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And I will take her underground.
Chapter Nine
Frankie
My lips are still tingling the next morning as I sit in the conference room at work. Monday morning is our strategizing session. The editor-in-chief and all the junior editors sit around the conference table, drinking coffee and eating glazed doughnuts as they try to decide how to make the next issue of Lovely even more spectacular than the last.
“All right, people,” Lisa Kingsley, our fearless leader, says, as she does every Monday morning at nine a.m. sharp, after she gobbles her first Krispy Kreme. “Let’s hear those ideas.”
Trixie Lamarr, a staffer who gets on my last nerve, always pipes up first with something inane.
“Flowers,” she says. “The different types of roses. What they all signify, so a woman knows what her man is thinking when he sends a certain color of roses.”
I resist an eye roll.
No man I know ever thought about the color of roses he was getting for a woman. They almost always get red because red are the most abundant. Probably also the cheapest.
“All right.” Lisa writes rose exposé on the whiteboard.
Someone else at the table snickers.
Good. I’m not the only one.
Usually I’m good for at least one decent idea, but today, my mind is mush because of that kiss.
How can it be mush? He didn’t even use tongue. It couldn’t have been more innocent and chaste.
I value creativity. Coming up with new and innovative ideas for a women’s magazine isn’t easy. There are only about a zillion of those publications.
Cosmopolitan is one of the biggest, and that’s kind of where we fit in. Lovely talks a lot about sex, about relationships, but we also publish news stories about women who make a difference in the world. I’ve written many of those.
But my favorite is the investigative pieces we do. We’ve done some good journalism on rape survivors, teen pregnancy, and internet predators.
Our investigative journalism is what sets us apart from other women’s magazines. Sure, we do the confessions columns and the advice columns, but each of our issues has a hard-hitting piece of news as well.
I’m proud to say I’ve spearheaded a lot of those. I enjoy the fluffier pieces too, and I’ve contributed to those, but what I really enjoy is getting down and dirty with interviews, news, exploration.
Investigation.
“Frankie?”
My eyes pop open at Lisa’s voice. “Yes?”
“You’re usually a little more vocal in these meetings.”
“I’m sorry. I just haven’t had enough coffee yet.” I smile, sort of, and take a drink from my Styrofoam cup.
“All right.” Lisa nods. “But don’t be shy.”
I force another smile. “I won’t. You know me better than that, Lisa.”
“Is your broken engagement still bothering you?” Trixie asks.
I rise then, move toward Trixie’s seat, pull her up by her shoulders, and punch the smug look off her face.
Just kidding.
But I sure do it in my head. I clock her good.
Another forced smile. “I’m fine.”
“Trixie,” Lisa admonishes, “please keep personal matters out of our meetings.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, Lisa.”
“You’re fired,” Lisa says.
Okay, that was in my head, too. Felt pretty good, though.
Jackie Swenson, another junior editor sitting next to me, leans in and whispers, “She’s such a witch.”
I simply nod.
Penn and I ended things months ago.
I’ve always felt it best to meet things head-on, so I told everybody at the office within a few days after it happened. After all, I was no longer wearing the gigantic rock—courtesy of Penn’s trust fund—on my left hand.
Trixie, of course, was overwhelmingly sympathetic. Trixie-ese for, “Ha, you’re not getting your rich guy.”
Not that she has a rich guy. I mean, who would have her?
“I have an idea,” Jackie says.
“All right,” Lisa says. “Shoot, Jackie.”
“How about what’s going on with the singles scene in New York these days? In fact, we could include other big cities like L.A., New Orleans, Chicago.”
“Singles scene?” Trixie laughs. “Everyone meets online now.”
“That’s my point,” Jackie says. “What about people who don’t like to meet online? I know I don’t.”
I back Jackie up. “I don’t, either.”
“Do you think there’s really a story there?” Lisa asks.
“I think we have to go out and find the story,” Jackie says. “I could go. Fred could go.” She glances toward one of our two male editors. “I think it’s important.”
“All right.” Lisa adds big city singles scene, not online dating to the whiteboard.
Singles scene.
Funny. I was at a bar when I met Phantom.
I wasn’t looking to meet anyone. Certainly not a masked man who fascinates me.
And his words…
I’d like you on your knees, in front of me, my cock between those beautiful lips of yours. Your wrists are bound behind your back, and your mouth is held open with a spider gag.
Already I’m throbbing with the memory. Is it the words? His breathy whisper against my ear? The rasp in his deep voice?
Damn. I don’t know. But I do know what I want to write about. What I want to investigate.
