Dirty Headlines

I gave him the middle finger, narrowing my eyes as I tried to come up with something… There was a three. I was certain of it. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten what it was.

He stared at me expectedly, his smile threatening to slice his face in half. I never realized he was so devastatingly dashing and boyish. His smile felt like a deep, lazy kiss under a perfect sunset.

“Three doesn’t matter right now,” I amended. “Does she know those other things?”

He turned to his companion and stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Do you know all those things, cuz?”

Cuz?

She offered me her hand, and I shook it, my mouth agape. “Hi. I’m Emilie, Célian’s cousin. I study fashion here in New York. First year. Célian is helping me… ah, what’s the word?” she said in her ridiculously enchanting accent. “Settle in.”

She squeezed his forearm, and I saw it in the way they looked at each other. Family. I began to look for a rock under which I could hide for the next decade.

I pretended to gravely consider this new information while stroking my chin. “Hmm, yes. Célian is definitely good at settling.” Someone shut me up. Anyone. Please. Bartender?

I was ripping into his relationship, and playing Russian roulette with my job.

“You’re too kind.” He ran a seemingly friendly hand along the back of my arm, his rough palm sending waves of lust to my lower belly, dampening my panties. “Humphry, in contrast, excels at looting.” His tongue moved across his upper teeth, like the bad wolf he was. “Practically stealing all the dirty headlines from our competitors.”

I took a cautious step back. Why did I have to be so impulsive? Why had I assumed the role of his fiancée’s keeper? I had a sick father to take care of at home. Luckily, Célian didn’t look even half offended by my antics. I wondered if it was because I’d slayed the South Korean pop star assignment. His attitude toward people did seem to stem directly from their performance in his newsroom.

“I think I’m going to go.” I swallowed.

“Good thinking. You should do it more often.” He reached for his whiskey casually. “Enjoy your night, Chucks.”

“You too, Mr.… Laurent. Boss. Sir.”

I wish I hadn’t been standing on my feet. Shoving one of them into my mouth seemed like a great way to put a lid on this conversation. I made my way back to Ava and Grayson. Luckily, they hadn’t noticed the Célian debacle. They were too busy arguing about the merits of saffron lollipops as a weight-loss method. They were so engrossed in the subject, they didn’t even notice when the bartender slid me a plate with a roast beef sandwich, a bottle of whiskey, and three glasses.

He leaned down. “From the gentleman three seats to your left. He said to tell you that you should eat your meat.”

My heart cartwheeled, finishing its flip with an Olympic bow.

It’s okay. I can’t fall in love. Mom said so herself. What I’m feeling right now is a mixture of nausea, heartbreak from Milton, and guilt over what happened with an engaged man. The Bacardi certainly didn’t help, either.

I didn’t know if I should be mad, flattered, or crushed by his gesture. But I was starving, desperate for a drink, and dizzy from low blood sugar. I was also oddly relieved to know Célian was going home alone tonight. I didn’t want to be a charity case. But Célian wasn’t privy to how bad things were at my home. He had no way of knowing how dire the situation in my bank account was. My decision was made when the smell of pan-seared roast beef crept into my nostrils. I tore into it like a wild animal. Ava and Grayson stopped the chatter and stared at me.

“Did you just order a bottle of whiskey that’s worth two hundred bucks?” Grayson slurred, launching into a fit of hysterical laughter. Ava was busy cracking it open and pouring each of us a generous glass.

“I…ah, I’m celebrating getting over my migraine,” I mumbled around a hot piece of roast beef and the lettuce in my mouth. “Not the untimely death of a pop star.”

“God bless Advil, right? And handsome bosses.” Ava swiped her eyes along my chest, like she could see the thing inside of it stumbling all over the place, drunk as she was. The way her lips curved knowingly made me wonder if she had caught some of my exchange with Célian.

“I’m just glad the headache is gone.” I filled my mouth with more food. Talking wasn’t doing me much good at this point.

“Your boss is about to be gone next.” She drank in my reaction, and I gave it to her, my curiosity getting the better of me. I tilted my head to the side, catching Célian helping Emilie into her jacket as they made their way to the door.

“Seems so.” I picked a cherry tomato from my plate and popped it into my mouth. I sneaked one last glance at him, even though it was wrong. Even though he wasn’t mine to look at.

Célian ushered his cousin into an Uber, kissed her forehead, and tapped the roof in goodbye. Then, as if my gaze was an invitation, as if he could feel it on his back, he turned around and stared directly at me from the bar’s window. Our eyes locked, and everything stopped.

I’m not for the taking, my eyes said.

That’s for me to decide, his hissed.

“You still want to tell us there’s nothing going on between you and Bossman?” Grayson taunted from the periphery, his voice crawling into me, rattling something I was trying hard to keep dormant.