Page 5 of Infamous Heart

“That’s it. He’s hot. What more do you want, pervert?”

She might be my work wife, but it might be time for a divorce. I’d let her have the kids, I’d keep the plants. We’d go our separate ways.

“Back to the Holo spread.”

“Oh right,” I loved her, truly, I did. “Vincent had your spread, and he was presenting it to Bossman. It seemed he was quite the fan of your layout. Bossman used words like, ‘visionary’ and ‘revolutionary’ as he looked it over.”

My heart swelled with pride. “Really?”

“No. But he said he thought it was a great artistic direction for the magazine. He wants to see more work like that, and it looked like we were all about to be your underlings.”

Here it came. “Looked?”

“Vincent took credit for your work. That asshole outright said your concept, the design, everything but the execution was his. The Beacon Devil strikes again.”

It was one thing to reject me, to say that you didn’t believe my ideas were strong enough to lead the design team. All morning, I raked myself over the coals, questioning my worth. Vincent had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart and forced it to stop. But for him to send me on a downward spiral and then take credit for my victory.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Janet leaned out of my cubicle, checking that the door to Human Resources remained tightly shut. “If you need to dispose of the body, I have some ideas.”

I knew she was joking… I suspected she was joking, but I nearly wanted to take her up on the offer. The despair that clawed at me all morning vanished in a blaze of anger. There was no point in going to Vincent and having the man try to back pedal his way out of the conversation. It was time to put an end to this.

“I’m going to speak with the Bossman.”

“Fine.” she straightened the neon pink hair of a troll doll that sat on the divider between our cubicles. “Let me know if I need to Google acid delivery companies.” After I talked to the owner of the magazine, Janet and I would need to discuss her anger management.

But first…

3

“I will destroy you.”

The mysterious man’s voice penetrated the walls of Bossman’s office. I waited in the lobby area outside, leaning over the desk of Sofia, his personal assistant. Her eyes lit up and I could tell from the panic, the meeting taking place was not going well.

“Who is in there?”

I set my story boards on Sofia’s desk. Vincent might be able to steal credit for my individual designs, but that moron couldn’t speak his way around all my hard work. Armed with the best spreads I had produced for the Beacon, I believed I could put my talent on display and, at the same time, stop him from taking credit for the designers’ work. His villainy ended today.

Sofia leaned to the side before dropping her head to dish. This week, she had bleached her hair, adding streaks of pink that stretched from the tips until her shoulder. It was the least crazy thing she had done with her hair since the mohawk catastrophe. It was rare I came to this floor unless it was for the quarterly report meetings, but Sofia never shied away from gossiping.

“Damien Vex.” Her voice was so low I could barely hear her. When I didn’t give her the reaction she expected, she stole another glance at the door. “He’s the owner of Revelations.”

The reality of our newest competition in the office with Bossman set in.

“Ohhh. What is he doing here?” I whispered. “Why would you meet with your only rival?”

The man’s voice lacked any civility. “Good intentions be damned. I will ruin this antiquated rag!”

It had a bit of a snarl as he threatened Bossman. Part of me wanted to ensure that our owner wasn’t being threatened, but I always wanted to glimpse a man bold enough to threaten somebody in their workplace.

“I’m going in.”

The space outside his office wasn’t large, a few steps, and I was on the edge of the glass panels that framed the door. He could have drawn the curtains, but Bossman hadn’t seen any need for privacy.

Inside the spacious office, the magazine owner sat at his desk, calm, as if he were meeting with one of his staff members. In one of the two chairs facing the owner, a man jumped up, leaning forward so I could only make out his black suit. He attempted to intimidate Bossman, but it didn’t seem to be working. If only he would… They weren’t alone.

To the side of the desk, a man with his hands crossed at his waist waited for the tantrum to end. Much like Damien, his black suit was tailored to highlight the narrow waist and broad chest. It only accented the pink dress shirt underneath and the unfastened top button. The dark shadow created by his short beard framed his jaw, making it appear even more angular.

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