Page 29 of Sinful Abandon

The chitchat of the office girls in the break room makes me over pour the milk into my tea.

“Damn it,” I mutter as I use a napkin to brush away the milk dribbling down my skirt.

“You okay there, Heather?” Michaela, a sexy New Zealander with dark skin and a too-friendly smile, cautiously asks me.

It’s not like anyone on the staff to talk to me about anything other than their assignments.

“I’m fine.” I toss the napkin in the trash and adjust my skirt.

When I look up, three girls are staring at me.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Michaela asks.

The other girls are now staring into their coffee cups.

As much as I don’t want to like her, the truth is, she’s really nice. Like, annoyingly sincere in a way that seems fake but you know it is genuine.

“We haven’t set a date,” I answer. Then, I grab my tea off the counter to leave.

“You make a beautiful couple,” Michaela says.

I wonder if she chose the word beautiful over wonderful or happy or even loving for a reason.

Because we’re not. Any of those things.

“Thank you,” I say. I leave the room before any more questions are asked. I’m not two feet outside the door when I hear the other two bitches snickering from the break room.

Who cares? I got the guy. And the funds. They’re just jealous.

I walk my tea toward my office but pause when I see Ryan chatting with Zahara, one of the other interns, in the hallway. Ducking inside an office, I take cover so as not to be seen.

I’ve been doing this a lot lately.

It sucks, having to see him everywhere. Since Jarrod put Ryan under my wing, and our failed one-on-one mentoring session, we keep our conversations strictly business and low on eye contact. It’s an arrangement we made in silence.

Yet, every once in a while, I catch him looking, and I pretend my heart isn’t beating out of my chest at the sight. Like when I’m in the control room, microphone set on my head, calling out orders to the director and telling the tech guys when to get the graphics on-screen, I’m in the moment, trying to keep our live broadcast on schedule, looking as clean as possible…and then I see him.

Ryan.

He’s just standing in the corner, watching me like he’s never seen someone produce a television show, never seen a woman man the helm of a broadcast and dictate orders to others. The look on his face is not one of intimidation. It’s admiration. And it kills me.

Or, the other day, when the whole show imploded. Guests canceled, props went missing, and our host started freaking out because someone took her weave from the dressing room. I was scrambling like a chicken with its head cut off, and when I got to my office, there was a grande chai tea waiting for me. I asked Meg if she left it. She said no and wasn’t sure who had. I’m pretty sure I knew though.

You know what kills me the most? He’s smart. Over the past few weeks, I’ve had the honor of sitting in on various meetings where he brings up the latest trends in news. He has an uncanny way of knowing what is going to be on everyone’s mind the next day.

And he’s kind. I witnessed him giving a homeless guy twenty bucks. That has to be a lot on a college student’s salary, especially one who is working an unpaid internship.

He’s the type of guy who comes in early and stays late just to help other people get their work done.

And, Lord help me, when he volunteered to be a model in our “Summer Splash Swimsuit” demo on the show, the baby-soft skin of a young twenty-one-year-old over the rippling muscles of a former football player brought back memories that are still too fresh in my mind to easily recover from.

“Not only am I going to lick your sweet pussy until you’re screaming my name, I am also going to fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Can I help you with something?” Michaela appears next to me in the hallway.

I jolt back with my hand over my heart.

“No.” I pause. “I was just waiting for someone. I have a meeting.” I awkwardly point to the office I am half-standing, half-hiding in.