Page 3 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“If you don’t want it, I’ll get someone else,” Calvin says at my silence. “I thought everyone aspired to be an International. Was I wrong about you?”
This comment irks me on a deep level.
I used to want nothing but this, would have sold my soul for it actually. But four years ago when there was an opening in the international division, I gathered my courage and applied, only to be passed over in favor of Devon, an outside hire. Calvin didn’t even interview me, just announced Devon’s arrival at the next staff meeting. I took that as a clear signal he didn’t think I had what it takes. And he was probably right, he knows this business better than I do. So, I’d tucked away my childhood dreams of seeing the world and decided I was content covering my weekend fried-pickle festivals and small-town county fairs. At least I have a job writing for a living that pays my rent—as long as I keep a roommate—and provides decent health insurance. Well, as decent as health insurance gets in this country anyway.
But maybe that long-buried dream isn’t completely dead afterall. Or maybe it’s just been resurrected, and on my birthday no less! That has to be a sign, right? Fifteen minutes ago I was bemoaning another year passing while my life remains stagnant, but this lucky break (for me, sadly not for Suki) could changeeverything. Iceland may not be what I’d imagined, but this could be my chance to finally prove I’m worthy of being an International. An opportunity seven years in the making.
“No! You weren’t wrong,” I suddenly demand. “I want this. I’ll go.”
Calvin Cramer III signals his approval with a stern nod. “Glad that’s settled. This is last minute, so you leave on an overnight flight out of JFK Monday night. Will that be a problem?”
Problem? Only having the weekend to figure out what one takes to Iceland? “No. No problem, sir. I’ll be ready.”
He nods again, adding, “Now, one other thing. About your photographer…”
Around the Globe’s customary procedure is to send teams of two to cover an assignment. One writer. One photographer. I hope it’s one of the newer photographers, Jaylen, going to Iceland with me, though I’m doubtful. He hasn’t had an international assignment yet, but there’s something about his photos that screams raw talent.
“We’re going freelance on this one,” Calvin continues, dashing that hope. “There’s a photographer I’ve been wanting on our team for years now, but he always turns me down. Just yesterday I finally persuaded him to do this one assignment as a test run.”
“Oh. Okay.” I’m not sure how I feel about traveling across the globe with a complete stranger, so I make a mental note to packsome pepper spray. Then I make another mental note to google if pepper spray is TSA approved.
“You’ll be spending a lot of time together, so make sure to let him know how wonderful it is to work forAround the Globe.” Calvin pauses a beat, appearing to consider his next words carefully. “And keep in mind, this photographer isveryimportant to me, Mona. I’m giving you a chance here to show me what you’re capable of. If things go well, there may be a permanent spot for you in the international division.”
Those last sentences send a jolt of unease through me. I get a clear sense that if I want a shot at my dream again, not only do I need to write the best article of my life, but I also need to recruit this photographer like my career depends on it—because I think it just might.
I smile pleasantly and ask, “And who is this photographer you think so highly of?”
Calvin straightens in his desk chair and adjusts his paisley tie. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the work of Benjamin Carter. He’s been featured in publications such asThe Times,National Geographic, and—”
Calvin continues speaking, but I no longer hear anything beyond the blood rushing through my ears. My body goes rigid, my limbs stiff.
This isn’t happening.
Life cannot possibly be this cruel.
NottheBenjamin Carter—or just Ben as I know him (correction,knewhim)—who grew up with me in our small hometown an hour and a half north of the city. Not the Ben who was best friends with my twin brothers and practically lived at our house,or the Ben who always smelled of summertime and fresh cotton. No, it couldn’t possibly be the Ben who spent the summer before our senior year sneaking into my bedroom late at night after everyone else was asleep—the same Ben who led me to believe I was special, that I meant something to him, and then vanished from my life and shattered my fragile teenage heart into a billion pieces.
“—Ah, and here he is now.”
Calvin’s words catapult me back to the present as heavy footsteps land behind me. Achingly slowly, as if moving underwater, I cast a glance over my shoulder. My gaze first lands on a pair of faded jeans, then scans upward over a white henley, coming to a stop on the face I haven’t seen in person since I poured my heart out to him, only for him to walk out of my life for good. My eyes catch with his apple green ones, and I lose my breath.
“Mona,” Ben says, voice and expression equally timid, “it’s been a while.”
Chapter 2
I squeeze my eyes closed so tightly that blobs of neon green form behind my eyelids. For a second there, it seemed as if the one guy to ever break my heart just casually strolled back into my life. It seemed as if my boss wanted me and said heartbreaker to travel to Iceland together. It seemed as if my suddenly revived dream of being promoted all hinged on said trip with said heartbreaker going well. So well, in fact, that heartbreaker wants to join our team, and I’ll have to see heartbreaker every single damn day in this building.Mybuilding.
“Mona?” Ben’s deep, hauntingly familiar voice vibrates through me. Down to my bones. “Are you okay?”
At the same time, Calvin says, “You two already know each other? Excellent.”
Yes. Excellent indeed.
My eyes flip open, and I don’t bother trying to keep them off Ben. After all this time it’s a battle I’d surely lose. His green eyesroam me over in return, two boxers sizing each other up before we throw down in the ring.
Unfortunately, the first thing I notice is precisely how good the years have been to him. Great, actually. The best the years have been to anyone in the history of all the years. Not that Ben wasn’t good-looking before. He always had that Tim Riggins–esque look and the accompanying enigmatic air that made all the girls in our high school fawn over him while simultaneously being too intimidated to talk to him. But Ben never really paid any of it much attention—remaining quiet and reserved and somehow above it all—which meant the girls of Hudson Springs High were better off settling for one of my twin brothers, who were all too happy to fill the void.
But now…
