“It won’t.”
Her smile widens. “We’ll see about that. For the past five years, you’ve been writing about sex and dating from the safety of what you thought to be a secure relationship. That’s not the case anymore. Trust me. I’ve been single in this city for thirty years. It’s a jungle out there. I’m looking forward to what new and exciting things you’ll bring to the table now.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Chloe snorts a laugh and I shift my gaze to her. “The men in this city are a different breed altogether.”
“She’s right,” Lenora, the editor for health and beauty, offers. I head toward Chloe, sitting beside her on the couch. “Most of them are glued to their phones.”
“And forget about being chivalrous,” Dawn, one of our graphic designers, adds. “I can’t tell you how many dates I’ve been on with a guy who didn’t even open the door or pick up the check.”
Chloe turns to me. “So if you come across a man who takes care of you, go after that.” She winks, an unspoken reminder in her gaze about last night’s mystery man.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. “And thank you all for your kind thoughts. But honestly, I’m okay. I have a plan.”
“Of course you do,” Viv quips as several other people snicker or groan, accustomed to my quirks. “Evie Fitzgerald, the girl with a plan.”
I suppose after working here this long, she’s gotten accustomed to my idiosyncrasies, particularly my love for plans and itineraries. I’ve always preferred structure. Whereas Chloe loves waiting until the last minute to get her work done, often sending her final piece to Viv mere seconds before it’s due, I work ahead, not rushing anything. Hell, I have pieces I intend to write for the magazine and blog planned out for the next six months. My planner is a work of art, and my lifeline. Structure keeps me grounded, focused.
“Speaking of which, let’s hear what you have planned for the August issue.”
I blow out a relieved breath, happy to concentrate on work instead of my breakup for a moment. With a smile, I discuss my idea of exploring the world of dating in five major cities across the country. An idea that just came to me, thanks to Chloe. Viv thinks it’s brilliant, since she’s under the impression I’ll be rejoining the ranks of single people.
Once she gives me the go-ahead, she continues going around the room, everyone pitching different story ideas for the next issue. She nixes a few, approves others, or reworks some to make them more compelling. Her ability to know a brilliant idea when she hears one has kept her at the helm of this magazine for over a decade.
When I was a teenager, I scrambled to the shelves for my monthly copy of Blush magazine. I always knew I wanted to work in this industry, so I did what anyone with a dream would do. I studied. Working for Blush was the end goal. One I didn’t think I’d ever achieve. It’s continually been the top women’s magazine in the country, always on the cutting edge. While I didn’t see myself offering dating tips, it’s a stepping stone to being able to write things I really want to, things of interest to all women. Reproductive rights, equality, economic justice… Just to name a few.
Once the meeting ends and we have our assignments for next month’s issue, about half of which will never make it to print, we disperse. I hang back to collect the gifts my irreverent coworkers bestowed on me. As I read one of the cards that went along with a bouquet of roses, Chloe sidles up next to me.
“‘Sorry for your loss. Wishing you moments of peace and comfort as you remember all the good times you had together.’”
She snort-laughs at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Did I just get a sympathy card for a breakup?” I muse as I toss it back onto the pile.
“It appears so.”
This shouldn’t surprise me. Since accepting Viv’s offer to work here, I’ve come to learn many of the employees have a rather dark and cynical sense of humor. When the mouse that roamed the office, evading all the traps the exterminators set out for it, had finally been outsmarted, one of the fashion columnists declared a day of mourning. He even went so far as to plan a memorial for our fallen friend. There’s no such thing as a normal day at Blush magazine.
“How did everyone find out?”
She shrugs as she helps me gather everything. “News travels fast around here. You should know that by now. It’s a miracle you didn’t find out Trevor was breaking up with you before he told you. That happened to Maureen over in beauty.”
Arms full, we head out of the conference room with what we manage to carry.
“At least I get chocolate out of it. Like a parting gift after picking the wrong door on Let’s Make a Deal.” I imitate my best announcer’s voice. “Instead of a beautiful diamond or a lifetime of security, we’ll be sending you home with a box of drugstore chocolates. Better luck next time!” We turn into my cubicle and I deposit the first batch of flowers, cards, and chocolates onto my desk.
“Oh, come on. You got a lot more than just a crappy box of chocolates.”
“You’re right. I got sympathy cards meant for the death of a loved one, flowers, and a few balloons.”
“Don’t forget the sausage.”
I frown. “Sausage?”
“Yeah.” She waggles her brows, making an obscene gesture with her hand. “Mr. Armani’s sausage, on the off-chance I’m wrong and you did sleep with him. Regardless, I’d take that consolation prize any day over some schmuck who didn’t realize what he had.”
“Trevor’s under a great deal of stress.” I repeat the same argument, although my words lack the conviction they had earlier. “He knows what he had.” I avoid what I can only assume to be Chloe’s annoyed stare. “I just need to remind him of that.”
I step out of my cubicle to get the rest of my breakup gifts when I almost run straight into Viv. I inhale a sharp breath, stopping in my tracks.
“Sorry, Viv. I wasn’t looking.”
“That much is clear, Evie. I’d like a word.”
“Of course.” I force a smile, pass Chloe a nervous look, then follow Viv, curious as to her sudden need to speak to me. Normally, all magazine-related problems are addressed at our weekly meetings. Then again, Viv’s known to use her employees’ real-life issues in concocting new, edgy story ideas. I worry she’s about to ask me to do something crazy, like sign up for online dating apps and journal my experience. Or apply to The Bachelor. Or something that would rival the premise of How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.
Once we’re in her office, she closes the door, putting me even more on edge. “Have a seat, Evie.” Her voice is even as she gestures across the desk.
“Is everything okay?” Tentative, I sit down in the bright orange chair. Her workspace is decorated in a stunning mid-century modern design. Vibrant colors. Sleek lines. Uncluttered shelves. Every time I step into this room, I feel like I’ve just walked onto the set of Mad Men. In fact, Viv bought many of the items here in a prop auction.
“Everything’s great. I wanted to speak with you in private about an…opportunity.”
She opens one of the desk drawers and withdraws a file. Placing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses over her eyes, she scans the papers in the folder.