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“There’s the man of the hour.” Devon, his boss, or Devon the Douche as most of his coworkers called him behind his back, patted him on the shoulders.
Eric swiveled around in his chair to face the overly suntanned man who was obsessed with teeth whitener. “Devon, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Eric knew how to play the game.
Devon handed him today’s paper. “I thought you would appreciate this.”
Eric took the paper, and on the front page was a picture of Clayton Palmer and Ivy Davies leaving the courthouse with their hands covering their faces. He hoped they would get what they deserved. A lifetime behind bars or, better yet, working in the same hellhole they had subjected hundreds of women and girls to.
“Palmer department store stock has plummeted, thanks to you,” Devon gloated. “I still don’t know how you got Palmer’s hired goons to talk, but I don’t care. We’re making national news, and online subscriptions are way up.”
Eric didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten them to talk. He’d come close to killing them after they’d confessed to doing more than just delivering the girls. Murderous thoughts still raged within him. He hoped the victims would get the help they needed now that the factory had been raided and shut down. He was afraid they would become nameless faces in the system that had already failed them once.
“Glad to hear it. I guess that means I’ll be getting my raise this year?”
Devon chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. For now, I have to prep for my CNN interview. You don’t mind that I’m doing it, right? I figured you wouldn’t want the spotlight.”
And this is how he’d earned his nickname.
“It’s all yours,” Eric growled.
“I might need some notes from you. I don’t want to make us look bad.” He ran a hand over his slicked-back hair.
“Whatever you need.” Eric went to turn back around, done with the conversation with his egomaniacal boss.
“You should check out page forty-three. Your little article about the bakery came out today. Who would have thought you had a soft side? That Sorrel Black must be smokin’ hot. Did you get more than some cake out of the deal? You know what? It’s better I don’t know. After all, I’m all by the book.”
Eric clenched his fists, ready to throw a punch. “Don’t ever speak her name again.”
Devon smirked. “That answers that question. Don’t make me have to write you up. I’d hate to lose my star reporter.” He walked off, whistling like the weasel he was.
Eric contemplated showing up in Devon’s dreams tonight and scaring the hell out of him. Unfortunately, he feared he was becoming more and more like his father—using his ungodly powers for his own will and pleasure. Yet, none of this had given him any pleasure. Except for his time with Sorrel. Even that was now torturing him. The book had had its fun at Eric’s expense, as usual. But at least she was safe.
Eric turned around and flipped through the paper. It wasn’t like he hadn’t memorized every word he’d written about Love Bites and its beautiful owner, but there was something satisfying about seeing his work in black and white. He hoped Sorrel would read it and take it for what it was—a love letter and his final goodbye.
~*~
Sorrel
I knew I was being ridiculous, and I’d promised Josie I would fangirl over her next set at the Hannovers’ wedding, but I was itching to read Eric’s article for the hundredth time since it had come out a couple of days ago. I kept a firm grip on my phone, telling myself to just enjoy the wedding that I’d made the most beautiful naked wedding cake for, decorated with my favorite—pink roses. My thumb kept brushing over the screen, ready to click my email app, while thoughts of Eric swirled in my brain. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since I’d made him a birthday cake and we’d laughed and talked all night. I’d thought he would have at least called. So he didn’t have my number, but he knew where I worked, and he had the bakery’s number.
Maybe it was because of the big story he’d written that exposed a huge illegal sweatshop ring in Atlanta. One of my customers, Sadie, had mentioned it to me, and I had been obsessively following it ever since. I was proud of Eric, as odd as that sounded. And I was glad to know he could use his cutthroat ways to take down real criminals, not cake makers with weird lineage. But I got the feeling it wasn’t his big story that was keeping him away.
I couldn’t stop thinking of the dream I’d had about him. It was weird how it had come true, at least the part where he said he was never going to see me again. It was an unfortunate coincidence, I kept telling myself. Except I hadn’t dreamed about him again either. No matter how hard I’d tried, Eric never appeared. It was like he had vanished, just like in my dream.
