Sex God Page 4

  Grace laughed. “Well, I guess if a guy takes you to a bathroom to hook up, at least he should make it a classy one.”

  “Exactly,” I joked, and then let out a sigh. “You know what really sucks?”

  Grace tilted her head. “What?”

  “It’s the closest I’ve been to an orgasm in a long time—and it wasn’t even mine!”

  Grace cracked up, and the two of us stood at our kitchen counter giggling until Grace’s alarm went off. It was eight a.m. sharp. Time for her to leave for work.

  “Gotta go,” she said, giving me a hug. “Will you be home for dinner?”

  I suddenly remembered the other eventful part of the evening—namely that ChatBuzz now had a new boss. And we were going to be meeting him today.

  “Probably not,” I told Grace. “I’ve got a feeling that Cassie and I will be getting drinks to either celebrate or commiserate about our future at the brand new ChatBuzz.”

  Grace gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m optimistic,” she said.

  “You’re always optimistic,” I reminded her.

  She shrugged as if to say “what else would I be?” and was out the door. I finished my coffee and then got myself together for work. When I got there, the whole building seemed to be empty—no one was at their desks—the hallways empty. It was kind of spooky, and I was a little worried until I got a text message from Cassie.

  “Big meeting,” she said. “Get in here now.”

  I hurried to the main meeting room, the only one that could hold enough people. It was crowded, people smushed in together. I spotted Cassie across the room, and she waved, but there was no possible way I was going to be able to make it over to her. So I stood in the door, straining to see the front of the room—and our new boss.

  I heard him before I saw him.

  He had a big booming voice, and it echoed through the room, silencing the various chatter immediately.

  “Good morning, ChatBuzz!” he said.

  I peered around the person in front of me, expecting to see a large man whose physique matched his voice. Instead, I found a short, slight guy with big glasses standing at the front of the room. His hair was slicked back and he gave the impression that he was someone who still looked to Miami Vice for fashion tips. Needless to say, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who had his finger on the pulse of what was currently hip and interesting.

  But obviously there was a reason he was here.

  “As some of you have heard, I’m Richard, your new boss.” He gave the room a big, toothy smile. “You can call me Dick.”

  Across the room, I caught Cassie’s gaze and she rolled her eyes.

  “I’m very much looking forward to getting to know all of you, and I hope you’ll do me the same courtesy.” He clapped his hands together. “ChatBuzz’s readers have been dropping off over the past few months and we are losing our place as a reliable and fun source of entertainment online. And we don’t want that. Our goal is not just to get our numbers back to where they were at their peak, but to go above and beyond those expectations. We need to have what no one else has—whether that’s exclusive content or being the first to break important stories.”

  I zoned out while he talked about “sticky content” and “optimizing shareability,” but once the meeting was over, Cassie met me back at our desks.

  “Looks like it’s just going to be more of the same,” Cassie said, taking her seat at the cubicle across from mine. “More clicks! More clicks!” she pumped her fist in the air. “Fewer lawsuits! Fewer lawsuits!”

  I shook my head. “Should we be surprised?”

  “I guess not,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

  “It would have been nice for once to have a boss that cared more about the kinds of stories we publish than how many people click a link,” I said wistfully.

  The phone on my desk rang. Cassie and I stared at it. No one ever used those phones.

  “This is Mia,” I said, picking up.

  “Mia, this is Anita, Richard’s assistant,” the pleasant voice on the other end of the line said. “Richard would like for you to come to his office for a meeting.”

  My eyes went wide. I had never, ever been called into the boss’s office for a meeting.

  “Of course,” I said into the phone, trying to keep my anxiety out of my voice. “When was he thinking?”

  “Right now would be best,” Anita told me.

  * * *

  Five minutes later I was sitting outside of Richard’s office, doing everything I could not to freak out. It wasn’t easy, as I was completely convinced that I was getting fired. Finally the door opened and the man himself appeared in the doorway. He smiled and waved me in.

  “Mia, so nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I took it—his hand was clammy. Or maybe it was mine. It was hard to tell.

  “Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Richard continued, leading me into his office.

  “Of course,” I said, taking a seat.

  “So.” He settled in behind his desk, looking a little like a kid pretending to be his dad. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you up here.”

  “I am a little curious,” I said. The understatement of the year.

  “Well.” He pulled out a pile of paper. “I’ve had a chance to look at some of the work you’ve done for us.”

  He started flipping through the articles, and I could see that most of them looked like the dumb listicles I had written. None of the few serious pieces I had done.

  “Great work,” Richard said, waving the paper in my direction.

  “Thank you,” I said, still unsure what was going on.

  He crossed his arms and leaned forward onto his desk. “I have a special assignment for you,” he said. “Have you heard of the musician, Austin James?” he asked.

  I paused. What was going on?

  “He’s releasing a new solo album in two weeks,” Richard continued. “And his publicity team is willing to do an exclusive interview and profile with ChatBuzz to promote it.” He leaned back in his chair. “I want you to write it.”

  I was speechless. It took me a few moments to come up with a response, as I carefully chose my words.

  “I really appreciate the opportunity,” I told him. “But I think I should tell you that writing that article would be a conflict of interest. I’ve known Austin James for years. He’s friends with my brother.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s enough of a conflict of interest to reassign the project,” he said, thoughtfully. “If anything, the personal connection might make him more willing to share intimate details of his life—and that’s exactly the kind of thing we’re looking for here at ChatBuzz.”

  Ugh. Gross. The last thing I wanted was to get into the “intimate” details of Austin’s life. I’d heard enough of that intimacy last night in the bathroom. “I really don’t think I’m the right person for the job,” I said desperately. “What about Jules, or Martin?”

  “Now, Mia.” Richard frowned. “What did I just say about pitching in, and all hands on deck?”

  I must have missed motivational speaking 101.

  “I need to know who my team players are,” Richard continued. “Before I start making tough decisions.”

  Wait. Was he talking about layoffs?

  I gulped. “I’d love to write the piece!” I blurted loudly. “Sounds great.”

  “There we go.” Richard stood, signaling our meeting was over.

  “Just out of curiosity, why did you pick me for the job?” I asked, wondering if maybe he’d read something that impressed him.

  “I didn’t.” Richard smiled. “His team asked for you specifically.”

  * * *

  “What the actual fuck?” I asked Cassie over lunch in Bryant Park. It was a beautiful day, and I had a slice of New York pizza, but neither were doing much to improve my mood.

  “I don’t really see the problem,” Cassie said, taking the seat across from me. �
��You’re going to have the chance to write what you’ve always wanted: an in-depth profile of an interesting celebrity.”

  “But this isn’t just journalism—this is Austin James,” I complained.

  “Uh, yeah.” Cassie flicked one of the tomatoes from her salad at me. “He’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “He’s a player,” I told her.

  “Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s a musician. That’s what they do.”

  “Tell that to my eighteen-year-old self,” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Cassie put her fork down. “What are you not telling me?”

  Right. I hadn’t given her any of the details on Austin—not even what had happened last night. I started with that—the whole thing had her in hysterical tears before I was finished.

  “Oh my god.” She wiped her eyes. “That is the most New York story I’ve ever heard.”

  “It gets worse,” I said darkly.

  “How could it possibly get worse?” she wanted to know, so I told her about accidentally confronting him afterwards.

  “And then I told him to wash his hands and threw paper towels at him.” I put my head in my hands.

  Cassie stared at me. “You are my hero,” she said. “And obviously Austin didn’t care, not if he asked for you specifically. How was he?” she demanded.

  I threw her tomato back at her.

  “Not the point!” I argued.

  “Bullshit,” she said. “If it sucked, you wouldn’t care. Obviously it was an amazing kiss.”

  I refused to answer, because it had been an amazing kiss. And even eight years later, it was still the best kiss I’d ever had. Which just made me mad.

  “I don’t want to see him again,” I said stubbornly.

  Cassie shrugged. “I don’t think you have a choice,” she told me. “Besides, look at this as an opportunity to really prove yourself. You’re always saying you want the chance to really dig in, and write more than a listicle.”

  “I’m going to have to spend all this time with a dude I hate,” I reminded her.

  “Like we all haven’t done that?” she countered. “I hate most of the dudes I speak to on a regular basis, because they’re awful. It’s only a few days—a week at the most. Get in, get out.”

  I sat there silently, taking in her advice. And it was good advice. If I could just focus on the story and ignore my personal feelings for Austin, this could be a really good opportunity for me. It didn’t mean that I was looking forward to it, but at least I would be getting something out of the deal.

  Because I still did want to be taken seriously as a journalist. And this could do that—especially since we had a new boss. He barely knew me, so I could use this as an opportunity to really prove myself to him. To show him that I was the right person to go to with these kinds of projects.

  Today, a profile of Austin James. Tomorrow, I could be pitching to write about Serena Williams, Mark Zuckerberg. Oprah!

  My phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number. “This is Mia,” I answered.

  “Hi, Mia, this is Zoey Mitchell—I’m Austin James’s manager.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Hi, Zoey.” I made myself sound as excited and friendly as possible.

  “I heard that you’ll be interviewing Austin for the ChatBuzz article,” she continued.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Looking forward to it.”

  “Good to hear,” she said. “We’re looking forward to it as well. There’s an event tonight that might be good for you to attend with Austin. A chance for you to talk and get to know each other.”

  “Sounds good,” I lied.

  “Great,” she said. “I’ll send over all the information and Austin’s schedule for the week. We want to get the two of you together as much as possible. Really dig deep for this.”

  “Fantastic,” I said, sinking down to rest my forehead on the table. “Just fantastic.”

  5

  Mia

  I spent way too much time deciding what to wear that night. I didn’t want to seem like I was trying, but I also I wanted to look good. Because who didn’t want to look good when seeing the guy that crushed their naïve little freshman heart into dust? Not that Austin had crushed my heart, because that would have been totally ridiculous. More like a minor dent, but I was determined not to show anything other than total professionalism. This article could have been my big break, and I wasn’t about to risk it over a little crush.

  In the end, after hours of deliberating, I decided on my best pair of skinny black jeans—the ones that made my butt look like Kim K’s—and my favorite top, an actual vintage Bowie shirt. I topped the whole thing off with a pair of studded black booties and my favorite faux leather jacket, the one I had spent a whole week’s paycheck on.

  I left the apartment feeling good.

  That feeling lasted about ten seconds once I arrived at the showcase and took a look around. I was way underdressed. At least, I was underdressed in the sense that my entire outfit probably cost about a fraction of what a belt probably cost to most of the attendees. Everyone was cool and chic and glamorous. I was a nobody and, worse still, I looked it.

  Part of me wanted to turn on my heels and flee. All the women were wearing slouchy, short black dresses that just happened to show off their boobs and their butt. Their make-up was gorgeous, lots of kohl-rimmed eyes and dramatic red lips. They all seemed to shimmer, with shampoo ad hair, while the guys looked equally badass, with boots and leather—real leather—jackets.

  Buck up, Mia, I told myself. You’re here to do a job, not win “most glamorous.”

  I scanned the room, looking for Austin. He was at the bar. Alone.

  He looked just as cool as everyone else, but it wasn’t because of what he was wearing, which was a plain black shirt and jeans, and the same dusty old boots that I had seen the other night. No, he looked cool because he was cool. Effortlessly so. He had a glass of amber colored liquid in his hand and he seemed utterly uninterested in the party that was happening around him.

  Instead, all he seemed focused on was the stage. It was currently empty, but from what Zoey had told me, it sounded like tonight’s line-up was pretty damn promising. Lots of new talent, musicians that had a lot of buzz happening around them.

  I took a deep breath, feeling butterflies in my stomach. He hadn’t seen me yet, so I still had time to turn around and go home.

  But I had never been a quitter, and I wasn’t going to start now.

  I squared my shoulders and headed towards the bar. Austin didn’t notice me approach, as he had turned back to the bartender. The two of them were talking about something. It wasn’t until I got closer and the music quieted a little that I could hear that they were discussing whiskey.

  “If you like a smoky whiskey, you’ve got to try Laphroaig,” the bartender was telling him, pouring him a new glass. “That’s a sipping whiskey if I ever tasted one.”

  I watched Austin take a long drink. He nodded. “That’s a damn good whiskey,” he said.

  The bartender grinned, clearly happy to have pleased the great Austin James.

  “Want some?” Austin asked, turning to me.

  Whoops. So much for him not noticing me.

  “Sure,” I said, hoping that I was giving off as much effortless cool as he was.

  The bartender poured me a glass and I took the seat next to Austin before taking a sip.

  The sting of the alcohol hit the back of my throat, and I coughed.

  “It’s really smoky,” I said, trying to control my spluttering.

  The bartender gave me a sympathetic look and poured me a glass of water which I downed immediately. Great start, Mia.

  “It’s not for everyone,” Austin said, reaching for my glass.

  I swatted his hand away, and took another sip. This one went down a little easier but I still coughed a few times.

  “So,” I said, pulling out my phone and turning on my recording app. “How does it feel to be back in the music sc
ene after being away for so long?”

  Austin looked at me, and then looked at my phone. Without asking, he paused the recording app. “No small talk?” he asked with a teasing look. “Hey Austin, how you been? The weather’s great, huh?”

  “I figured you wouldn’t want to waste both our time.”

  “Why don’t we enjoy ourselves a little?” he countered. “Drink some good whiskey, listen to some good music. We can get to the questions later.”

  “How much later?” I asked, but Austin was already gesturing for a refill on his whisky.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling me off my seat. “Let’s get closer to the stage.”

  Great. I wouldn’t be able to hear a damn thing, let alone speak to him. I grabbed his arm and tried to stop him.

  “Wait, what about the interview?” I asked. “Isn’t there somewhere quieter we can talk?”

  He paused, turning to face me, his gaze focused on my hand on his arm. Suddenly, I felt very warm. I immediately let go of him.

  “You want to go somewhere?” he asked, his voice low. Sexy.

  Totally inappropriate. As was the heat that rush through my veins. I tried to shake it off. Tried to keep my feelings, my thoughts, completely professional.

  It wasn’t easy, as he was about one thousand times hotter than he had ever been in college. And he had been hot as Hades then.

  He’s a player, I reminded myself. A player and a jerk, and I was here to do a job, not fantasize about the time he had me up against the side of a building, kissing me until I couldn’t remember where I was.

  But once those dirty, sexy thoughts got into my head, it was damn hard to get them out.

  “No.” I glared. “I’m fine just here.” I took a seat back at the bar, and gave Austin a look. It was a risk, trying to act tough in this situation, as he could just as easily blow me off and bounce, but thankfully he returned to his seat as well.

  Once again, I put my phone on the bar and turned the recording app on.

  “Nice shirt,” Austin said before I could ask him anything. He reached out and tugged at the hem.