Chapter Three: Charm His Pants Off
I had gone home to shower and returned to the office. I passed by the receptionist, who looked at me with judgmental annoyance. I rolled my eyes and power-walked to my desk. I turned on my computer, logged into the system, and began opening my emails. My best friend and colleague, Sarah, jumped up from the cubical beside mine. She eyed me up and down with a scrutiny only an investigative journalist could do.
"Holy shit! Did you have sex last night?" She whisper-screamed. My eyes grew wide, wondering how exactly she knew these things. Did I have a giant neon sign on my forehead or something?
"What are you talking about? I got divorced yesterday." I lowered my voice to barely audible. Everyone at this publication knew precisely how awful my divorce had been. Ben knew my career was important, yet he took every opportunity to undermine me and my job. Ben repeatedly showed up and acted like the victimized soon-to-be ex-husband until I finally agreed to the divorce. It was not only unprofessional but also humiliating.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your face is relaxed; your clothes are disheveled and slightly mismatched, but not the same ones as yesterday. You didn't respond to any of my messages. And that huge ass hickey at the base of your neck is a major indicator."
My hand instantly covered the area she was talking about while my face flushed, "Is it bad?"
"You don't have a hickey there!" Sarah whisper-screamed again, her face going through a couple of thoughts before she landed on, "I swear to god, girl, if you fucked Ben again, I'm going to puke."
I felt my face twist up in disgust. Even at the peak of our happiness in our relationship, Ben had never ignited a burning passion the way my mystery man had. I could honestly admit that sex with Ben was robotic and lackluster, with a few self-induced orgasms added in. Before last night, I had been questioning if I even liked sex at all. The answer was, with my mystery man, a resounding hell yes. "No way. After the hearing, I wandered around, found a hole-in-the-wall bar, and met a very handsome stranger."
Sarah's eyes were saucers, and her jaw dropped to the cubicle wall that separated us, "You had a one-night-stand? You? Miss I-could-never-let-some-rando-stick-me-in-a-bathroom-with-all-those-germs?"
I glared at her, "That dance club you are referring to was crawling with bugs of some sort, and I swear I got some rare disease just from touching the cups."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Look, Ben had been gone for almost six months at that point. You needed some fun in your life."
I sighed, "Even if we were separated, I was still married. It was fun to dance and hang out with you, but anything else felt wrong."
She grinned slyly, "But now you are single, and on your first night of freedom, you got down and dirty with some stranger in a bar bathroom, right?"
I crinkled my nose, "That's gross. Do you even know how dirty public bathrooms are?"
Sarah shrugged, her eyes dreamy. I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice. "But if you must know, I did it in a hotel, and it was other-worldly good."
Her mouth opened like she would say something when a loud booming voice called my name. I turned toward my sleazy bro of a boss, just in time to see him point an aggressive finger directly at me. "Letty, get in here!"
I waited until he was back in his office, then rolled my eyes. Sarah returned a 'don't I know it' look with a hmmhmm noise. I gave Sarah an 'if I'm not out in 5 minutes, rescue me' look that she nodded to teasingly.
My boss, Horatio Dickinson, was a typical Alpha male kind of guy with all the toxic masculinity that goes with it. Half of his secretaries have quit because he made advances on them. I know for a fact HR has made him watch the sexual harassment videos they send out at least three times. The only reason he hasn't been fired yet is that his uncle owns the publication. I usually avoided him because I loved my job and didn't want him to put me at risk of losing it.
This job was a saving grace over the last two years. I never thought my journalism degree would save my life after a marriage that was supposed to last the entirety of that life. I think about how Ben claimed I would have to put this job on the shelf as soon as I became pregnant because no wife of his would deprive his children of the love and support a stay-at-home mother could provide. At the time, I thought that was the life I wanted to live, but after a year of negative pregnancy tests, I found solace in the articles I wrote. I found it in the people I interacted with. I fell in love with connecting people, places, and things to each other through my networking. Sports allowed people to bond worldwide, and I treasured my role in that. Overall, it kept away the loneliness of my husband's cold shoulder and his increasingly demanding job.
Schooling my thoughts, I stepped into the small office, finding my boss sitting on the corner of his desk, directly in front of the chair I usually sat in. The tiny space between where he sat and the chair would put my face directly in line with his crotch. So, I choose to stand. Horatio cleared his throat while raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow toward the door. I adjusted it so that a tiny sliver remained open. No way was I going to let him trap me in here. I silently watched as he shifted uncomfortably until he moved around his desk and back to his chair. "I noticed that you were not at the meeting this morning."
I nodded but did not move. Horatio's brown eyes flashed with annoyance, and his finger gestured in a continuing talking circle, "Annnnnd?"
"And I had something to follow up on for a story." I lied. I couldn't and wouldn't tell my creepy boss any details about my personal life.
"What story? You haven't been assigned anything because you missed the assignment meeting. I know that you finished the other story you were working on. I approved its publication on Tuesday." Horatio ranted in a tone that screamed, I've got you now! For some unknown reason, Horatio was constantly trying to put me in these 'gotcha' moments since I was moved to the sports beat shortly after.
I put a blank expression, "You are correct that I do not have an active story currently. I was following up about a possible new story, but the lead did not pan out." I took a frustrated breath, "However, in my contract with the publication, I have the option for flexible work hours and can take time to look into any story as I see fit."
Horatio stared at me with malicious, "That is correct. But as your direct supervisor, you must always keep me in the loop, Mrs. Kerns."
The use of my married name brought with it a whole kaleidoscope of emotions. I ground my teeth, refusing to cry in front of this mysotongistic pig. Horatio continued, "I've assigned you the interview tomorrow with Dawes."
It was my turn to narrow my eyes, "Dawes? Grant Dawes, the hockey player?"
My boss nodded and sat back in his chair, folding his hands with a smug grin, "Yes, he signed a huge deal with our very own Hot Shots!"
"Dawes hates interviews and is known for walking out in the middle. He never agrees to do in-person interviews." I folded my arms across my chest, then dropped them as soon as Horatio's eyes focused solely on my cleavage.
Horatio adjusted his blazer and lightly combed back stray bleach-blond hair. With an arrogant look, he cackled, "I was able to sweet talk their team manager into an exclusive interview. A guy like that will bring some money to the website. Even walking out on an interview is clickbait worthy."
My boss grabbed a folder off his desk and held it up for me to take. "Horatio, I really don't think this is worth our time. He probably won't even show up."
"Doesn't matter. If you don't show up ready to work, then contract or not, I'll find a way to fire you. I'm tired of your lazy work ethic." Horatio grumbled while holding up the folder. I bit my lip to keep in my sarcastic response and snatched the file out of his hands. I was far too hungover to argue with him any further.
I made my way back to my desk, threw the file on the stack of other stories Horatio had assigned or turned down, slumped in my squeaky chair, and heaved a huge sigh.
"That bad?" Sarah asked, peeking her head over the divider.
"I'm going to interview a hockey player named Dawes. Did I mention he absolutely hates interviews? In the last one he was in, he got up and left before it even started." I rubbed my fingers across my forehead to ease the pulsing ache.
"for real?" Sarah's dark eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, he has a reputation as being arrogant, hotheaded, and completely unreasonable in his personal life," I mumbled, pinching my nose to alleviate the pain. Sarah grabbed the folder off my desk, and her eyes rounded at the picture, "Damn, he is so hot!"
"He is a walking red flag for toxic possessive alpha masculinity. I wouldn't get your hopes up."
Sarah dropped the folder open on my desk, and I stared at the familiar image of pure hockey gold. Grant Dawes was a hockey legend, and I admit to being a fan. I put my head in my hands and my elbows on my desk, thinking, "I'm terrible with this kind of sulky playboy personality! How am I going to manage a whole interview?"
"Who knows, maybe you will charm his pants off." Sarah chuckled as she ducked back into her chair. A lot of help she is. I grabbed the folder and got to work.