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Tension crawled over her shoulders. “I understand, but I don’t have awhile. You said you were looking for your February edition.”
“Yeah, but things are fluid, you know?” He swallowed a gulp of his martini. “Gotta shuffle and move them around. Did you color your hair?”
“No.”
“Because you look amazing.”
Brooke sighed. “Michael, the article.”
“Okay, look.” He twisted his neck and suddenly reached across the table to grab her hand.
She stiffened and tried to pull away. He tightened his grip. To avoid a scene, she didn’t engage in hand-wrestling, but she hardened both her eyes and her tone.
“Let go, Michael.”
“I know why you came to me.” He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming in the low light. “It’s brutal out there. You’re getting chewed up and spit out, aren’t you? Put through the meat grinder.”
“Your point?” She clenched her fingers into a fist. “And I didn’t come to you. You contacted me.”
“My point is that you need me.” He tugged her arm, forcing her closer and rubbing his fingers over her wrist. “Which is totally perfect because I need you back.”
A heavy, sick sensation collected in her chest. “Let go of me.”
“We have an editors’ meeting on Monday.” He shifted and tugged at his silk tie. “Play your cards right, and I’ll run your article by the features editor first thing.”
Brooke yanked her hand away from his hard enough to break free. The table rattled.
“Whoa, chill out.” Holding up his hands, he sat back. “I’m not talking about anything serious. You’re here for a few more days, so we can have a little fun for old times’ sake, see how it goes. Monday I’ll pitch your little love stories article and see what happens.”
She gripped the napkin to stop her hands from shaking. “You asshole.”
“Oh my god.” He barked out a laugh and gulped more of his drink. “Have you seriously been teasing me all this time?”
She stared at him. “Whatare you talking about?”
“Come on, Brooke.” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “We’ve been playing cat and mouse for months now. You didn’t think I was just going to publish your work without you giving me something in return? Tit for tat, so to speak.”
She studied his handsome face, searching for a hint of the love she once thought she’d felt for him. There was nothing but cold, dead ashes.
“You’re pathetic,” she said. “You can’t have my work. And you’ll never have me again.”
He frowned. “You fucking wasted my time?”
“Tit for tat, Michael.” With a smirk, she pushed her chair back. “For a while there, I did think we had a shot at being acquaintances again. I wanted your help because I was desperateandyou owed me big time. But you are still the same little narcissistic toad you were two years ago. You’ll never care about anyone but yourself.”
She grabbed her purse and stood. A few patrons glanced in their direction. Michael grabbed her wrist.
“Sit down,” he hissed.
“Letgo.” She twisted from his grip again. “You’re never going to see or talk to me again. You can’t have any of my ideas, and don’t you dare think about stealing them because I have the paper trail proving they’remine.”
“You…” His expression hardened suddenly. “You bitch.”
“Call me whatever you want, Michael. When you’re a bitter, lonely old man with no one to talk to and no one to love, you’ll look back and remember that I’m the one who walked away. You’ll know you never came close to deserving me.”
She spun and headed toward the door.
“What about your fish?” Michael called.
“You eat it.”
She strode to the elevators, her heart hammering and skin burning with anger. But when she stepped out into the cold winter air, a sudden laugh burst from her. The persistent unease in her chest was gone, replaced with a bright, glowing light that came directly from within.
She hurried toward a cab and climbed into the backseat, giving the driver the address of her hotel. As she settled back against the seat, her phone buzzed with a text from Jillian Powers’ assistant.
Jillian had a cancellation for Friday morning. She can meet with you at 9:00am about the features writer position, if you are available. Please text to confirm. TY!
