One
Carson
I knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at the paper in his hands. With salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard, he was one of those handsome men who aged nicely, like a fine wine that only got better with time. Without looking up, he waved me in with his fingers.
The office was busy with people making copies, talking on the phone at their cubicles, occasionally yelling across the room at one another for something. It was casual, somewhat chaotic, like the floor of the stock exchange.
We were the most respected newspaper in the world, so we had to hustle and make every second count. Sometimes shouting at a neighbor was easier than a stupid email that ended with “Sincerely Yours.”
I stepped into the office and took a seat, knowing he’d called me in there to hand me the next assignment. My heart always raced during these moments, because I worked my ass off for the good stories, and every time I was given one, I assumed that my last article had been well received.
He finally put down the paper and took off his glasses to regard me. “Carson, I’ve been given a few leads from anonymous sources. The information checks out. It’s yours if you want it—”
“Absolutely.”
He held up his hand to silence me before I ran my mouth and said a million things. “I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”
“You know I never turn down a story.”
“But this dangerous. You gotta keep your head down, Carson.”
“Psh.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “I can handle Baghdad, so I can handle this.”
His hard, beady eyes stayed on me, slightly annoyed. “The big banks are discriminating against their clients. They’re only handing out large loans to the clients that have at least a hundred million dollars in their accounts. Businesses that actually need it are either being denied, or their paperwork is getting lost. My sources say there’s a bigger scheme going on here, that investors are pulling some kind of strings to make their pockets fuller. Sources suspect corporations are inflating their net worth with these loans, to attract more investors. Might be the biggest case of corporate fraud we’ve ever seen. You’re gonna have to ask questions people don’t want to be asked—and you might pay for it.”
I wasn’t scared of anything—especially suits. “I got this.”
He regarded me for another moment before he handed me the folder. “Be safe, Carson. I don’t want your body to be found in the Hudson.”
I opened it and took a look inside. “Corporate fraud…so easy.” I rose to my feet and gave him a thumbs-up. “Thanks so much, Vince.” I turned to leave his office.
“Carson.”
I turned back around in the doorway.
“You’re one of the best journalists I’ve got. You don’t need to keep proving yourself.”
I hustled like any day might be my last. A fire had been lit under my ass, and work had become my entire life. I wanted my name to mean something, to command respect in the journalistic community. “You know I’ve got an ass that don’t quit.”
At the end of the day, I stopped by Charlie’s cubicle. “Ready?”
Without acknowledging me, he logged out of his computer, took his flash drive, and then packed his bag to leave. He walked beside me, and we left the floor together, waiting until we were in the elevator with the doors closed.
“What story did Vince give you?” Charlie was in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, nearly a foot taller than me, having kind eyes that matched his kind heart underneath that strong chest.
“The story of the century.”
“Start talking.”
“Corporate fraud. The banks are in cahoots with the biggest corporations in the country, using their loans to inflate their stock values.”
Charlie had to blink a few times to process what I’d said. It was unbelievable, to me as well as to him. It was definitely the story of the century. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I don’t have the details, but that’s what we know from sources.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“Yep.” The elevator lowered to the bottom floor, and I took advantage of the opportunity to dance around, raise my hands over my head, shake my ass in celebration. “Who’s the baddest bitch in this place?”
He gripped the strap of his satchel and chuckled. “Carson, this could be dangerous.”
“Dangerous is my middle name.” I kept dancing.
“I’m serious.”
“Look, it’s always dangerous. I wouldn’t like my job if it weren’t.”
“I would.” He shook his head.
“And Vince asked me. Mwah.” I shook my shoulders to make my tits shake. “He could have asked Arthur or Cameron, but nope—he asked me.” I cupped my mouth and shouted in the elevator. “Who’s the hottest bitch in this place?”
He chuckled. “Congrats, Carson.”
“Come on.” I nudged him in the side, still dancing.
He rolled his eyes before he started to dance, moving in the silence to the gears of the elevator. We made our own music together, spinning around, shaking our hips, partying without a single sound.
Then the doors opened on the lobby.
We immediately straightened, seeing people waiting to get inside.
“Hey, how you doing?” I strutted past them.
“Have a good one,” Charlie said, moving with me to get past the crowd.
We walked away together, suppressing the grins on our faces.
“Was that the owner of the paper?” Charlie asked.
“Yep.” I burst out laughing.
He laughed too. “Fuck.”
Charlie and I were roommates. It was the only way we could afford to live in Manhattan, which was a much better commute than taking two trains from Brooklyn. It was a two-bedroom apartment with a good-sized living room but didn’t have much of a kitchen.
But it was perfect for us.
“What do you want for dinner?” I stared into the fridge, my hand gripping the handle on the outside.
Charlie fell onto the couch, putting his feet on the table. “Beer.”
“Well, we don’t have that.”
“We’re out?” He dropped his head back and sighed. “Goddammit.”
“We can have some delivered…for a small fortune.”
“Maybe next time I get a raise.”
“So, we can make—”
A knock sounded on the door.
Charlie was closer, so he yelled, “It’s open!”
Denise walked inside, her purse strap across her chest so her bag could rest on her opposite hip. She had short blond hair, a little more height than me, and she had blue eyes, unlike mine. “Hey. What’s for dinner?”
Charlie shifted on the couch so he could look at her. “Beer. But we realized we’re out.”
“Oh…then I should just go.” She turned back to the door and chuckled. “Nah, I’m kidding. I still want to see my little sister even when there’s no beer or food.”