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Vince snorts next to me before standing and running a hand through his hair. I try to ignore the flash of pulling on that luscious head of hair while he sucked at the wet flesh between my legs but it’s no use and I feel my cheeks starting to heat slightly. “My talents are clearly needed elsewhere; Lauren can handle it.”
“I didn’t realize I phrased that as a question.” Jack stares up at Vince before lowering his gaze back to the chair as if to say ‘sit the fuck down.’ “If I did, I apologize, but this isn’t a request. You’re doing this.”
I note him lowering back to his seat in my periphery as my eyes scan over the thousands of tweets and retweets and shares about the woman who lived in a rundown shack a few towns over and had been predicting essentially everything over the past few months and even helped the police locate a few dead bodies.
Creepy as fuck.
“So, what, she can talk to the dead? Is she like a medium?” I ask, my apprehensive eyes finding my boss’. I’m not sure I believe in ghosts or any of that but I’m not so sure I don’t believe in them either.
“How the hell should I know? That’s why I want an interview. I want her story and I want you two to report on it.”
I look down at the sheets he’d printed from a bunch of accounts as well as a few vague articles regarding the police investigations.
“We aren’t crime reporters,” Vince speaks up as he reads over my shoulder.
I try to shuffle away from him because his cologne is distracting as hell, but he leans in closer when I try to move.
“Then don’t talk about the crime part. Our social media has been a snooze lately and I want to shake things up.”
“And you think Miss Cleo here will help?” Vince snorts. “Psychics are bullshit, I’d bet five hundred bucks she’s full of shit and she probably had something to do with said dead bodies.”
My head snaps to his, my mind racing at the thought that this woman could be potentially dangerous. “You think?”
“You really think she just knew where the bodies were buried? And she called a few winning lottery tickets, big fucking deal.” Vince shrugs.
“Just go meet her and stop arguing with me before I make you work this weekend,” Jack snaps before putting his Air Pods back in, effectively dismissing us.
* * *
I walkout of the office behind Vince because he was raised by wolves and thus has no manners. “Let’s get this shit over with. I have tickets to the Bulls game tonight. We can take my car.” He follows me back to my cubicle so that I can grab my computer and a few things I’ll need for the interview.
“Awesome because I don’t have a car.”
He leans up against my makeshift wall and cocks his head to the side in question. “Why? Are you like…poor?”
“No, fuckwit. Because I don’tneeda car. I live fifteen minutes from here and the CTA and Ubers do just fine. I sold my car…a really nice car, mind you, when I left Atlanta and I just haven’t needed one since I got here.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you live at your sister’s house?”
“Again, because she has the space and I haven’t fully committed to staying in Chicago. I didn’t want to commit to a lease just to leave in six months to go back to Atlanta. Besides, I moved here in part to be closer to my niece. Living in the same house with her is about as close as I can get. Any other questions?”
That seems to shut him up and we fall in step as we walk towards his office. An office that Jack had tried to get us to share when I transferred here, but neither of us would hear of it. I am perfectly fine with my cubicle that is out of the way where no one really bothers me. Well, except Vince.
“How old is she?” he asks and I don’t even try to hide the shock that he’s asking me a question about myself.
“Five. Her name is Emma.”
“Cute. She’s probably got you wrapped around her finger, huh?” He grabs his laptop and his charger before sliding it into a messenger bag. He grabs a half-eaten protein bar I see on his desk before tidying up the few papers that are scattered on top. His office is organized and smells of his cologne and paper. Fresh crisp paper straight out of the printer. The smell makes something inside me whirl to life. I’m not just turned on sexually, but mentally. My eyes dart to the diploma on his wall, Northwestern, and I note the accolade underneath: Summa Cumme Laude.Damn, who knew he was actually smart? In like a bookish way, obviously.
I’ve never really paid attention to anything in his office. The only time I come here is when we’re arguing, and that usually ends with me slamming the door behind me and not exactly taking in my environment.
My eyes meet his again and I notice a grin on his face, like because I’m observing my surroundings it means I’m somehow interested in his life. I roll my eyes and move out of his office. “You ready? Let’s just get this over with.”
* * *
“Scarlett Stone.Forty-five years old. Native of New York. Came to Illinois seventeen years ago with her twin brother who later died of a nasty case of…staph infection?” I wrinkle my nose as Vincent drives down the Kennedy expressway. We’re only a few exits from our destination and I’m trying to learn as much about our subject as possible before we get there.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. He died from something he probably caught from a communal gym shower? Which by the way is very curable.”
