“I didn’t…” Steve darted up from his chair with his arms stretched wide, looking left and right for support. Unfortunately for him, he’d managed to piss off my entire staff in the two months he’d been here.
“Steve, you are on the verge of metaphorical deportation. What’s not to understand? Get the hell out. Humphry, you’re replacing him as a slightly less junior reporter starting two minutes ago. And since Jessica is hard on the Wall Street item, you’re taking over the pop star coverage.”
The only thing I had in mind was to get someone with a functioning brain to write me the report, and fast, because all my reporters were drowning in work, and Steve obviously couldn’t scratch his own head without cutting it off. I didn’t favor her in any way because I wanted into her pants. I also knew she would die before getting ahead in the game by giving head.
Steve growled, throwing his hands in the air and stalking out of the conference room. He collected his crap from his station and dumped his employee card in the trash can by the door, which was technically against the company rules, but didn’t put a damper on the fact I’d finally gotten rid of him.
“Me?” Jude looked up, her green-brown-golden irises dilating. It was excitement, I think, and it made me so fucking hard I was surprised I didn’t tilt up my side of the table.
“Jessica will help you with whatever you need.”
Jessica nodded, squeezing Judith’s hand. “Of course. I’m here for you, JoJo.”
JoJo shot up from her seat. “I will not let you down, sir.”
I know, and hell if that doesn’t make me harder than an oak tree.
I was so used to people fucking up that having someone constantly step up their game was a disappointment in itself. She was the kind of good I’d only seen one person exhibit proudly. And that was Camille.
Fuck. Where did that come from?
“Back to work, everyone.” I collected my things and opened the glass door, motioning for people to leave. I expected Judith to do what they all did when I promoted them. Stop. Thank me. Melt into a puddle at my feet. Alas, Miss Humphry merely passed me on her way back to her station, not sparing me so much as a glance.
In a moment of madness, I decided to go the stupid route and touched her back ever-so-briefly. She turned around, cocking an eyebrow.
“Tomorrow. Lunch.” The room was empty, so why did it feel like I was suggesting I ravage her on James Townley’s desk during primetime, tinting her ass red with my open palm?
“I’ll be busy,” she said flatly.
“This will be a professional meeting regarding your new position.” Probably should have started with that. Idiot.
“And I will still be busy. Whatever you need from me, I am happy to talk about it right here, in the office. Now, I have an assignment to do. Will that be all, sir?”
I let her walk away, briefly wondering when the tables had turned. She’d started as a nameless dirty fuck, and had somehow dug her way out of that compromising position. The girl who’d stolen from me was now getting a promotion, getting me to do my own dry cleaning, and sassing back.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
Jude grabbed her phone and started dialing, already flipping her recorder on and connecting it to her cell.
“Hello, my name is Jude Humphry, and I’m a reporter at LBC’s Daily Newsnight. I’m calling about the unfortunate and untimely death of Sung Min Chae…”
I looked down, and I was still hard.
I think I’d changed my mind about Chucks after all.
She deserved a few more fucks before I stopped giving any about her.
“Go shorty, it’s your item.
We gonna party like it’s your item,
And you know we don’t give a fuck it’s actually Kate’s item…”
Grayson was twerking on his stool by the bar, sipping his Bacardi and generally acting like a cheerleader in a horror flick mere seconds before she gets chopped into lamb kabobs. Ava knocked back her third martini, fluffing her thick black curls and staring at me from behind the rim of her empty glass. They were both celebrating my first real journalistic accomplishment. Even when I’d pointed out that someone had died and maybe we should hold off the celebrations, they weren’t convinced.
“That pop star tried to rape a chick,” Gray pointed out. “We are allowed to celebrate.”
“Sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Ava quirked a brow. “You look a little pale.”
We were at Le Coq Tail across the street from the office. I was dying for that roast beef sandwich. In reality, I was drinking a glass of tap water and faking a headache, because I couldn’t afford anything more, and maybe it was my poor girl’s pride, but I couldn’t stomach anything Ava and Gray were going to pay for, even though I knew they’d be delighted to treat me after I’d successfully fulfilled my first assignment.
Seeing as I’d kept mum about my situation with my dad and my debt, they both bought into my migraines excuse. Watching them get drunk and talk about their weekend plans—all of them involving spending money—sent jealousy nibbling at the corners of my gut.
“I want Grayson to stop singing 50 Cent. Can you make that happen?” I took a small drink of my water.
“Unfortunately, no.” Ava shook her head. “But I can tell you he’s one drink away from passing out, so the singing will be over soon. Are you coming with us to The Met tomorrow? We’re going to check out the Indonesian restaurant they wrote about in Timeout afterwards.”
I wish I could, but I’m probably going to help my father crawl into the shower, then argue with service providers on the phone to try to get them to give me more time to pay.
“Got plans with my dad. Maybe next time.”
Jesus had probably kept good on his word to keep God updated about all of my sins, because, of all the songs in the world, “Promiscuous” by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland blasted through the room. The place was bustling, and the scent of stale tap beer, deep-fried everything, and urban stench clung to our clothes.
Grayson was hiccupping and talking at the same time, and I tuned him out to people-watch, until he said, “Oops, Jude, yorbassazarr.”
“What?” I shouted over the music.
“Your. Boss. Is. Here!” He yelled into my ear. “And he is looking fifty shades of great.”
Grayson, I’d discovered, had the tendency to be cheesier than a Taco Bell enchilada when he was drunk.
“Where?” Ava looked around.
“Three stools down.”
I craned my neck, my face heating before I’d even spotted his broad back, still clad in the ink black textured wool YSL jacket he’d had on in the office. There was nothing saint-like about what this Laurent was doing, though. Even with his back to me, I could see the woman he was talking to clearly. She ran a pale-pink clawed finger down her neck, giggling like a schoolgirl, and purred at something he had said. Célian must have been in top form, because whatever came out of his mouth next caused her to have to right herself by clinging to his shoulders, she laughed so hard. They shared a quick, intimate hug, and I was a witch, burning at the stake from the inside, wanting to break free from whatever spell he’d put over me that made me feel so completely and unbelievably miserable.
Beautiful. She was beautiful, with hair a shade darker than his, sapphire-blue eyes, and a sunkissed tan. Célian obviously had a type, and it wasn’t a dirty blond, hazel-eyed woman who dressed like a headmistress in a British movie from the fifties, except with Chucks. Purple today, by the way. Dignity and pride. But I had a feeling I was about to lose both.
“Earth to Jude?” Grayson slurred, elbowing me in the chest.
Ouch. I shot him a dirty look. “Yeah?”
“Is it just me, or does it look like he’s flirting with another woman?”
“I don’t care.” I jutted my chin out.