My hands twitched at my sides, itching with the desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze. The only thing holding me back was fear that with my luck she would probably return as a ghost and haunt me for the rest of my life.
“I just bought that bikini.”
“I know, but the color looks so much better on me than on you.” She looked down at the pile of clothes spilling out of the luggage. “Oh, never mind. I already grabbed it.”
The “do not touch my stuff” tirade I was about to go off on was diffused by a loud bang on the front door. Melany zipped the suitcase closed, dropped it on its tiny wheels and snatched her oversized purse from the floor before speeding down the hallway with me following after.
Unlatching the deadbolt, she swung open the apartment door to reveal a guy who looked to be around my age.
Using both hands, the guy grabbed Melany by the ass and ground his hips into hers. “Babe.”
“Hey, stud.” She opened her mouth and tongued him.
I choked on my spit and started coughing, which caused Melany to detach from him so she could shoot me a dirty look.
“Stud, this is Ciaran, the daughter,” she introduced, angrily.
I took no offense to the way she used her fingers to put air quotes around “the daughter” part. I hated to be reminded I was related to her.
Stud, who wasn’t studly at all, raised his eyebrows and whistled. “The daughter? You’re shitting me. She looks more like your older sister.”
I grimaced. Definitely not what “the daughter” needed to hear at this hour of the morning if at all ever.
He ignored my expression and checked out the small red suitcase. “Babe, this tiny suitcase all you packed for the trip?”
“Yeah. It’s not like I’m going to need clothes while we’re there,” Melany giggled while she copped a feel of his package.
I had reached my breaking point.
“Okay, time to get going.” I clapped my hands once to get their attention, picked up Melany’s suitcase and tossed it out the apartment door where it landed in front of the neighbor's door with a satisfying thud.
Melany gave me another look as both her and her flavor of the week walked out the door.
I slammed the door shut behind them. Much to my surprise I found I was no longer upset with being screwed out of rent money.
It was worth it as long as she was out of my hair for three long weeks.
Chapter Two
Ciaran
A couple of hours later, I was at a stalemate with my computer, which made the pensive cloud I had slipped under even worse. The clicking sounds coming from my co-workers’ stations weren’t helping either. Their sounds of busy-ness sent me constant reminders of how unproductive my morning had been.
My lack of patience led to vigorous punching of the mouse, which resulted in my computer freezing up. Had my career not relied on my ability to slap the heck out of a keyboard and produce a well-written piece, I wouldn’t have cared.
I’ve worked as a writer for a women’s interest magazine called Polish for the past four years. That’s Polish, as in nail polish. Not Polish, as in the language or inhabitants of Poland.
When I had first been hired, I was more than excited about my position but, unfortunately, thanks to a boss who only assigned me fluff pieces to apply my hard earned degree to, the job had lost its shiny appeal.
As a teenager I’d spent numerous hours daydreaming about “righting the wrongs of the world” by writing earth-moving articles that dared to tell the truth. Instead I was stuck with subjects such as “Eight Ways to Use Coconut Oil,” “How to Make Your Zit Cream Work Wonders,” or “Ten Uses for Tampons You Didn’t Know Existed.” (It turned out those little suckers were capable of doing a lot more than saving your hide every month).
After years of writing the same irrelevant rubbish, my skills were turning stagnant.
Grunting, I slapped my hand against the hard drive sitting next to the monitor, hoping to beat the machine into submission.
It wasn’t like I was getting much done before it froze anyways. Images of Melany wearing my orange bikini while sipping a drink out of a pineapple kept interrupting my concentration.
I reached out again and smacked the computer harder than it deserved.
“Hey.” Brenda’s head popped up from the other side of the partition that divided our desks. “It’s time to take a break from whatever the hell you’re doing over there. We have a staff meeting in five minutes and you and I both know we will be on Shawna’s shit list if we’re late.”
Brenda Larosa, with her long black hair and big gray eyes, was prettier than the majority of models who often strutted down the hallways of Polish, despite being older than all of them by at least a decade. We had met on my first day of work and immediately hit it off, quickly growing into best buds.
I glanced at the time on my cell phone as I stood. Everyone knew arriving late to a staff meeting would guarantee a top spot on Shawna’s shit list.
A senior editor for the magazine, Shawna Martin was a stickler about her staff being on time. Lateness was just one of a thousand pet peeves she had and I could not afford to end up on her list. It was bad enough I suffered from an onslaught of hope that the woman would take pity on my soul and assign me a topic worth reporting. It hadn’t happened in four years, but a girl could dream.
By the time Brenda and I slid into empty chairs at the conference room table, Stuart and the majority of our co-workers were already seated.
From his position directly across the table, he gave me a wink partnered with a toothy smile. Like Brenda, Stuart was also in his early thirties and very much the epitome of the boy next door. Upon meeting him, I found his blond hair and blue eyes very attractive; however, I was hesitant to accept his initial proposition.
My hesitancy had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. I couldn’t help being particular when it came to men because I knew exactly what I was looking for. I wanted a man who was gentle and smart, one I could marry and produce a house full of babies with. I wanted to surround myself with a family I could love and invest in every minute of their lives.
It was the complete opposite of Melany. It was also proving to be difficult to find a man who qualified.
After a couple of weeks of observing Stuart’s sweet disposition as he interacted with our peers, I got the impression he was a safe bet so I agreed to a date. He was clean cut, polite, and a great guy. Our evening was working out well until he kissed me. I wasn’t sure I could even call it a kiss. Much like my one ugly experience with a llama, Stuart’s kiss consisted of an extreme amount of saliva. There were no fireworks, no stolen breaths. Just spit.
Thankfully, no one except for Brenda knew Stuart and I had gone out. I preferred it that way because I was a firm believer in keeping my personal life quiet. The last thing I wanted was to contribute to workplace gossip, especially since Stuart was relatively new to the magazine.
At the head of the table, Shawna started speaking. “We all know what today is so let’s skip the pomp and circumstance and get right to the point. I have seven new assignments for next month’s issue. Our focus is the extremes women go through to reach their beauty potential.”
A hum came from the table. Everyone competitively eyed one another as Shawna began to call out assignments.
There was a total of twelve writers on staff and a handful of interns. Each month, Shawna selected the lead writers that corresponded with the number of assignments on deck. Whoever was left over got stuck assisting with fact checking and researching information pertaining to whatever the lead writers needed.
“Hannah, you have “The Best Methods for the Perfect Contour.” Stuart, “What Body Parts are His Favorite?” Brenda, “Ten Ways to Make Your Cellulite Lotion Work for You.” And Ciaran…” Shawna paused to make eye contact with me. “Ciaran, I want you to interview Dr. Kean Bennett for the main feature.”