Montaine (2 page)

“Excuse me?” I said with
venom.

“Honey. For some reason,
looking at you, I suddenly have a craving for honey.” He pointed to a mug on
his desk. “For my tea, I mean. I think we have some in the break room. Would
you mind grabbing it for me?”

Kill snickered with a wet
snort. I glanced down at my yellow shirt and black skirt. Marcie’s voice echoed
in my brain.
Be the bee
. Of course. Honey. I was dressed like a damn
bumble bee.

“Sure.” I nodded curtly.
Trent broke into a wide grin that revealed a set of perfectly gleaming white
teeth.

“Thank you,” he said and
shooed me away with a flick of his fingers.

My temples pounded with
indignation as I clomped down the hallway.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I
don’t belong in this world. Maybe I should give up and go write about seasonal
shrubbery and probiotic yogurts instead.

I stopped and closed my
eyes, breathing slowly for a full minute to steady my nerves. When I opened
them again, I stood face-to-face with a handsome young Asian man in a preppy
green polo and khakis. He smiled pleasantly and raised his eyebrows.

“Am I interrupting?” he
asked.

“No, not at all,” I
stammered, embarrassed to be caught in an unguarded moment of weakness. I felt
my cheeks flush pink for the second time in ten minutes.

“Hi, I’m Tony Wong.” He
held out his hand into the space between us.

“Kat. Kat Raney.” We
shook hands. His grip was firm and decisive.

“The intern!” His
expression brightened. “I was beginning to worry that you’d gotten lost
somewhere! I’m supposed to show you around the office and help you get settled.”

“Um, actually, where is
the break room? Trent asked me to bring him some honey for his tea.”

Tony stared at me in
disbelief. He gave a hearty laugh and patted me on the shoulder.

“Forget that. He was just
playing with you. Trent doesn’t drink tea. He drinks straight up black coffee
that’s as thick as tar and tastes about as bad. Come on. Follow me.”

He marched with long
strides into the maze of desks. I tried to keep up, my heels clip-clopping in
mincing steps on the laminate flooring. Tony turned and looked down at my
shoes.

“Word of advice. I would
lose the high heels. You’re going to do a lot of running around this summer.”

“So noted,” I said with
relief. I wanted nothing better at that moment than to slip into a pair of comfortable
flats.

“Here is your desk.” He
gestured to a plain metal slab. It was empty except for a small laptop, a
yellow legal pad, and a ballpoint pen. “The IT guy will get you set up with
email. I know how overwhelming your first day can be. I was in your shoes a
couple of years ago. Well, not those shoes exactly.” He grinned and chuckled.

“You were an intern?”

“Yup. I did my penance of
grunt work for a summer. Now I write for the magazine full-time. Play your
cards right, do a good job, impress Trent, and you may be able to turn this internship
into a permanent gig once you graduate.”

“Seems like a tall
order.” I laughed. “I get the distinct feeling that Trent is not easily
impressed.”

Tony paused thoughtfully,
his hands on his hips. His clean-cut look reminded me of a Boy Scout.

“That may be true,” he
said. “One thing you should know about Trent, though, is that he’s fair. He can
be a little cagey and difficult to read. It’s sometimes tough to know where you
stand with him. But he recognizes and rewards quality work. He’s been in the
trenches. He knows how the business works, and he’ll have your back if you have
his.”

I lowered my voice to a
near whisper. “What about that Kill guy? Colin Killigrew? What’s his deal? He
acted like he completely despised me right off the bat.”

Tony frowned, pulled out
a chair, and gestured for me to have a seat. I plopped down with a sigh, glad
to be off my feet. He perched on the edge of the desk and leaned over me, his
voice also barely above a whisper.

“Be careful with Kill.”
Tony looked around warily. “He and Trent go way back. They were buddies in
college, but Trent was the one who ultimately became a huge success. Kill
puttered around at a series of small-time local papers writing about parades
and shit while Trent was reporting from Baghdad and Kabul for the
Times
.
When Trent started the magazine, he brought Kill on board. Kill knows that he
owes Trent everything, and I think he secretly hates him for it. Or maybe not
so secretly. Anyway, he’s not angry at you. He’s just angry at life in general.
I wouldn’t advise poking the bear, though. Steer clear of Kill if you can.”

I nodded, thankful that
Tony was so willing to spill the workplace gossip and dole out helpful advice.
I already felt somewhat recovered from my episode of frustration.

“Uh, can I ask you
something else?”

He leaned in closer, his
ear angled toward me. “Yes?”

“Where is the ladies’
room?”

“Ah!” He pointed to the
glass door. “Out that way and to the right. Congratulations. You get it all to
yourself.” He raised his hand palm-up and swept it in an arc around the room of
reporters and staff. I suddenly realized the truth of Trent’s earlier observation
about testosterone. I was the only woman in the room.

“A dream come true,” I
said sarcastically.

“The break room is down
the other way to the left. You know, in case you want to get that honey.” He
hopped adroitly from the desk. “Come back soon though. I already have some
proofreading projects to get you started. Don’t go…um…buzzing off for too
long.”

Another bee joke?
Really?
I definitely planned to have
a word with Marcie when I returned home later. Sexy queen bee, my ass.

“You don’t have to be a
dick, Tony,” I said matter-of-factly. Part of me instantly worried that I may
have offended his Boy Scout sensibilities. To my great relief, he threw back
his head with a raucous laugh and slapped his knee for emphasis. He patted my
arm good-naturedly.

“You’ll do just fine
here, Kat Raney. Welcome to
KTFO
.”

“Pleeeeeeease. Please
please please please please, Kitty Kat?” Marcie bounced on her tip-toes with
her hands clasped in front of her chest. A grunt from the direction of her bed
signaled that Vaughan had momentarily awoken from his stupor and rolled over. A
raspy snore indicated that he had fallen back asleep almost instantaneously.

“No, Marcie! It’s only my
second day. I’m not bringing you to work for show and tell. I need to act like
a professional journalist, not an overly excited tween dragging along her best
friend.”

“Awwww, you called me
your best friend.” She leaned her head tenderly on my shoulder and batted her
eyelashes mischievously. “You’re my best friend too.”

“That’s not going to
work, sweetheart. Pretty eyelashes will get you nowhere.”

Marcie huffed and pouted
like a disappointed child. I stuffed my wallet and phone into my purse and
checked the mirror one last time. My outfit, a black and white polka-dotted
shell tucked into simple black slacks, was not reminiscent of any member of the
insect world that I could discern. My rubber-soled blue velvet flats were also far
more sensible than the previous day’s stilts.

“I won’t even say
anything. I just want to get a glimpse of Trent, drool a little, and then I’ll
be out of your…hair.” She smiled impishly. I stuck a few extra bobby pins into
my librarian bun to avoid any last-minute tugs.

“Nope. No way. He already
doesn’t take me seriously. I refuse to give him more ammunition.”

I knew that I was
prolonging the argument in vain. Marcie always eventually got what she wanted.

“Is he as hot in person
as he looks on T.V.? Did you have to stop yourself from jumping into his lap?”

She flopped onto my bed,
her own then fully occupied by the sprawled and snoring Vaughan. She rolled
onto her stomach and kicked her heels back and forth in the air.

 “He is pretty hot,” I
said with a lilt of feigned indifference.

“Oh, come on, Kat. You
can’t fool me.” She threw a pink ruffled pillow at my head. I dodged it at the
last instant. It thumped softly against the window.

“Ok, fine. He’s hot as
fuck. Are you happy? But it doesn’t matter. He’s my boss, not my love interest.”

“You do know that the
fact he’s your boss makes it even hotter. Have you never read a romance novel?”

“No, I have not,” I
declared primly.

“Liar, liar, business
casual slacks on fire,” she countered.

I attempted to give her a
withering glare through lowered eyelids, but she looked so expectantly cheerful
that my tiny spark of irritation quickly sputtered out.

“Fine. You can come. But
I’m not introducing you to anybody. You may stand there and gawk for approximately
three seconds. Then you have to leave!”

Marcie leapt from the bed
like a rocket. She was already dressed in a purple t-shirt and skimpy denim
cutoffs. Her slender legs were smooth and tan beneath the ragged threads. She
slipped into a pair of silver flip-flops and grabbed a floppy knit purse that
was slung over Vaughan’s flat, lifeless foot.

“Come on, Kat!” she
shouted from the doorway. “Time’s a-wasting.”

I gave my hair one last
careful pat and an extra pin, just in case.

“Is it ok to leave
Sleeping Beauty?” With a fall of wavy blonde tresses covering his face, Vaughan
could almost have passed for a dozing princess from the neck up. From the neck
down, his sinewy tattooed physique looked more like a Russian prison inmate,
and his tight undies left absolutely nothing to the imagination as he lay
spread-eagled and dreaming.

“Oh yeah.” Marcie cocked
her head to the side and gazed thoughtfully at her boyfriend’s crotch. “He
won’t wake up for hours. And when he does, he’ll just steal your jewelry and
pawn it for heroin.”

“Fair enough. My jewelry
is fake anyway, so he won’t get much heroin for it.”

As if on cue, Vaughan grunted
and snorted from under his mound of tousled hair.

“We are such stuff as
dreams are made on,” Marcie said wistfully. She often surprised me with such unprompted
Shakespeare quotes. Despite her erratic antics, she possessed a keen mind.

She switched gears in a
flash, slapping her palms together and sprinting to the open elevator, once
again resembling an eager adolescent.

“Your carriage awaits,
milady.” She directed me inside with a bow and a spokesmodel flourish.

Ten minutes later, we
were jouncing through pitch-black underground tunnels in a hot and crowded car
of the downtown local train. We both clung to the cold metal pole, cheek-to-cheek
with the horde of morning passengers who, in typical New York fashion,
resolutely refused to look one another in the eye. Marcie ducked under the
newspaper held by the tall man to our right and wrapped her skinny arm around
my waist.

“Tell me about the
magazine. Are there any other interesting people there? Did you make any
friends yet?”

I glanced around to make
sure that none of my new co-workers were in the immediate vicinity.

“There’s a nice guy named
Tony. He used to be an intern like me. Seems like a good source of info.
There’s an asshole named Colin Killigrew – they call him Kill for short – who
took an instant dislike to me. He and Trent are old friends. They both talked
to me like I was a moron. Trent said they only hired me as an intern because
they needed a woman.”

Marcie’s jaw hung open. Her
eyes simmered. Her voice dropped an octave as she spoke in clipped, serious
tones. “That’s bullshit. You earned that internship. Don’t let that Kill guy
get to you. He’s meaningless. Trent is just testing you. He wants to see how
you’ll respond. Show him that you mean business.”

I met her flashing green
gaze. Her thin, bony arm gripped my waist like a rod of iron. “You know, Marcie,
someday you’re going to rule the world. I hope you’ll remember your old friend
Kat when that happens.”

She smiled, her shell
pink lips curving in a cagey grin. “You know it, my beautiful redheaded
goddess.”

The train slowed with a
scream of metal as we pulled into the 23
^rd
street station. Marcie
and I were disgorged onto the platform in a stream of sweaty humanity that
flowed up the grimy cement steps and out into the hazy sunlight of Seventh
Avenue. We marched east and south, Marcie’s hurried steps struggling to keep
pace with my longer stride.

“You decided to come
back!” I heard the merry tones of a familiar voice as we rounded the corner.
Tony stood at the bottom of the building’s steps with a cup of coffee in one
hand and a glazed donut in the other. He was again dressed in a preppy polo and
khakis, though today the shirt was sky blue.

“Breakfast of champions,
I see,” I pointed to the donut. “That looks delicious.”

“Yeah, well, our intern
didn’t pick up donuts for the office, so I had to go get my own,” he said with
a sarcastic eye roll.

“That sucks. You should
fire that crappy intern,” I responded with a mock serious nod.

I heard the rumble of a
clearing throat from behind my back. Marcie edged around my left elbow, waiting
for an introduction.

“I’m sorry! Tony, this is
my roommate, Marcie. Marcie, this is my new colleague, Tony Wong.”

“Pleased to meet you.”
She thrust her birdlike wrist in Tony’s direction. “You don’t look like a Tony
though.”

“I guess not.” Tony’s
cheeks flushed pink. “It used to be Han Liu. My parents changed it when I was a
kid. I guess Tony sounded more American to them.” He laughed shyly, his
handshake with Marcie lingering a few extra seconds.

“I kind of like Han Liu.”
She winked. Tony’s eyes glinted with interest. I was suddenly a third wheel.

“What do we have here?”
Trent’s voice slithered over my right shoulder. His large hand clapped me on
the back. I felt a brief electric thrill from the contact of his fingers
through the delicate fabric of my shirt. “Why are my employees wasting time
here on the sidewalk when there is so much work to do?”

Trent loomed over me,
smiling slyly and observing me sideways from the corners of his piercing blue
eyes. Marcie’s sharp little elbow jabbed insistently into my left side.

“Trent…Mr. Montaine…this
is Marcie Middlewood, a friend of mine.”

I swallowed hard. My
heart fluttered wildly in my chest. Trent’s forearm, roped with thick muscles
and swirling with tattoos, brushed against my own pale, bare arm as I gripped
the strap of my purse. He leaned over me, exuding a fresh cloud of clean shower
scent, and shook hands with a speechless and staring Marcie.

“You can call me Trent,”
he said smoothly. “And so can you.” He straightened up and playfully nudged me
in the shoulder.

Marcie’s eyes were as wide
as a cartoon. Tony kicked the sidewalk lightly with his toe, looking
embarrassed and slightly disappointed.

“Well, ladies and
gentleman, I need to head up to the office.” Trent patted Tony fraternally on
the shoulder and trotted up the stone steps.

Kill, whose presence I
had not registered until that moment, followed on Trent’s heels like a spaniel.
He spun toward us with a snarl.

“We’re not paying you to
stand around and chat.” His eyes were even more dishwater murky in the
sunlight.

“You’re not paying me at
all,” I responded flatly.

Tony shot me a warning
look. “We’re right behind you, Kill,” he said with an artificial pleasantness.

Kill growled and stared
at me from the height of the third step. He huffed disdainfully through his
nose and shook his head, following Trent through the revolving door.

“Remember what I told
you,” Tony said soberly once Kill was out of earshot.

“I know, I know. Don’t
poke the bear. But that guy just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Be still my heart.”
Marcie flapped her hands dramatically. “I touched Trent Montaine.”

“So have a lot of other
women in this city,” I said with heavy emphasis on “a lot.”

“I shall never wash this
hand again.” Marcie flipped her palm in the air like a beauty queen waving to a
parade crowd.

“I’ll…um…see you inside,
Kat.” Tony nodded curtly at Marcie and jogged up the building steps.

“Are you happy, you
little weirdo?” I asked the swooning Marcie.

“He totally wants you,”
she declared.

“Who wants me? Tony?”

“No! Although Tony is
kind of cute. But I’m talking about Trent. Trent Montaine wants a piece of the
Kitty Kat. Holy shit. This is amazing. You lucky fucking girl.”

“Oh please, Marcie.
That’s ridiculous. I’m not having this conversation right now. I am going to
work, and you are going home to make sure that Vaughan wakes up before dinner
and doesn’t trade all of our belongings for new guitar strings.”

“Trent and Kitty Kat
sittin’ in a tree,” Marcie sang in a childish soprano.

“Ok, we’re done here. I
love you, dear, but you’re a real asshole sometimes.”

“Takes one to know one.”
Marcie laughed, a wide grin animating her face. “I’ll see you at home later.”

She sauntered down the
sidewalk, her petite frame lost within seconds in the bustling pedestrian
traffic of Fifth Avenue.