I didn't knock.
I walked in like I already owned the place.
Because I did.
—
The newsroom paused before it reacted.
One second of confusion.
Then recognition spread like a ripple.
Whispers. Heads turning. Someone dropping a pen.
And then—
Applause.
—
It wasn't coordinated.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was loud.
Loud enough to fill the room. Loud enough to announce something had shifted.
Their new boss.
Me.
—
I didn't smile immediately.
I scanned the room first. Faces. Expressions. Curiosity. Excitement. Calculation.
And then…
Her.
—
Rebecca.
—
She was standing a little further back than the rest. Not pushing forward. Not trying to be seen.
But she saw me.
And I saw her.
—
Her eyes held mine.
Not startled. Not confused.
Just… steady.
And then—
She smiled.
—
Not the polite kind.
Not the kind people give when they're trying to impress someone with power.
This one was softer.
Warmer.
Almost… private.
—
Something in my chest shifted.
Again.
—
I nodded once.
Subtle.
Only for her.
—
The applause faded. Conversations started. Movement returned.
The room adjusted.
It always does.
—
Speeches happened.
Short. Efficient.
Introductions. Expectations. Vision.
All the things I've said a hundred times in rooms twice this size.
But this time…
I wasn't speaking to them.
Not really.
—
I was aware of her the entire time.
Where she stood.
When she moved.
When she looked at me.
When she didn't.
—
Later, someone suggested drinks.
Celebration.
New ownership. New direction.
I agreed.
Of course I did.
—
The bar wasn't far.
Dim lights. Loud laughter. Music just soft enough to talk over.
Glasses clinking. People loosening.
—
I don't usually drink.
Not like that.
Control matters too much.
Clarity matters too much.
—
But that night…
I let it go.
—
One drink became two.
Two became something I stopped counting.
—
The room blurred slightly.
Not in a way that scared me.
In a way that felt… lighter.
Edges softened. Thoughts slowed.
And for once, I wasn't ten steps ahead of everything.
I was just… there.
—
People talked to me.
Asked questions.
Laughed too loudly at things that weren't that funny.
I answered. I nodded. I played the role.
—
But I was waiting.
Even if I didn't admit it.
—
And then—
"Hey."
—
I turned.
She was there.
Closer than before.
Real in a way that everything else in the room wasn't.
—
"Hey," I replied.
My voice was steadier than I felt.
—
She leaned slightly against the bar.
Casual. Comfortable.
Like this wasn't strange at all.
—
"You didn't tell me you were buying the place," she said.
There was a hint of amusement in her tone.
—
"I didn't know you'd care."
—
She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if I do yet."
—
I smiled faintly.
Fair.
—
We talked.
At first, it was light.
Work. The station. London.
Normal conversation.
—
But it didn't stay there.
—
She asked questions.
Real ones.
Not about money. Not about status.
About me.
—
"Why journalism?"
"I didn't choose journalism."
She frowned slightly. "Then why are you here?"
—
I took a sip. Thought about it.
"You."
—
She blinked.
Not shocked. Just… processing.
—
"That's still not a good answer," she said.
—
"It's still the only one I have."
—
She studied me longer this time.
Like she was trying to decide if I was serious.
Or just drunk.
—
Maybe I was both.
—
"You're not what I expected," she said.
—
"What did you expect?"
"Arrogant. Detached. Untouchable."
—
"And?"
—
She tilted her head slightly.
"You're… still some of that."
—
I laughed quietly.
"That's honest."
—
"But there's something else," she added.
—
I didn't ask what.
I wanted her to say it.
—
She didn't.
—
The conversation kept going.
Longer than I expected.
Longer than it should have.
—
At some point, I realized I was answering everything she asked.
No filters. No careful edits.
Just… answers.
—
The alcohol helped.
Or maybe it removed something that was already in the way.
—
"Why me?" she asked eventually.
—
There it was.
—
I looked at her. Really looked.
"You didn't care who I was."
—
She frowned slightly. "That's it?"
—
"No."
I exhaled slowly.
"You felt real."
—
Silence.
—
Not awkward.
Just… still.
—
She looked down for a second. Then back at me.
Something softer in her expression now.
Something less guarded.
—
"Maybe…" she started, then stopped.
—
I waited.
—
"Maybe I don't have a boyfriend."
—
The words landed quietly.
But they hit harder than anything else that night.
—
Before I could respond, she reached into her pocket.
Pulled out a small piece of paper.
Wrote something quickly.
—
She placed it in front of me.
—
Her number.
—
Then she stood up.
—
No hesitation.
No lingering.
—
And walked away.
—
She didn't look back.
—
I stared at the paper.
For a second too long.
—
My face felt warm.
Then warmer.
—
I exhaled a laugh under my breath.
—
This was… new.
—
"Sir?"
—
I looked up.
Daniel.
Of course.
Always appearing when things start slipping out of control.
—
"I need a ride," I said.
—
He nodded once.
—
I don't remember leaving the bar clearly.
Just fragments.
Streetlights. Cold air. The sound of the car door closing.
—
The motel room felt worse than before.
Smaller.
Cheaper.
Wrong.
—
"No," I muttered.
—
I pulled out my phone.
Called my assistant.
—
"Find me a better place."
—
A pause.
"How much better, sir?"
—
"The best."
—
Another pause.
"Understood."
—
By the time I woke up, I wasn't there anymore.
—
The room was quiet.
Large.
Perfect.
Everything in its place. Everything designed to impress.
—
My head hurt.
Badly.
—
I sat up slowly, pressing my fingers against my temple.
Regret came in waves.
Not emotional. Physical.
—
I don't drink like that.
Now I remembered why.
—
I reached for water. Drank. Waited.
—
Then it hit me.
—
Her.
—
The paper.
—
I looked around. Found it on the table.
Still there.
Still real.
—
I picked it up.
Stared at the number.
—
I hadn't called.
Hadn't texted.
Nothing.
—
A full night.
Gone.
—
I grabbed my phone immediately.
Typed.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
—
Simple.
"Hey."
—
I sent it.
—
Instantly.
The reply came.
—
No delay. No hesitation.
—
My screen lit up.
—
WHAT DOES A RICH SNUB LIKE YOU WANT FROM A NOBODY LIKE ME?
—
I stared at it.
—
The words didn't feel playful.
They didn't feel light.
—
They felt… real.
Sharp in a way I didn't expect.
—
I leaned back slightly.
Phone still in my hand.
—
For the first time since I met her…
I didn't have an answer.
—
And that…
That froze me.