Page 64 of Forbidden Desire

Iwalk out of Marco’s office, my legs feeling shaky. I hope I can make it back to my desk without my knees giving out on me. When his assistant came to get me, I said a silent goodbye to the office as I walked through it, convinced that my time here was up. This place that I’ve loved so much, no matter what building it’s housed in or who runs it.The NY Daily Newshas been my home for so many years, and the thought of not being here anymore is disorienting. Even though I’ve sent out unanswered résumés in hopes of putting distance between Marco and me, it feels wrong to leave this place that I’ve seen through from the very beginning.

And it looks like I’m not leaving it yet. Marco has decided to let me stay. I know it’s only because he can’t face a lawsuit, which he doesn’t know I’m financially incapable of filing, anyway. A little part of me had hoped that he was keeping me on for other reasons, but then he made his reasons clear. His words were precise and sharp as they whizzed toward me like arrowsreleased from the perfect bow of his mouth, each one embedding itself into my quickly beating heart.

I would love to wash my hands of you.

I wish I never met you.

I could go on living my life blissfully aware that you don’t exist.

Out of all the words he spewed, the ones that cut the deepest were when he didn’t acknowledge Josie as a real, life human baby. One that he’s seen with his own two eyes, her beauty unmistakable and the likeness to him uncanny. He said “it” as if her very existence didn’t breathe life into me every single day.

I know everything he said came from the darkest corners of hurt. Hurt that I caused. I’m trying to wrap my head around if the reason he’s so upset is because I lied or because he wanted to be Josie’s father and I didn’t give him a chance to. I know any chance of that has been washed away by the riptide I caused between us. All of us. What I did affects Josie too. Though I’ve tried to raise her on my own, convinced I could do it, knowing there was a possibility that her father could have been a part of the picture crushes me. It’s like I took away her fairytale ending.Myhappy ending.

“Hey, Erica. You okay?” asks Jose as he watches me take a seat at my desk.

“Mhmm,” I manage, scared of what sob might escape me.

“You look as white as a ghost.”

I shake my head slightly, hoping he will just drop it, but he doesn’t. He walks over and sits on my desk.

“What happened in there?” he asks. “Are you fired?” His voice drops to a whisper.

“Not yet,” I say.

“Phew,” he says dramatically, wiping invisible sweat from his brow. “The way you walked back in here, I thought you were for sure done-zo.”

“I will be if I don’t get back to work,” I say, looking toward my desk of articles that he’s so carelessly sat on.

“Oh, right,” he says, standing up and backing away. “Glad you’re still here.”

Now that I’m alone as I can be in a swarm of cubicles, I put my head in my hands as I look down at the pile of articles in front of me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through all of these. It’s my own fault for letting my work pile up like this when my attention has been elsewhere, trying to figure out what Marco’s next move is. I’ve been so worried he will take Josie away or that I’ll lose my financial means of supporting her by him firing me. I’ve been walking around numbly, the only joy coming from visiting Josie at daycare.

“Focus,” I whisper to myself.

I know that if I don’t get it together, I’ll have a real chance of losing my job, and it won’t have anything to do with what happened between Marco and me. He’s letting me stay on for now, but not if I suck at my job. I’ve already made small errors throughout the week. Nothing too noticeable, but enough to make me doubt I can run my own editorial department. It’s the one job I’d been wanting for so long, and here I am screwing it up.

I take a deep breath and pick up the pile of mockup articles in front of me, laying them out on my desk to see how they’d be best arranged for our next issue. It takes longer than it should, but after an hour, I’m happy with how everything looks. I’ve placed an article about Marco on the front page, hoping it will buy a little grace from him. It’s a business piece on how he’s turning around the world of New York independent journalism. As usual, his face is absent from the article. Our writer tried to get one printed, but he refused.

It makes me think back to how he liked to keep his anonymity, from the very moment we met on the rooftop to now being celebrated as one of the most successful businessmen in New York. Part of me feels sad he has to hide when he should be proud, but the other part of me understands. We are more alike than I’d like to admit, and maybe that’s why we worked so well together. Together…if that’s what we ever really were.

If we were, I’ve ruined it anyway. He thinks I’m just like every other woman who has tried to use him in life, as if his good looks and charm and kindness wasn’t enough for them. It’s hardto believe anyone could look past all the things that make up Marco, and solely focus on what they could gain from him. But I know it well. Before I decided to make my own path by veering off course from the path my father had laid out for me, I had dealt with my own failed relationships due to not seeing true intentions. I know how lonely it can be, cutting yourself off from the world to protect yourself.

My desk phone rings, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Hello?” I ask, picking it up.

“Ms. Gunner. There is a Troy Gunner here to see you.” It’s the receptionist from the downstairs lobby.

“I’ll be right down,” I say. I hang up and quickly walk toward the elevator. I glance at my cell phone to see if Troy texted or called, but there’s nothing. It’s not like him to show up at my work. I feel paranoid at the thought of him running into Marco, like somehow he will put it all together just in passing. I tap my foot nervously as the elevator descends to the lobby.

I find Troy sitting in a sharp suit, his leg crossed, and his foot propped up on his knee. From here, across the lobby, he looks so much like our father when he was young.

“Hey, big bro,” I say, hoping my nerves aren’t apparent as I quickly glance around the lobby for any sign of Marco.

“Well, well, well,” he says, looking up at the sound of my voice. He puts down the paper he is reading and stands from theleather armchair. I watch the eyes of the receptionist gaping at him as he strides toward me. I try not to roll my eyes. Even though Troy is my brother, I’m aware of the effect he has on women. It’s annoying, but at least he’s over his playboy lifestyle now that he’s found Monica.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me over.

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