Page 16 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“Aristotle,” I say, and Jonathan claps one hand against the doorframe, then pulls a pencil and his newspaper out of his satchel before he leaves.
Alone with Will, I let my fake smile drop. “You just had to muscle in on my idea, didn’t you?”
“I’m not muscling in on anything,” he says, slowly stretching his arms above his head and shifting to sit with one ankle resting on his thigh. “This way we both get a column, and our readers get two different perspectives. Everybody wins.”
“Because you care so much about the readers,” I say, rolling my eyes as I stand up.
“I get it, you don’t like to collaborate, but I want this column, and the MD likes it, so it looks like it’s happening,” Will says, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. Then he stands too, so he’s towering over me.
“Why would you want this?” I ask. “You don’t need extra credit. You’re already the golden boy who won over the investors with your winning pitch. They’re hardly going to makeyouredundant.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Will says, taking off his glasses, then stowing them in his pocket.
“Right, so you just have a burning desire to become the next Carrie Bradshaw, do you?” I scoff.
“I need it for my portfolio. I want to show I can author acolumn about something other than food. Dating has broad appeal. I don’t want to be pigeonholed as the food guy.”
“You could addTeen Girlto your portfolio.”
His mouth creases into a smile. “Anyone would think you were scared of a little competition, Appleby.”
“What would I be scared of, exactly?” I ask, taking a step toward him, refusing to be intimidated by the foot of height he has on me.
“Scared that my column will be better than yours. That my dates will be more fun,” he says, closing the space between us by another inch.
I jut my chin forward. “I don’t think the magazine needs an X-rated column, so you might be limited on how much ‘fun’ you can write about, Havers.”
“Right, because that’s all a date with me would be,” he says, shaking his head, a flash of something new in his eyes and a lift to his eyebrow. “You don’t know me. You reject any attempt I make to get to know you. I really don’t get what your problem is, Anna.” His piercing green eyes stare directly into mine, and the narrow space between us crackles with some furious energy. My palms start to heat, and I struggle to think straight.
“You really want to know what my problem is?” I ask, and he nods. “I’ve been here six years, I work hard every day, late into the night sometimes, I never take a lunch break, I know this magazine better than anyone. Then you swan in with all this swagger and confidence and start critiquing other people’s work when no one asked for your feedback. You ingratiate yourself with Jonathan, volunteering to write up secret pitches none of us were even told about.” I take a beat.It feels so good to be saying all this. “I heard you asked for a raise before you’d even finished your probation, so I’m guessing you already earn more than me, even though I have years more experience, but you probably think you deserve it. You asked for a brand-new ergonomic office chair,even though the rest of us are making do with the crappy old ones, and HR ordered you one, just like that.” I snap my fingers. “You think you can charm everyone into doing exactly what you want, but it won’t work on me. Okay?” I take a breath; the air in the room pulses with emotion.
Will reaches for his glasses and puts them back on. “So, you dislike me for wanting a comfortable chair, for being ambitious and good at my job?” he says, his voice calm and even. He raises a hand to his chin in a faux pose of contemplation. “I won’t apologize for trying to make the magazine better, and if you think you’ve earned a pay rise, you should ask for one. Your lack of confidence and unwillingness to take a lunch break are not on me.” His eyes are steely now, a cool detachment in his tone. “Now, we’re working together on this column whether you like it or not, so let me know when you’re ready to have a constructive, professional, grown-up conversation.” He walks past me toward the door, reaching for the handle, then pauses, turning to give me a final withering look. “And, Anna, if I needed to charm you, trust me, I would have.”
Then he leaves and I pick up the paperweight from Jonathan’s desk and make to hurl it at the door but groan in fury instead, placing the paperweight back down carefully. What a narcissistic sociopath. I am riled and infuriated and ready to punch something, but my skin tingles also with a new exhilaration. Because now, this is war.
Google searches:
Journalism jobs in Bath
Signs someone might be a narcissistic sociopath
Who is the actor in Outlander?
How old is Sam Heughan?
Sam Heughan, wife
Chapter 6
I don’t know who cameup with ten as an arbitrary number for everything. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,10 Things I Hate About You,10 Years Younger—why does it always have to be ten? Six feels more than adequate. I e-mail Jonathan to suggest I start with five dates.
“I need to talk to you two about something,” I tell Jess and Ethan as we sit down for chicken fajitas at the kitchen table.
“Is it about the vase in the bathroom?” Jess asks, fiddling with her phone.
“No, why? What’s happened to the vase in the bathroom?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Jess says, her eyes darting back to her phone. She scrolls, then frowns at the screen. I look to Ethan, who shrugs.
