Page 2 of Interview with a Sadist
“What?” I blurt out. “That was quite the subject change. Why do I need to sign up for Tinder?”
“Because you need to meet somebody, Bree,” Teagan says, and I can see Melissa nodding her approval out of the corner of my eye. “We know you’re busy with your job most of the time, but we’d love to see you meet someone who can take care of you so you don’t have to work so much.”
“But I like my job … most of the time.”
“I know, but wouldn’t life be better with someone to come home to?” Teagan continues with maximum confidence and minimum self-awareness. “Someone calm, reserved, and as conventional as we are. That way, we could triple date!”
I pinch my lips together as I struggle to wipe the expression of shock and annoyance off my face. I’ve always known that Melissa and Teagan were the traditional types that love the idea of getting married and becoming stay-at-home moms. Melissa quit her job in advertising as soon as she got married, because Andy was capable of taking care of her with his salary as COO of the company she used to work for. Teagan is still working as a bank teller, but she’s itching to quit so that Russell’s bank manager salary can keep her warm and cozy at home. My parents were the same way, but I’m not sure that a “traditional” lifestyle is what I want for myself. I certainly don’t have anything against Russell and Andy, but I have met them both, and I want something … more.
“Well, as much as I’m enjoying this conversation,” I say sarcastically as I look at the time on my phone. “I have to head back to work. Chase has a new assignment for me.”
“Oh, okay,” Teagan says, immediately standing up to hug me as I rise from my chair. I stand and loosely drape my arm around her while she pulls me into a tight bear hug, squeezing my waist. Once we separate, I turn to Melissa.
“Let us know what your next assignment is. I hope it’s something you love,” she says with a smile as we embrace.
“Thanks. I hope it’s something I love, too. I’ll text you later,” I reply, before spinning around and heading toward the exit.
ChapterTwo
I’ve worked at the Philadelphia Inquirer for the last seven years. My time here has been incredible from the very beginning, and I can’t remember a single moment where I thought I’d rather be doing something else. Suffice it to say that I’ve never seen myself as a housewife standing in the kitchen, waiting for a man to come home to me, because I’d much rather be outside with my pen and pad or my recorder.
I’ve always loved the thrill of finding out what’s really going on somewhere, and I’ve been driven by my interest in the facts, whether they fit my beliefs or not. I was raised in a conservative household where religion reigned supreme, but my interest in the who, what, when, where, and why of things has always pulled me out of any religious orbit I was close to, and thrusted me into the world of unabated curiosity. My mother wasn’t a big fan of my inquisitiveness, but that never stopped me from pursuing the truth.
The building where I chase down facts is massive. It’s a giant structure that towers into the sky of the city with a wide bottom and narrow top, making it look like a brick space shuttle ready for launch. At the very top sits a large, circular clock that shows its face on all sides of the building like a giant, all-seeing eyeball watching the city from every angle. This is my sanctuary, and when I step off the elevator, I smile at the hustle and bustle of my office bullpen. Computer screens shine brightly with images of crime scenes and sporting events from all over the city. Reporters and journalists speed-walk from office to office, some chasing down leads, others turning in assignments to their designated superiors. It’s a world of controlled mayhem, and I step into it with a happy heart full of familiarity.
I weave my way through the crowded space with my sights set on the office of Chase Murdock, my editor-in-chief. As I approach, I can already see him seated behind his desk with his eyes glued to his laptop. Even at the age of fifty, the man still has a full head of hair, but the gray is taking over from the middle of his scalp. Regardless of the incoming gray, Chase keeps his hair combed and styled, and his gray beard is neatly trimmed around his mouth. The wrinkles around his eyes are more endearing than anything, and they multiply when he smiles at me as I reach his door.
“Hey, just the woman I wanted to see,” he says, leaning back in his chair and rocking a bit. “Did you enjoy your lunch?”
“I did,” I answer as I step inside and take a seat on the light gray couch taking up most of the space on the wall to Chase’s left. He turns his chair to face me and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“So, I’m sure you’re wondering what I’ve got for you,” he begins, wasting no time because he has none to waste. As editor-in-chief, Chase is a very busy man.
“Yeah, I thought about it the entire drive back,” I answer honestly. “I’m both curious and concerned.”
“Concerned? What do you mean?” he questions with a playful frown and shrug.
“You know exactly what I mean, Chase. My leg still hurts from that asp.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”
I scrunch my forehead and glare at him.
“Don’t stare at me with those big, piercing, blue eyes, Bree Barrett. It makes me nervous.”
“Good,” I snap back before grinning. “Now, tell me what you’ve got.”
Chase smiles as he leans back again, and there’s something mischievous in his eyes.
“So …” he starts, pausing to increase the tension before adding, “Have you heard about the new nightclub in Center City?”
My eyes dance around the room as I try to figure out which club he’s talking about. Center City is an ever-growing place, so new clubs aren’t particularly uncommon, but I can tell from the way he said it that this one is something special.
“No, not off the top of my head,” I answer.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” Chase says. “It’s called The Black Collar.”
My eyes stop dancing and widen to twice their usual size. “The Black Collar?Of courseI’ve heard of it. I’ve heard plenty of stories about it, none of them good. Isn’t it a brothel?”
