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All four women’s heads snapped around toward the door of their shared office to see one very intrigued-looking boss standing in the doorway.
“Hey, Camille,” Riley croaked.
How much had she heard?
“Riley, honey, what say you and me go have a little one-on-one chat at MoBar,” Camille said, referring to one of the local hotel bars.
“Now?” Riley asked, looking at the clock on her computer screen. “It’s two o’clock.”
Camille tilted her head. “You really want to be sober when you explain to me why my sex columnist isn’t having sex?”
Riley jumped up and grabbed her purse. “A drink sounds great.”
* * *
/> “Well, I have to say, I’m impressed. I’ve read every single one of your articles line by line, multiple times, and it never occurred to me that I was reading the work of a virgin.”
“I wasn’t a virgin.”
“Might as well have been,” Camille said with a hand flick. “Clumsy encounters in college dorm beds barely count.”
Having encountered the difference between sleeping with a nervous boy and sleeping with Sam, Riley couldn’t argue.
“So you’re not mad?”
“Nah,” Camille said. “It’s not as though you ever lied. It’s like I told Julie and Grace, Stiletto’s not a diary. Our job’s to tell stories, not experience them.”
Riley took a drink of her afternoon Manhattan. “Except for the upcoming issue. ‘The Truth Behind the Headlines’? That might as well be a diary.”
Camille took a sip of her whisky. “Ah, so that’s why you haven’t turned in your story yet.”
“I’m thinking of sitting this one out,” Riley said quietly. “Or maybe writing about shoes or something.”
“Coward,” Camille said with a grim little smile.
Riley knew her boss said it to be inflammatory. To ignite Riley’s competitive spirit, blah blah blah. But the truth was, she’d rather be a coward than exposed.
If anything, whatever was happening with her and Sam made her less sure of a story idea. She couldn’t write about what was going on between them.
Because she didn’t know.
What was she supposed to write about, “Bedroom Rookie Mistakes Sex for Love”?
Her reputation as Manhattan’s sex goddess would be in the toilet.
“What if I did something a little different?” she said in a rush. “Like, I could talk about the friendships I’ve made while talking about sex. You know, like, part of the story behind the headline is my friendships with the girls?”
Camille shook her head as she munched on an ice cube. “Emma beat you to it: ‘How Writing About Love Taught Me About Friendship.’ ”
“Damn it.” Riley tapped her fingernails on the bar top. “Okay, what about something more generic on how helping other women find themselves helped me find myself?”
“Unless you’re talking about masturbation, it won’t work. You write about sex, Riley. You’ve never once strayed from the topic in all the years you’ve been here.”
In other words, your own omission painted you into this corner.
“I can’t talk about Sam,” Riley said dropping her forehead into her hands.
“So don’t.”
