Page 12 of Forbidden Desire

“I know what I’m doing.” I shrug with confidence.

“Well, if all goes well, maybe we can celebrate.” She leans against the table and looks at me with a smile that seems like a challenge as she tosses the dish towel over her shoulder.

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” I ask, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms with piqued interest.

She looks around before walking over to my table and leaning close.

“I’d rather show you than tell you,” she says, her voice narrow. She’s so close, I can smell the cherry vanilla lip-gloss on her pink, pouty lips.

She pulls away and walks back behind the counter, leaving me wanting more. I shake my head as if to focus, gathering mypapers and stacking them neatly before placing them in my briefcase.Focus, Marco,I remind myself as I stand from my seat.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” I call out with a smirk before pushing through the entrance door of the coffee shop.

On the sidewalk, I hail a cab and take the short ride to my lawyer’s office. I want to be there early, before anyone from the newspaper arrives. I ride the elevator up to the fifth floor and find my lawyer already setting up in the conference room.

“Elliott.” I nod as I enter the room.

“Mr. Vallejo. Big day,” he says, arranging his own papers on the large wooden table.

“You say that every time.” I laugh.

“You have to get them eventually.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s today.”

“Maybe,” I agree, taking a seat and clicking open my briefcase.

Soon, I can hear footsteps approaching down the hall before Elliot’s assistant pops her head in.

“Your 10 o’clock is here,” she says nervously.

Looks like they decided to be here early too. Good thing I’m ready for them.

“Bring them in,” nods Elliott.

I see George Walsh enter first, the owner ofThe NY Daily News.He’s an older man with graying hair and a patch of baldness on top of his head, and probably losing more hair by the day because of me. The thought makes me smile. He gives me a single nod of acknowledgment before rounding the table to sit down across from me. Following him is his business partner, and his lawyer.

“Mr. Walsh. Thank you for meeting with me today,” I say, just as I do at every one of these meetings.

“I’m curious as to what you have to share with me this time,” he says, and I sense the slight snarkiness in his voice.

But he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t interested. He keeps coming back for more.

“I’m sure you’ll find it enlightening,” I say.

Elliott’s assistant passes out the papers from this morning that I had sent over for her to make copies, making sure everyone has the same packet to look from.

“What’s this?” asks Mr. Walsh, his brow furrowed as he picks it up.

“Numbers,” I reply with a confident smile. “Numbers from the past few months from each independent newspaper in New York.”

“And what do you want me to do with these?” he harumphs.

“I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that numbers are up forThe New York Voice.In fact, sales have almost tripled in the past few weeks. And it doesn’t stop there. The online traffic has been flooding with new readers signing up for subscriptions.”

“And your point being?” asks Mr. Walsh, as if it isn’t clear.

“My point being that they’re outselling you.”

I know I’m telling him what he already knows. It’s been all over the news, the press, and any owner of a newspaper pays close attention to their rivals’ numbers. Yet, it feels so good to rub it in his face.

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