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“Good.”
“Great,” I agreed. When I couldn’t think of what to say next, I blurted the first thing that came to my mind. “Did you look at my pitch yet?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t think it fits the new vision I have for the magazine.”
I felt gutted. That pitch was my creative baby. It was going to be a weekly piece on under-utilized scholarship programs for students. I still owed my brief stint at Columbia to a lesser known scholarship I’d won. My future hadn’t exactly played out the way I expected, but I knew that scholarship was the reason I’d even had a shot at something big. I wanted to find similar opportunities and give exposure to them every week. It’d be a resource for parents to inform their kids and it might even bring more attention to the scholarships themselves and help increase their funding.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
“It’s too local. I wantThe Squawkerto be national and eventually international.”
“Local? There are students all over the country who could benefit if you let me write that piece. And international students are a thing, too.”
“I’m not here to argue about it, Darcy. I’m your boss and I made a decision.”
“Yeah, a shitty one.” Just like that, I was seething with rage.
“That’s enough.” Dominic stood and threw his napkin down.
I felt a huge lump in my throat as I watched him go. For a few flickering moments, it felt like something was starting to form between us. I had no idea what I would’ve called it–a bond, chemistry, or even just mutual respect–but with a snap of his fingers, Dominic had ended it.
One of the teens made me jump with surprise when she suddenly plopped down across from me. She had heavy-handed eye makeup like little wings and wore about a gallon of lip gloss. “Oh. My. God. Who was that guy? Is he your boyfriend? Or is he like, your dad or something? Because if he’s your dad–”
“We’re the same age,” I snapped.
“So he’s like thirty?”
“I’m twenty-five!” I half-shrieked. I didn’t know why I was suddenly so riled up.
The girl pulled her head back, lips pursed. “Like, okay. Twenty-five, thirty, what’s the difference? So if you two aren’t together, could you get me his number?”
I decided it wouldn’t be very mature of me to dump the watery remains of my icecream over her head. I settled for a tight, very non-genuine smile, and rushed outside.
Then my dumb ass remembered Dominic had given me a ride. He was leaning on his car, waiting for me with crossed arms.
“Temporary truce?” he asked once he saw me coming out.
“No,” I said. “The war is still on.”
He chuckled, then pulled the door open for me. Just as I was about to get in, he slammed it closed and gave me an obnoxious little wink. “Game on, then.” He walked to his side of the car with his hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face.
Asshole.
16
DARCY
Ihad cooled off after my little ice cream date. A warm shower, a little self care, and a few days to let things settle was all it took. At work, we were both pretending nothing had happened.Sort of,at least. There was a brief but heated email exchange the day after the ice cream incident. It started when he sent me the following:
Miss McClain,
I hope you will remain professional in the office despite the conversation we had last night. I know I don’t need to remind you that we’re still restructuring and any insubordination or acting out could be grounds for dismissal, despite our “arrangement”.
Sincerely,
