Page 62 of The Dis-Graced
“I just want this dinner to end now. It was nice seeing you. Thanks for the job, but I think I’m going to pass.” I throw the portfolio across the table to her. “I’ll be in touch.”
I rise from my chair, embarrassed, and more than a little mad. I should have never come out, but the temptation of new work was too much for me to say no to, and I had to chance it. Now, I feel like a fool.
Chapter 19
Grace
Has anyone ever successfully been able to outrun their problems on a treadmill? Well, I’m five miles in, and all mine are still piled up like dead bodies in a basement.
Why am I so morbid?
The days have begun to blend together, each one promising a new flavor of boredom. ALAN is a career-making story, an assignment that any journalist would covet, one that could save me from my dis-graced status, yet I don’t feel lucky. Not anymore.
Drake has become a ghost. I hear him every so often around the penthouse, but I rarely see him. It’s probably for the best.
It’s been a week since my dinner with Stephanie, and I haven’t brought myself to answer her calls. And Luke, well, he’s just too busy for me. My mother called to ask for money. This isn’t a rare occurrence, and I already pay for their cellphones and Netflix accounts, but I relented even though I’m not entirely sure where my career is going at this point.
Which brings me to the only other offer I’ve had since Luke got me onboard at Dallanger Tech: Top Off News. Initially, I was offended by the very prospect of baring my boobs while reporting the news, but now, heck, beggars can’t be choosers. I wouldn’t have to worry about what to wear, and I’ll still get to report on serious and political issues.
For a while, I was actually considering pulling out of working on ALAN altogether. It’s a temporary fix, providing no real longterm solution. Furthermore, being associated with me is going to put Drake at risk. I keep telling myself that the advent of ALAN will overshadow my involvement, but there will always be gossipists, and despite the fact that he’s been, at times, a complete and total jerk, I don’t want to harm his reputation.
I press the up button on the treadmill, giving it a slight incline, trying to take my mind from my issues by making my workout more strenuous.
My mind keeps returning to his words, to his promises. I had wanted to believe they were real, but after he’s all but disappeared from my existence, I can’t help but wonder if if his words were just that. Words. I want to think that he’s a genuine man, but that’s what I had thought about Frank, and look how that turned out.
As much as it pains me, I’d make a great addition to Top Off News. I have greater credentials than all of the reporters and anchors, and my assets are…considerable. Surely it’s better than having to retrain into a different career field. What else could I be? A dental hygienist?
The automatic door opens, and Drake enters, gym bag in hand.
Of all the times to see him, it has to be while I’m sweaty and gross.
He drops the duffle to the floor, and pulls off the tee-shirt he’s wearing.
Why hello there, you beautiful wall of muscle you.
The addition of Drake to the room makes it at least ten degrees hotter, but I refuse to slow and give him the satisfaction of thinking he has some type of effect on me.
Which, let’s face it, he totally does.
He goes over to a rowing machine and gets to work, and to my great consternation, he’s within my line of sight, which only serves to distract me.
I turn the volume up on my iPod, blasting the Mortal Kombat theme song, but it fails to get my mind off Drake and his exquisite physique as he rows. The machine allows me to see his arms, legs, chest, and abs—all taut and glistening. His body’s like an engine, pulling, and flexing, and made for pleasure. All I can think about is wrapping my legs around him, pulling him in close, so close until—
Fuck!
My legs fly out behind me, and I drop to the belt of the treadmill, which ejects me off before coming to a halt.
Within seconds, Drake is by my side, looking down on me from above.
I grab my head, which hit the belt hard and is now throbbing. How could I be so stupid?
Drake’s lips are moving, but with my earbuds firmly in place, I can’t make out what he’s saying. I reach to pull them out, but suddenly, Drake’s arms scoop me up and lift me effortlessly from the floor.
My first instinct is to resist and launch my hands into his chest, forcing him to drop me.
But as soon as his scent invades my nose, I’m pacified. I breathe him in deeply, taking in his sweat-laced woodsy odor like a fiend, ever greedy for more. The thumping beat of the music still streaming into my ears only heightens these emotions, and my body betrays me, leaning into his muscular chest. I want to reach up, hook his neck with my hand, and pull him down for a kiss. Fuck, I want to do more than that.
My head spins as he carries me through the automatic door, down the hall, and into one of the penthouse’s many sitting areas where he sets me down on a settee.
