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“No worries,” I said. I knelt, picked them up, then stuck them in my pocket with a wink. “We were just checking the acoustics in here. Top notch,” I added.
42
DARCY
The new building wasn’t completely finished, but it was getting close. We met there and gathered in the mostly empty room that now had a couch or two and a few desks–some of which were covered in cling wrap and not yet assembled. Charleston had brought a mix tape his boyfriend supplied. He had a mobile DJ table set up with huge speakers and a little mixing station. I was pretty sure he had no idea what he was doing, but he looked adorable with his headset held to one ear while bobbing his head.
I wouldn’t say we had “poached” employees fromThe Union CoastandThe Squawker, but once word spread that we were starting our own thing, people came. Elizabeth and Polly had come over to write for us. Even Kirk and Farhad were going to work remotely for us as sort of freelance style writers. Jasmine had come as well, claiming she was over the office politics atThe Union Coast.Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to hold any sort of grudge against Dominic for replacing her atThe Squawker.
We had a few other new faces as well, and everybody was mingling while Charleston played his music. Dominic was chatting with Marcus and Tristan. They were still withThe Squawker, but they’d agreed to come to the party and were still on good terms. After all, Dominic selling his share of the company to them was a huge opportunity in their eyes. Both men were now the two lone partners runningThe Squawker, which was exploding in success and earning them both a fast-growing reputation and swelling bank accounts.
I sat at the edge of the room, temporarily off the radar while everybody was having fun. I smiled, watching it all and feeling a swelling of pride in my stomach. I knew this was something I’d made happen. I always thought my dream was to prove I could write something meaningful. But now I sensed that I’d helpedbuilda place where people could do meaningful things. I could still write my own pieces, but I was also giving a voice to dozens of our employees, and that seemed like it meant so much more.
Dominic had given me three choices as part of his apology. Join on as an equal partner in the ownership ofThe Squawker, take Dominic’s share and let him prove he’d throw away his right to the business just to have me back, or have him sell his stake in the company all together.
I’d gone with the third option, but with one catch. First, I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be miserable. I didn’t want him to leave to prove a point. I wasn’t that insecure. I wanted him to leave becauseThe Squawkerwas always going to be something repurposed to both of us. It was a compromise. I realized both of us had been compromising our whole lives. We were chasing some version of our dream that fit within the walls our fathers had put up for us.
And for me, that wasn’t good enough.
So, I’d asked him if he’d be willing to sell his stake inThe Squawkerand start a brand new project with me. We’d be equal partners and we could build something from the ground up, instead of repurposing an existing brand. The idea we’d worked up was to build on the successThe Squawkerhad with digital publication. Every week, we’d publish short form stories on various topics. It would be bite-sized stories people could pick up at will. In a lot of ways, Dominic thought the shift was similar to the TV model. TV packages had grown bigger and bigger until the only option was to buy access to 300 channels, even if all you wanted were one or two of them. Then streaming came along and completely upended the stale business model.
We thought maybe our new format might be similar for print and digital media consumption. You could just pick the stories you wanted and not have to pay for anything you didn’t.
We were calling it “McClain’s Media Bytes.” Dominic insisted on using my name. He wanted to get as far from relying on anything his father had built as he could. Elizabeth was excited and already brainstorming comedic themed pieces she could put out under the Media Bytes umbrella. Polly was going to write entertainment pieces, from movie reviews to restaurant critiques. Kirk and Farhad were going to sell us some of the political pieces they’d been publishing on their own, and Farhad said he planned to dip his toes into the world of fashion again, which he sounded thrilled about.
I was pestering my sister to write some pieces on art for us, but she didn’t think she was a good enough writer and kept turning me down. I knew I could help her get there, so I planned to keep bugging her about it.
The biggest surprise hire was currently doing an awkward little shuffle while swirling a glass of wine and sniffing it. That was my father, who was officially hired as a writer for McClain’s Media Bytes. I don’t think he wanted me to know how much the opportunity meant to him, but my mom told me he’d cried happy tears after we finished our conversation. That was only a few days ago and he’d already blown up my inbox with four submissions. I scanned them and was pleasantly surprised by how good they were.
“You look happy,” Dominic said. I hadn’t even realized he wrapped up his conversation with the guys.
“You could say that.” I smiled up at him.
“How’s the piece coming?”
“I’ve got to do one more re-read, then I think it’ll be ready.”
He smirked, but looked a little nervous. “You really think anybody is going to want to read that?”
“Um, yes. I put your picture on the front of it. I think every woman with a pulse isdefinitelygoing to want to read it. I think I’m calling it,Dominic Lockwood: Unlocked.” I raised my eyebrows theatrically.
He chuckled, nodding his head. “Yeah, that’s pretty good. I like it.”
“Thank you.”
He took my hands and stood me up, looking down at me with that intoxicating intensity of his. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Darcy.” He gestured to the room around us. “You built this. You made this happen. You realize that, right?”
“Not without help.” I half choked the words out. Why the hell was I getting so emotional? Was it that important to me for Dominic to be proud of me?
He cupped my face, smiling softly and planting a kiss on my forehead. “I love you, and you’re incredible. There’s also something I want to show you.”
“I love you, too.” Hearing the words from him made me feel like warm mush on the insides. I’d started to wonder if he was just the sort of guy who didn’t like to say things like that. I’d started telling myself it was okay, because I could obviously tell he loved me. It was so clear from his actions, but hearing it made me feel happy in places I didn’t even know existed.
I was beaming. “What is it?” I asked.
“Come here.”
The music had dimmed and I frowned in confusion, noticing everybody in the room was watching us now. “What is this?” I asked.
