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.”

The entire room gasped in disbelief while I sucked in my lips. 

Dr. Kean Bennett was a well known plastic surgeon whose practice was located here in Dallas. His top notch surgical jobs were greatly in demand. However, it was his brutish and rude behavior towards journalists that catapulted him into mainstream notoriety.  

Many magazine and newspaper reporters, online bloggers, and television personalities had tried to interview him, but he refused to cooperate. More than once he had lost his temper in front of the camera. Most recently, an encounter between Dr. Bennett and a member of the media resulted in a reporter landing in the local pond with a black eye.

Instead of his violent behavior putting a stop to media departments from sending in their troops, it only piqued their interest. I was alarmed by how many agencies were willing to sacrifice their writers and photographers for the sake of making money.

My stomach knotted as I stared at my delusional boss, who apparently was no different. The smirk on her face clearly stated Shawna was more than happy to sacrifice me for the sake of a hot storyline. I made a mental note to write my name in permanent marker on the tags of my clothes so they could at least identify my body when it was pulled from an area lake.

Hannah Wilkins, the staff golden child, weighed in. “Wait, Shawna. Dr. Bennett hates journalists. He gave the last reporter a black eye. Don’t you think you should give the job to someone more capable than Ciaran? I volunteer. I’m sure I can get him to agree to answering some questions.”

“Back down, bitch. We all know why you want the assignment. You’re only interested in discovering if the rumor about the super large joystick in his pants is true,” Brenda muttered loud enough for Hannah and a handful of our peers to overhear. She was fortunate our boss was out of range. Hannah responded with a look that was cold enough to give the entire room frostbite but Brenda rolled her eyes unaffected.  

I was sure everyone, including our boss, was aware why Hannah wanted a shot at Dr. Bennett. The man was hot enough to melt glass. And thanks to a daring photographer who had captured several photos of Dr. Kean Bennett while on the beach and posted them online, the entire world knew it. Those photos caused a Dr. Bennett crazed mania. It was only a matter of hours before everyone was talking about them.

When Brenda and I first looked them up, I had convinced myself I was only doing it because I owed it to the photographer who had risked his life to capture them. Yet, as my eyes traced over the fantastic detail of every ridge of his muscular chest down to the deep V carved at his hips that led straight to a package that promised something very large and wonderful, I almost hyperventilated. The man was too hot to be my type, but even I could deeply appreciate those shots.

“Hannah, I am the senior editor in this room, not you. The assignments stand as given. Ciaran will interview the doctor. Each of you have exactly two weeks to complete your articles. I expect first drafts next Monday. Now, get a move on it. Those pieces are not going to write themselves.”

Everyone began gathering their notes and rushing out of the room while Brenda and I hung back. I was suddenly having issues moving my arms and legs.

Brenda, on the other hand, was borderline ecstatic. “You. Lucky. Duck. Dr. Kean fucking Bennett. I swear every time I see a picture of that man my ovaries impregnate themselves.”

“Lucky,” I scoffed. “You think I want to end up in a body of water with a black eye?”

“Please. The man wouldn’t punch you. You’re female. Flash him some of that leg you own and make him your bitch.”

I seriously doubted anyone could make a man like Dr. Bennett their bitch.

I slowly followed Brenda out of the room, only to find Stuart waiting for us just outside the doorway. “Congratulations Ciaran. That’s quite an assignment Shawna handed you.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Stuart. It’s great.” At least I hoped it would be once I tossed my cookies in the nearest toilet.

Stuart flashed a confident grin. “Why don’t you let me take you to dinner tonight? We can celebrate.”

“Tonight’s not good. Maybe another time.”

“Fine, I’ll take a raincheck but promise you’ll call me if you need any help with your interview. I would hate for that pretty face to end up in a lake.”

Brenda shot him an annoyed look but it was too late. His warning added to the mountain of stress sitting heavily on my shoulders.

Stuart took no notice of my discomfort. “I’m serious. I’ll go with you to interview him. I wouldn’t want my girl to go it alone. Just let me know.”

By flinging the title “my girl” in my direction, Stuart had added another pound of worry to my load. The last thing I wanted was for him to get the wrong idea about us and become clingy.

“I’ll think about,” I mumbled.

“That is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen,” Brenda said watching Stuart walk away. “When are you going to put poor Stuart out of his misery?”

“Uh, not anytime in the near future. I’ve made it extremely clear to him our dates are nothing serious.”

“Oh honey, I’m not sure Stuart gets it. See what happens when you wish for a harmless guy to settle down with?” She laughed.

I smacked her on the arm. “I said nice, not harmless. I prefer a little backbone on a nice guy and not a lot of drool. After he kissed me, I get the feeling Stuart may not be the one.”

Brenda’s grin widened. “Well, he seems sickeningly nice to me. It’s almost annoying. But forget about Stuart. I want to discuss your smoking hot assignment, Dr. Bennett. Did I ever mention a little birdie once confirmed there is truth to the size of his hidden anaconda?”

“Brenda, please don’t call it an anaconda. It makes it sound gross. Besides snakes eat birds.”

“I can promise you that pretty much sums up what happened. Sammy, that friend of mine who is an underwear model, went out with the doc once and shared all the dirty deets. Not only is the man extremely gifted and fixed her breasts but he is also a beast in bed. She told me she came so many times she almost blacked out.”

My eyes shot sideways, towards Brenda. I didn’t know what to make of how her statement made me feel. I was both floored and turned on at the same time. “Wait, she was his patient? Isn’t it against the code of ethics to go out with a patient?”

“Only if Sammy reports him and trust me, there is no way in hell any woman is going to file a complaint against a man who drives her to multiple orgasms. Hell, for every guy who grants me multiples I want to put him on a freaking pedestal and dance naked around his feet.”

I was mystified.

I didn’t have a ton of experience with men. And the few times I’d had sex, I’d never encountered these coveted multiple orgasms I had read and heard about. I seriously thought they were an urban legend.

Brenda returned to her cubicle next to mine, leaving me to wallow in my troubled thoughts. I loosely gathered my long auburn hair at the top of my head as I looked out the window.

Shawna had finally presented me with the perfect opportunity to prove myself as a serious writer. An opportunity I’ve wanted and been waiting years for. If—No—when I succeed, it could mean huge things for my career.

Except I wasn’t sure how I was going to get Dr. Bennett to agree to an interview.

If it was Hannah, she would more than likely seduce the man then, as he supplied her with a night of orgasms, she would pelt him with questions. It was so conniving, it reminded me of Melany.

But I was no Hannah, nor was I Melany. I would never use someone just to get what I wanted, which meant I had to find another way.