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  “Holy hell, Julia.” Mark says. “You’re going to piss off every power player in New York.”

  “That’s not the point, Mark. The point is I have the story and it is written and ready to run. I’m leading off the next issue of Lynx with it. I’m going to put us back on the map.”

  “You think Blake’s opposition was bad? Julia, even if Valerie had found that story she wouldn’t run it. It’s a hornet’s nest!”

  “Valerie wouldn’t run it because most of her friends are in it!” I counter, getting a bit angry. I thought he’d take my side but I can see the cutting edge is no place for a well-set businessman who cares more about the bottom line than a teacher in Iowa losing her retirement.

  “Think twice before you do this, Julia. Blake was a spark. This is fire.”

  “I told you about it because I felt guilty keeping the secret, not because I wanted your advice,” I snap, getting off the stool and heading to the bathroom where I hung my clothes to dry.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” Mark says following me.

  “Then stop talking,” I fire back.

  I leave without so much as a goodbye kiss. He offers to drive me home but I tell him I’ll hail a cab. I ask him not to reveal the story to anyone and he promises he won’t. Walking through his door I hear him say one thing under his breath that chills me to the bone.

  “I can see we still have a lot to learn.”

  Chapter 6

  Blake Stone being trussed up and stuffed in a police car not only did something good for the city, it enlivened my entire soul. I spent the weekend in a whirlwind of energy doing laundry, coming up with layout and story leads, calling employees to tell them they were all rehired, and writing my editorial column for the next issue of Lynx. I even managed to go over to Janice’s for lunch and take a quick trip for some new clothes.

  Blake wasn’t out of his cell in time for dinner, as he predicted, but did manage to get bailed out the next day. I wasn’t too worried about him. On the advice of his new lawyer, he is staying home and laying low until trial. Mark spent his weekend at the office, helping investigators plow through the files and build a strong case. We talked on the phone a few times. I apologized for leaving angry, and he said we both had to do what we thought was right.

  I don’t need an alarm clock to get me up Monday morning. I arrived at the office about a half- hour earlier than normal to find most of the staff already there. They brought in donuts and juice, and Janice put up a big banner that said, “Welcome back Miss Sharp.” It had been purposely written to say “Welcome back Miss Shark” but there was a strike out through the “k” and a “p” had be put in its place. The staff clapped and cheered as I opened my office door, a flower arrangement from Mark on my desk. Standing in the doorway, my smile could have lit a small city at midnight.

  “Miss Shark is indeed gone,” I tell my excited staff. “But, Julia Sharp is here to stay!”

  “Long live Miss Sharp!” someone cheers and another round of clapping ensues.

  “Break up the love-fest,” Janice grouses. “Let’s get back to work. We have a magazine to put out!”

  Everyone scurries to their cubicle or office leaving the two of us standing together. I give her a quick hug and go to my desk. I place the flowers where I can see them and turn the small card over and over in my hand.

  “Welcome back, Julia. I love you, M.S.” It reads. There’s a part of me that’s a little disappointed because I thought he might attend my reunion with Lynx. I know he’s swamped trying to keep his own company out of the mire right now so it makes sense he couldn’t be here.

  “Miss Sharp,” Justin, the layout manager, comes in and plops down for our usual Monday meeting. “I need to know how you want to pursue the lead. I know a guy who might be able to get a hold of Blake Stone’s booking photo and that would make an awesome cover, or if you wanted something more symbolic – like handcuffs on a dollar sign – I can get the illustrator started on sketches.”

  “What are you talking about Justin?”

  “The Sandstone Ventures story, of course. It’s not every day in New York that a major venture capitalist gets arrested for embezzlement, intimidation and trying to take over a magazine. If any publication has the inside scoop on this, it’s us. I figured it would be the lead.”

  “We aren’t covering that,” I say quietly. I thought about it, naturally. Images of Blake between the arms of those two cops on the cover of Lynx would give me enough satisfaction to smile for a year. But, while it may sooth the ego it won’t pay the bills. When you pull outside of my reality, it’s little else than another “corruption in the city” gig and it would expose me and Mark to more examination than either of us want right now.

  “You’ve been out a month, our deadline is this week and we’ve got nothing to lead. I can grab Fatima’s story about school vouchers, but I don’t think it’s hot off the press material.”

  “School. That reminds me. Is Andy busy on something big? He’s our best street guy and I have an assignment for him right away. Send him in when you leave.” I wave dismissing him. Then realize that’s a Miss Shark habit, and I don’t want to be her anymore. “Thank you. I’ll get back to you soon. Now, go.”

  “But, I don’t have anything for the cover!” He protests. I can’t keep this a secret forever. I’ve got to trust my own staff.

  “We have something very special making the cover. I have an expose I’ve been sitting on until the time is right. I’ll get you some copy by the end of the day and you can get working on an image. But, Justin, it’s all confidential, okay?”

  “Of course,” he nods. I watch him walk out and give Andy the “batter up” signal. Andy quickly scrambles into my office.

  “I’m working on an essay about the gentrification of West Central,” he says quickly as if I’m an interrogating officer.

  “Well, stop. I have something better,” I grumble. His eyes glisten and I clearly have his attention.

  “Something juicy?” He bargains.

  “Down on Lexington and Dale there’s a group – some kind of house that helps hookers,” I start. “Walton House or something.”

  “Walden House,” he corrects. “They are a charity that tries to help young sex workers make the transition out of the trade before they get sick or killed.”

  “Fine, Walden House.”

  “That’s what they are called, you know. Sex workers. It’s less demeaning than “hookers” and not as biblically damning as “prostitutes”. All women deserve some dignity, boss. Most of these girls—”

  “Thank you, thank you,” I interrupt his high horse. “I don’t need you to tell me about dignity or these girls. I’ve met them. I know them. What I need you to do is get out there and find out why this charity is so underfunded it can only take two or three women at a time. This city can do better than that.”

  “You know them?” Andy asks, his face a mixture of awe and confusion. I can tell he’s already sold on the story so I’ll be getting something good out of him. He turns to leave and I realize the interruption is again a habit I’d like to change. It’s becoming clear that the new me is going to have to fight to assert herself over the old habits.

  “Andy,” I call to him as he hits the doorway. “I don’t want an objective piece of journalism. By the time this story is finished, I want Walden House to be so well funded they might need a new building to house all their programs. Got it?”

  “Yes Ma’am!” He beams and practically skips to his desk.

  I spend most of the afternoon rewriting the Wall Street piece to give to Justin. I double check my facts and make sure I have some kind of backup for every claim I make. I’m quivering with excitement when Janice knocks on my door.

  “Fedex Priority Mail, certified letter,” she says, dumping the letter size package on my desk. “I had to sign for it and sign away the souls of my children.”

  “I thought you already sold those, for yoga pants,” I laugh. Things aren’t just back to no
rmal, they are better than normal.

  “Well, at least my butt is smaller than my kids now,” she joins in the fun but doesn’t go back to her desk.

  “And?” I ask looking up. Certified letters aren’t something new around here. She knows I’ll get to it when I can get to it.

  “It’s from Sandstone Ventures. I thought it might be important,” she shrugs. I save what I’m working on and open the package. It’s probably just a notice about the next board meeting or something. But, when I open the package the envelope just says, “Julia” in Mark’s handwriting.

  I rip open the envelope to find a letter, typed on his letterhead, copied to his assistant and his attorney. Janice turns to leave.

  “Wait,” I call to her. “You’ve got to see...you’re not….oh fuck. Oh my fucking…oh fuck! How could be I be so stupid? They aren’t just Valerie’s friends. They’re his too! How could I be so damn dumb?”

  “I don’t know what this is about, but it can’t be that bad,” Janice says, taking the letter from my hand and give it the once-over. “Oh my god.”

  Pushing my chair back from my desk, I turn so she can’t see how pale my face has gone. I ask her to read it again so I can hear it and formulate some kind of cogent thought before my head explodes.

  “Dear Miss Sharp,” she starts reading with a distinctly snotty tone, which doesn’t help. “It has come to my attention that among the assets of Lynx Magazine is an as-yet unpublished story about the brokerage firm of Tilden-Jennings. As you know, by court order Lynx remains a part of Sandstone Ventures and you are subject to your original contract. Part of that contract stipulates Sandstone’s ability to make and override business decisions we feel are prudent to the long-term health and profit of Sandstone Ventures. As such, I declare the Tilden-Jennings story to be detrimental to our interests—”

  “His interests,” I add unhelpfully, my blood already boiling.

  “Henceforth,” Janice continues reading. “I forbid you to print, use, or disseminated to anyone else the article, its research or its conclusions. This story will not be printed as long as you and Lynx Magazine remain property and have ties to Sandstone Ventures. Sincerely Yours, Mark L. Stone, Acting CEO, Sandstone Ventures.

  “Can you believe this shit?” I ask Janice.

  “He has a written note on the back, in case you didn’t see it,” Janice adds helpfully. She turns the paper around and on the back written again in Mark’s precise script are two words. “Bury it.”

  Janice places the paper down on my desk and gently walks toward the door.

  “Tell Justin to go home,” I tell her. “I’m not going to have anything for him today.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” she says quietly.

  Submission, subjugation, surrender, where does it end? When does what’s good for me become what’s bad for me, and how will I know when I’ve cross that line? What am I giving up, and why would I? All the questions come swirling around me so fast I can’t answer any one of them. But I don’t have to because raw blinding anger is soon replacing any rational or philosophical thought in my head.

  “Dear Mr. Stone,” I write in an email sent to both his personal and private addresses. “You’ve got a lot of nerve telling me what to print and what I can’t. Haven’t you heard of freedom of the press? You can’t stop me, and you shouldn’t try. What you are you going to do? Sue me? Go ahead; I’ve about two hundred dollars left in savings. Fire me? Been there. Arrest me? Done that! Get out of your fucking ivory tower and explain yourself or I’ll not only publish this story, I’ll publish this letter and burn what’s left of your business down!”

  I sign it “J. Sharp” just to let him know that no lovey-dovey conversation is going to happen over this travesty. If he wants to play ball in my court, then he better come equipped with a helmet, and a cup!

  I fume and stomp around the office. I try to think of any way to appeal this decision without ruining my career. Just what do the Stone brothers have against a girl making a living anyway? I alternate between fury, self-pity and revenge every few seconds. It takes forty-five minutes for my email to chime a response. It’s not very long.

  “I will be at your office at 7:00 PM to discuss. Be alone.”

  I distract myself with other duties until five when the staff starts filing out. They all have a comfortable smile because the sight of me clomping in my office in circles and pulling out my hair tells them everything is back to the way it used to be. I force Janice to leave at six. The elevator dings at ten minutes to seven.

  I run behind my desk, pull out some papers and pretend to be working on them when he walks through my office door closing it behind me.

  Mark walks in, his eyes on fire and his jaw clamped shut. “Who do you think you are?”

  “Me? Who the hell do you think you are?” I counter. If he wants to come in here with a head of steam I plan to meet him just the same way.

  “I think I am the CEO of Sandstone Ventures and you will listen to what I say!” Mark hisses. His tie is hanging open around his neck and his top button is undone. I can tell he’s had a tough day and I’m sure my tirade isn’t making it any nicer. But dammit, I worked too hard to let him do this to me.

  “You’re only the President because I helped you get rid of your asshole brother so you can take the reins. And what do you do? What is your first act in charge?” I pick up his letter and fling it at him. “This!”

  Mark dodges the letter and turns on me in a fury.

  “Oh yes, Julia. You were such a help in saving my company. What did you do? Get arrested not once but twice? Tip off Blake and everyone else on the planet that we were trying to gather evidence and accuse me of fucking Valerie James! You were a big help.”

  “You were fucking Valerie James,” I say completely losing sight of the fact we are fighting over the Wall Street story.

  “In the past!” He bellows. “Now, I’m fucking you!”

  “Not anymore,” I huff. “No story, no fucky. Is that how you like it?”

  “Look,” he turns, trying to be rational although for a moment there I thought I saw him give a quick smile. “I know those people. I work with them. I can’t be a party to their downfall. This story is bigger than me or you or Lynx or Sandstone. A lot of people are going to get hurt.”

  “People who break the law and ruin people’s retirement accounts need to be hurt,” I counter almost catching my breath. “Besides, a magazine isn’t a charity.”

  “Well you wouldn’t know a hell of a lot about charity – or grace – would you?”

  “Get out,” I glower. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

  “It isn’t your office. Not really. It’s Sandstone’s isn’t it? Or did you miss it when the judge said that?”

  “Get out!” I scream and reach for the vase of flowers he sent me. I throw it and he turns just quick enough to block the shot with his shoulder, sending the vase careening into a bookshelf and shattering.

  “That is it,” He says. He’s got that look. He’s back in control again, and he’s about to take control of me.

  Pressing and pushing me back toward the wall he crowds and presses me until we are only about an inch apart. I feel his breath, his heart seems like it is pounding through his chest and when he traps my hands and holds me against the wall I lose all control.

  He kisses me roughly, his lips pushing, surging, forcing his tongue between mine. I resist just long enough to realize I don’t want to resist. Wrapping my arms around him I kiss me back as he drags me to the center of the room. He twirls me, pushing me hard and strategically grabbing my arms until my desktop is all I see. His hand pushes me down hard against the desk, his other runs up my thigh, setting me ablaze.

  “Sounds like you still need some lessons,” he growls, rubbing the back of my thighs. I reach back and pull up my skirt.

  “Then teach me,” I gurgle unable to contain my desire, lifting my hips to afford him entry. If he thinks he’s taking me, he’s got another time coming – I’m giving myse
lf.

  Yanking my panties down, I feel the head of cock run up and down my nether lips a few times parting them just enough to reveal the wetness churning inside my core. He slowly inserts his tip into me, watching as my hips rock back and forth trying to pull him further and further inside me.

  “Want it, huh?” He chuckles still keeping himself on the very inside of my opening, imprinting me with feelings of his presence and absence at the same time. It’s maddening.

  “You know I do,” I manage to answer trying once again to buck or come up with some movement that will bring him fully into me.