Thoroughly Whipped

“Finite weeks can be a lifetime when you’re in love. Hell, so can a single day.”

“I’m not in love.” I smirked. “Okay, maybe a little bit with his epically huge disco stick, but that’s it. I swear.” I found Novah. “You ready, Red?”

“Let’s go.” We headed toward the building and Nove said, “Little boy blue blood is back tomorrow isn’t he?”

“That’s what Theo said yesterday. Said he flies in sometime today.” My thoughts immediately went to Harry and our last meeting. Get in the bloody car, Faith!

“You think it’ll be awkward? You know, since the last time you spoke you soiled his car with rainwater and he read the list.”

“Shit, don’t remind me,” I said. “It’ll be fine. We don’t speak, it was just unfortunate circumstances that shoved us together that night. Yeah, he might think I’m a dirty little bitch who’s into really messed-up sex.” I shrugged. “To me, that would only make a person more intriguing, but to a prude like Harry Sinclair, he’s probably planning to give me as wide a berth as possible and regular STD tests.”

Novah laughed and covered her mouth. I gave her the side eye. “I’m sorry! But you have to admit that our uptight CEO reading about fisting and nipple torture has been a real highlight of the year so far.” I decided to ignore her. It didn’t last long. As we entered the elevator, Novah asked, “You got your notes ready for Sally?”

I tapped my purse. “In here.”

“She’ll love them.”

“I hope so.”

I had worked for a couple of days on the first lot of notes for my feature to show Sally. The big article wouldn’t be expected for review for a while yet, but she wanted to make sure I had the right tone. I was proud of it. It had my trademark cut-throat style and elements of humor and wit, and I’d adhered to the strict rules of the NDA.

As soon as my appointment time with Sally rolled around, I knocked on her office door. “Piss off!” she shouted. She never said “come in” or “enter” like a normal person. It was always a synonym of “go away,” but normally not so polite. Carla, her PA, nodded at me to go in. Sally was behind her desk, reading something.

“Notes,” she said without looking up at me. I handed them over and sat down. My ass had barely skimmed the leather when Sally slammed her hand on the desk and swiveled around in her chair. “Are you shitting me with this, Faith?”

I jumped at her sudden ire. “Erm…in what way?”

“In what way!” Sally stood up, her chair plummeting straight into the wall behind her. She hit my notes with the back of her hand. “A deviant display of the too-rich Manhattan elite.” She went on. “Pompous pricks prancing as ponies…purple-eyed bunnies, too-rich singletons who need deeper orgasms?”

“What?” I asked, not understanding what the hell was going on.

“Are you even taking this seriously, Faith? Have you read any of our main features?”

“Of course, I have, I—”

“They delve deep, not sprinkle verbal confetti on a pile of generic shit. Who are these people? What makes them want to do this?” Sally’s gaze skimmed the page and she froze. “You have been the Maître’s pet since the first night?” I thought her jaw might fall off in shock.

“Yes.”

“Yes? Yes!” She laughed but there was no mirth behind it. In fact, Sally’s eyes began to bug out of their sockets so much that I feared her head was about to spontaneously combust. “And you don’t think that’s the story? You’ve been fucking the owner and the most infamous man in New York, and you’re telling me about middle-aged Wall Street assholes with beer guts pretending to be Seabiscuit?” Sally slumped down on her seat. “I’ve made a mistake,” she said, and I felt my hope for the feature begin fading away.

“No, you haven’t—”

“You are fucking the famed Maître of NOX, have intimate liaisons with him. Have access to him in ways nobody else has.” Sally leaned forward, her strangely angular and strict face hovering before mine. I felt like Sigourney Weaver in Alien when it tried to sniff her out, only the alien had slicked-back black hair and hard-edged Prada-framed glasses. “You have the chance to write the biggest exposé of the decade, Faith.” Sally’s taloned finger tapped on the wooden desk, emphasizing each word she spoke. “Find. Out. Who. He. Is.” Sally sat back in her seat and I remained frozen. “That’s our feature.”

“But the NDA…”

Sally batted her hand in dismissal. “We can reveal his identity without explicitly revealing his identity, you understand?”

“Yes,” I said, but something in my heart felt off, expired, like milk going bad.

“Now get out.”

Gathering my notes, I walked to the elevator in a state of shock. By the time I reached Novah, I slumped down in my chair and whispered, “She wants me to reveal Maître’s identity.”