And itworked.In just a few hours,the link to my online article had been shared over two thousand times, and theEnchantésite had twenty thousand new visitors. That waswaymore than we usually got in an entire month.
Although I am thrilled with the article's success, I derive even greater pleasure from picturing Brandon Stawarski's shock when he discovers that I am the author. A smile spreads across my face as I imagine his mind reeling at the realization of what has occurred. The fact that a woman to whom he had graciously bestowed his attention not only walked away but also publicly criticized him. And now he's...
“Are you even listeningto me, Gigi?”
I snap to attention and bring myself back to the present. Unfortunately, I’m not in an imaginary world watching Brandon Stawarski’s violent mental breakdown.Instead, I’m in my boss’s cluttered office, searching for words to smooth out the worried creases on her brows.
“I am,” I say, flashing a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry.”
Hayley Bretford, the senior editor ofEnchanté,rolls her eyes as though she knows I’m lying but does not care enough to bring it up. I bite back another smile. Thisis one of the millions of reasons I like working atEnchanté.Although it is a women's magazine, and many of the topics I write about do not captivate me, I am considerably more appreciated—and tolerated—than I was when I served as a junior assistant editor atFT. My immediate objective is to rise to the position of senior editor, primarily so that I no longer have to attend meetings like the one I am sitting through currently.
“Your article was great,” she admits grudgingly, looking over the printed version on her desk. “Butweren’t you supposed to write an op-ed piece about New York women and their apathy during elections?”
“If I’d done that, we wouldn’t have gotten as many visits to the site,” I point out.
Hayley furrows her brows as she looks down at the article again. “Yeah, and I know you have a propensityfor doing things outside of whatever box I give you, but this is different.”
I’m confused. “How so?” I’d been summoned into Hayley’s office at least fifty times over the past three years of working atEnchanté.Usually, it was because I would treat my topic from an alternative perspective.
She looks up at me, and even her Botox-frozen face can’t hide the worry in her eyes. “You’re messing with fire, Gigi. These are the Stawarski brothers. We can’t let you keep printing anything you want about them.”
“They’re politicians,” I say. I’d done many pieces about many annoying, far more prominent politicians, and none of them had gotten Hayley this worked up. What is it about the Stawarski brothers that makes everyone want to bend over backward for them?
“Oneof them intends to be a politician,” Hayley corrects me. “And theotherone, the one you talked to yesterday, isnot.And, in case you’ve forgotten, they own the Stawarski Media Corporation. They have a much larger media platform than us, and we cannot afford to get on their bad side.”
I bite back a groan. “But…”
“It’s weird that he discussed his business publicly, even if he didn’t know you were a journalist. Does hewanthis brother to lose?” She looks up at me, appearing exasperated.
“I mightnot have told him who I was. I engaged him in a random conversation and let his ego do the rest. I wrote an opinion piece.”
Hayley looks half-amused, half-annoyed. “You should have told him who you were.”
“If I had, he wouldn’t have been honest, even in the slightest.”
She gives me a stiff nod and starts rummaging through the article again, looking for more worries to quiz me about. I feel another bout of ecstasy as I think back to last night. Everyone in New York knows about the Stawarski brothers. As a junior editor of a women’s magazine, I’d frequently had to pass on writing articles related to their lifestyle or romantic lives.
But I hadn’t seen either of them in years.
When they walked into my best friend’s wedding, IknewI would never get this opportunity again. It took me only a few moments to decide on the best way to approach them. People already surrounded them, and I knew I had to stand out to get one of them to notice me.
And not Theodore Stawarski, whom I cared little for. But Brandon. Ithadto be Brandon.
Once our eyes met, I knew that wasit.I close my eyes for a moment, remembering how I’d been cautious to keep my questions tethered on the edge of foolish curiosity and unintentional insults. I’d had to apologize once because I’d pushed it a little too far, and…
And his long fingers had wrapped around my waist, pushing me against his hardness.
I force my eyes open, trying hard to concentrate on Hayley as she reads my article.
But every fiber of my body is begging me to relive those memories, the same memories I’d had to place under lock and key while I wrote the article.
I knew that I had to be charming and flirtatious when I spoke to him. Men like the Stawarski brothers tend to disregard women they meet at social events if there isn't a bit of flirtation in the interaction. Despite my overwhelming desire to go straight for the jugular, I kept our discussion light and breezy. I strategically touched his arm and smiled at the appropriate moments.
I hadn't anticipated how my body would ignite with desire from the moment he touched me.
Nothing about him was supposed to turn me on.Nothing.And yet, from the moment he gripped my waist and stepped up behind me, I completely lostit. My panties were soaking wet in an instant, and I wantedmore.I wanted him to hold me even tighter, to let his fingers trail lower to my hips and my ass.
And then, he’d stepped close and intentionallypushed himself forward so I could feel his hardness. If it had been any other man, I’d have felt disgusted. I’d have punched him in the face and stormed out.