’ve been reading your work for a while, and I’m a fan.”
I relax slightly and smile. “Oh. Well, thank you.”
“I’m sorry to be so intrusive but I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation you were having with your friend.”
Crap. How much did she hear? Me telling a story about how I chewed out my boss is not exactly my finest moment.
“Yeah, I’m sorry if that bothered you. I was just venting, and I might have gotten a little carried away.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Oh, no. You misunderstood me. I kind of loved it, and I want to offer you a job.”
I’m so shocked that I just sit here with a stupid expression on my face, blinking at her for a few seconds before saying, “What?”
She keeps smiling, and I can’t help but think that she’s got the most perfect smile I’ve ever seen. Her clothes are all name brand, too, and I wonder just what kind of job she wants to offer me.
“I run a blog called Champagne Dreaming, and I’ve been looking to add an advice columnist to my team. Like I said, I’ve followed your work for a while, and I love your writing style. Then, I heard your story, and well, I just had to jump on the opportunity.”
I’m speechless.
On the one hand, I can’t believe my luck but on the other hand, I’m skeptical. I mean, who gets offered a job in a coffee shop literally twenty minutes after they quit their old one. Her name sounds vaguely familiar but I haven’t heard of her blog.
“I’m sorry. I’m just a little surprised.”
“Oh,” she says, rolling her eyes, “of course you are. I just totally sprang this on you. Let me tell you a little bit about me.”
“Okay.”
“You may have heard of my father, Charles Richmond.”
My eyes widen, and I nod. Her father is one of the wealthiest men in the Baton Rouge area, and there were even rumors that he was looking at buying the paper when Mr. Carlyle put it up for sale.
“You might have heard rumors that he was trying to buy the paper you worked at.”
Is she in my head?
I nod again, and she smiles.
“Yeah, those were true. He was buying it for me. Unfortunately, Mr. Klein started playing dirty, and my father does not like to do business that way. You were one of the big reasons that I wanted that paper. When the deal fell through, he gave me money to start something of my own, and I’ve created one of the top lifestyle blogs in the country.”
“Wow, I’m honestly not sure what to say.” My brain feels jumbled with all this new information and everything that happened earlier. I can barely form a response as my mind races, trying to process it all.
“I understand. It’s a lot to take in one day. Just tell me that you’ll think about working with me. I really believe that adding you to the team and adding in the advice column will make Champagne Dreaming a household name.”
“I’ve honestly never
thought about writing an advice column.” I’ve always been a reporter, and even though I wanted to do something different with my column, this never occurred to me.
“There was this article you wrote about a year ago about a robbery but instead of focusing on the facts of the case, you talked about the victim. You wrote about how hard he had worked to build his business and how devastated he was walking into the building with you and seeing his dream torn apart. I knew, at that moment, that you would be perfect for this position.”
I nod, remembering the article she’s talking about. It was right when I started to feel drained from being a crime reporter, and I wanted to give the article a personal feel. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, honesty radiating off her. “Listen, I’ve got to get going but please think about my offer. Take a couple days to check out the blog and make sure it’s the right fit for you. I really hope we get to work together. This is what I’m able to offer you as a salary but if there is anything else you need, please call me and we can discuss it. I’m serious about getting you on my team.”
She writes a number down and then hands me a card, and I take it, looking it over for a second before looking back up at her. The number she wrote down is more than I’ve ever made at the paper, and it’s tempting to say yes right now. She flashes a smile and holds her hand out as she stands. We say good-bye, and when she leaves, I sink back into my chair and sigh, wondering if this is the right move for me or if I’m going to be looking for a job tomorrow.
Chapter Six
Alison
Pulling up in front of my house, I throw the car in park and lean back against the seat, closing my eyes as I let out a heavy breath. Today has been a crazy day, and I’m completely drained. It’s only one in the afternoon but I’m dying for a big glass of wine and my bed. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right? Not like it matters since I don’t have to be anywhere anytime in the near future. When I marched out of Mr. Klein’s office this morning, I was so damn sure of myself but as I sat in that coffee shop, watching the various people walk by, I realized that I’ve got nothing. I have no job, and I have no plan. I open my eyes and turn to grab my bag out of the passenger seat, the business card from Mercedes in the cup holder grabbing my attention.
I pick it up and read over it before lifting my gaze to the street in front of me. There is a part of me that’s screaming to accept this job but I have reservations, and to be honest, I’m not really sure why. I think it’s mostly to do with the fact that I was offered this job out of the blue so quickly after quitting. My dad is a firefighter, and my mom teaches second grade. They taught me from a young age that I would have to work for everything I got. When most kids were just filling out applications for summer jobs and hoping for the best, I was calling and checking in with employers each day to see if they’d read over my application yet. If I had an interview, I prepared for hours the day before, and once I got the job, I did whatever was asked of me. So it’s a little unsettling that I literally didn’t do a single thing to pursue this job. Or maybe I’m just reeling from everything that happened today. I didn’t even have time to process the fact that I quit before I was considering another job. And then there’s this tiny little voice that is kind of excited about this prospect but I can’t decide which feeling I should trust.
Climbing out of the car, I shut the door behind me, and grab my box of stuff out of the back before starting up the front walk, smiling when I look up at my little house. It’s my first house, and I’ve put so much work into it to make it my own. There is a mix of old and new that represents both sides of me. I found the columns that line the front porch in a salvage yard downtown and fixed them up. The black metal porch railing was new and plays off the white columns perfectly. The sweeping brick stairs are original to the house, and I’m lucky that they were in such good condition when I bought the place. Now, with all the work done, this truly is my little sanctuary.
I’m jerked from my thoughts by a little tinkling sound, and before I can turn around to investigate, something slams into my back. I fall forward, my knee hitting the pavement hard as the box flies up in the air, all the knick-knacks from my desk scattering across the lawn. I cry out in pain, rolling to my side and hugging my injured knee to my body. I try to breathe through the pain as tears sting my eyes. After a moment, I try to move it. My mouth opens again as the pain shoots up my leg but no sound comes out, and I wonder if I’m going to have to call an ambulance.
That’s exactly what I need today.
Something cold and wet pushes against my cheek, and I open my eyes, blinking in surprise when I come face to face with an adorable chocolate Lab. We just stare at one another for a moment before I burst out laughing, and the dog cocks his head to the side. Of course I would get rugby tackled by a dog. Could this day get any more bizarre? I push myself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in my body. Besides the pain in my knee, my entire body is starting to ache like I was in a car accident. The dog lets out a little whine, and I pat his head. He leans into my touch, and I can’t help but smile.
“Well, hello there, puppy. You didn’t need to tackle me for some attention.”
He licks my face, and I laugh again as I scratch behind his ears. He lets me love on him for a second, his whole body leaning into mine like he can’t get enough, and his exuberance lifts my mood.
“You’re just a sweetheart, aren’t you?” I ask, and he tilts his head up, his eyes drifting closed. I stop petting him to inspect my knee, and I swear I hear him huff in annoyance.
“Spoiled little pup,” I mutter as I look down at my leg and wince. Blood runs down the front of my shin, and there’s a pretty good gash in my knee but the tights I’m wearing are obstructing my view so I won’t know just how bad until I get inside.
“Bear,” someone yells, and I look to the dog at my side as he cowers beside me.
“Is that you?” I ask, and he peeks up at me, looking sheepish.
“Bear!”
“Over here,” I yell out, hoping that whoever it is can hear me as I peek down at him again, petting his head softly. “Did you run away from your owner, big guy?”
At my sweet tone, his tail wags again, and I laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” the same voice exclaims, and I shake my head at Bear before glancing up. My jaw pops open as I’m immediately captivated by the epitome of every bad boy fantasy I’ve ever had, running across my lawn, his long strides eating away the distance between us. The white t-shirt and dark jeans he’s wearing mold to his body perfectly, giving me the most delicious tease of the muscles underneath.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. I need to fix that damn fence. Are you okay?” he asks, stopping in front of me and running his hand through his dark hair. His gaze is focused on my knee but I’m devouring every little inch of him that I can see like a starving woman. I’m suddenly aware of exactly how long it’s been since the last time I had sex, down to the very second. My body is aching with need as I shamelessly eye fuck this stranger in front of me. He crouches down in front of me, and my gaze is drawn to the short beard lining his strong jaw. My fingers twitch with the desire to reach up and run my fingers across the coarse hair. And I can’t stop myself from imagining what it would feel like scraping against my skin.
“Are you okay?” he asks again but all I can do is nod as he flicks his gray gaze up to my face and swallows me up whole. His eyes are gorgeous but it’s the haunting sadness that holds me captive and draws me to him. It piques my curiosity, and I want to delve deeper, losing myself in this beautiful stranger.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I briefly wonder if he can hear it. Does he know what he’s doing to me with just a simple look? Tattoos snake down his arms, all the way to the fingers that are delicately tracing around the torn skin on my knee. His touch ignites something in me, warmth flushing through my body, and I fight to keep my eyes open, savoring it. It’s been a really long time since I felt like that when someone touched me, and I’m not
ready to give it up quite yet.
“I need you to say something,” he adds.
“Why?”
His eyes roam over my face for a moment before a reluctant smirk stretches across his. “Because I need to be sure you don’t have a concussion.”
“I didn’t hit my head,” I tell him, shaking my head, and he nods, losing his fight as he smiles at me. From my bleeding knee to the intense sexual attraction coursing through my body, there is absolutely nothing amusing about this moment but his smile lights up his face, and suddenly I don’t care about anything else.
“This looks really bad,” he says, the smile falling away as he looks back down to my knee, and I follow his gaze, wincing. It’s already swelling, and I’m not even all that sure I can get into the house myself.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
He arches a brow in challenge because we both know I’m lying my ass off, and when I try to move my leg in a stubborn attempt to support my claim, I hiss in pain. Goddamn, that hurts. He glares over at Bear, who happily wags his tail as he lies next to me in the grass.
“Shit, I’m really sorry. He’s still a puppy, and I don’t have him fully trained yet.”
Peeking over at the eager dog who is now rolling around in my grass on his back, I smile and look back to him, reaching out and placing my hand on his arm, compelled to touch him for a reason that I really can’t explain. “It’s really okay. It was just an accident.”
His gaze snaps to my hand on his arm before he meets my eyes again, the light gray darkening slightly, almost like a brewing storm as he looks over my face. Anger flashes in his eyes before it’s quickly replaced by surprise and curiosity, and I wonder if he feels this, too. We’re silent, just both looking at each other on my front lawn as the world continues around us. He leans in, and my heart jumps in my chest, my mind short-circuiting with the possibility of his lips pressing against mine. Just before he’s about to close the gap between us, a car horn sounds followed by a bark from Bear, and he jerks back.