But then I started to wonder if maybe I was actually psychic. Maybe I’d telepathically sensed his proximity and subconsciously invited him to slip down the street, seep through the cracks under my door and plant himself right into my waiting mind.
Wow. One mere mention of my ex-boyfriend and it already felt like my brain had begun to melt. I was starting to lose it. Bigtime.
“Jesus. Ten years,” Lisa finally sighed.
“Yeesh, I know,” I said, trying to reconstitute my grey matter. “Wanna start placing bets on whose asses got fat now, or should we wait until it gets closer to the event?”
Lisa folded her newspaper back onto the empty chair next to her, saying, “Hey. Lay off fat asses. Mine’s been expanding lately.”
“Yeah, but you can get away with it. You’re married to an ass man.”
Our salads came, and the two of us immediately attacked them with abandon. Mmm. Looked like I got some extra crispy bacon on my Cobb. The Westlake Pub made the best salads in the world, but the rest of their menu was pretty spectacular, too. I happened to think they made the most awesome pizza in Jersey. And that was saying a lot.
Lis suddenly gestured her fork in my direction and gave me the stinkeye. “Ya know, you didn’t have to agree with me.”
I was preoccupied with my mental menu perusal, and had no idea what she was talking about. “What?” I asked mid-chew.
She calmly placed her fork next to her plate and swiped her napkin across her mouth. “Most normal best friends would have made a point to dispute the proportions of my ass.”
I started to crack up, offering a, “Sorry,” through my mouthful of food.
“Bitch.”
Chapter 6
THE CONTENDER
“Dammit, Devin. Why are you being so stubborn?”
I’d been arguing with my editor for over an hour. Although, as so often happened lately, the work-related argument had turned personal.
“Layla, enough already. You’re a copywriter for godsakes. You are not a reporter.”
“Well, gee, I wonder why that is.”
I stared him down as best I could, considering he was a full head taller than me. It’s hard to be intimidating when you’re only five-and-a-half-feet tall.
He looked at me then, that familiar exasperated expression he loved to give me, that sigh that let me know that he was still my superior and that I shouldn’t push him too far.
But I knew I’d struck a nerve. We both knew that the only reason I was still stuck in the copywriting department was because Devin wanted it that way. He tried to justify holding me back by saying that I’d be the subject of nasty gossip, people thinking that a pretty little thing like me must have slept my way to a promotion, and he was only trying to protect me. Umm, I’m sorry. Is my name Jennifer and do we work at WKRP? Fact of the matter was, I was past the point of caring about anyone’s stupid gossip. I just wanted a chance to get my foot in the door.
Devin just happened to be the doorman.
I’d called him immediately after my lunch with Lisa, telling him that I had a great idea for a story—a fluff piece, really—nothing too hard-hitting, perfect filler for our little weekly periodical. I zoomed back into the city and headed straight for his apartment.
Surprisingly, his curiosity had been piqued, because I was barely two steps inside the door before he said, “Okay. Out with it.”
I went on to describe the story I had in mind, an interview with up-and-coming actor Trip Wiley, who just happens to be filming a movie right here in New York, and won’t you just make a simple little phonecall to set it up?
Devin actually thought the interview was a decent enough idea, and we both knew that he’d be able to get in contact with Trip’s people.
The problem was that he wasn’t going to let me be the one to do the interview.
“I can’t believe you’re going to take my suggestion, but give the interview to another reporter.”
“Correction: I’m giving it to a reporter.”
My jaw dropped and I looked at him as though he’d just kicked me in the ribs. I was so angry that I almost threw a temper tantrum right there in the middle of his living room. Real nice thing to say. Way to go for the jugular, honey.
Well, I could draw blood, too.
I pulled myself together and started in with barely restrained malice in a seemingly unruffled voice, “I think there’s something you should know about this particular interviewee,” I said, smug and fully aware I’d be dropping a bomb here. “It just so happens that I personally know Trip Wiley. Intimately as a matter of fact.”
When he started to smirk a “yeah right” look my way, I cut him off with, “It’s the truth. We went to high school together. I’ll even break out my yearbook to prove it to you.”
I could have sworn I saw Devin’s composure slip just the slightest notch, giving me the fortitude to press my advantage. “It could give a real interesting angle to the story, but hey. If you’re happy enough with the same thousand words that will be printed in every other rag in this city, by all means, proceed.”