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“Yes, but at what point does that pride turn into stupidity?”
“I think he’s nearing that point. His newspaper is failing. He can’t be blind to that. You so kindly pointed it out in your packets here.” Elliott smirks.
“Of course his business is failing. I made sure of that when I began buying out his competitors. That’s always been my strategy. I just thought he would break by this point. I’m tired of this back-and-forth bullshit. It’s been a year.”
“Soon. I’m sure of it,” says Elliot assuredly.
I wish I could believe him, but I’m starting to lose hope. Maybe it’s time to give up and move onto another venture. I can have any other paper in New York, so I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with this one. I should just let it go, but my pride won’t let me. I realize that maybe Mr. Walsh and I are more similar than we think.
I gather my things and thank Elliott before saying my goodbyes, knowing I’m sure I will see him soon for another one of these meetings. I sigh in frustration as I ride the elevator down to the first floor. It looks like there will be no celebration with the pretty little barista tonight.
Chapter 9
Erica
I sit at my desk going over last-minute changes for my article that’s due by the end of the day, but it’s hard to focus. Since coming back to work after having my daughter, Josie, it’s hard to focus on anything but the fact that I’m not with her. I’ve been back at work for two weeks now, but I can’t seem to get used to being apart from her. She’s become my everything, and my life has completely changed.
My apartment is baby-proofed with cabinets I can barely even get into and bumpers on the coffee table. My bed is now accompanied by a bassinet where I fall asleep to her breathing. Nights are broken up by feedings and rocking her back to sleep. My nights out are now nights in, with Beth and Sadie bringing over pizza to eat on the floor as we ooh and ahh over Josie as she does tummy time. They’re the only two who know that Marco is the father.
They were shocked when I told them, but there wasn’t an ounce of judgment. They stepped in right away to help with whatever I needed. I don’t know what I would have done without them. Sadie is the one who planned the smallest of baby showers that I insisted I didn’t want, but loved all the same. Beth is the one who helped me find a daycare across the street from her flower shop. It feels nice knowing she’s close to Josie, when I can’t be.
I smile at how much I miss Josie now, and fight back tears, as I think about her heart-shaped face and her big brown eyes that follow my every move. I try not to think about Marco whenever I lock eyes with her, but they are all him. Along with his tan skin and dark hair. It’s kind of unfair how much she resembles him, and how little she resembles me, but she’s so beautiful that I don’t mind it. She’s perfect, no matter who her father is. I pick up my phone and look at the lock screen, a picture of her sleeping on my chest, and get my fix before getting back to work.
I look at the cursor blinking on my computer screen, an annoying reminder that it’s waiting for me to type something. I haven’t been able to come up with a close to my latest piece, and no new ideas are coming to me. I groan as I put my chin on my hand, staring at the stark white screen before me. I’m suddenly distracted by a silent commotion of my co-workers rushing to their desks, exchanging whispers as they look down the hallway. I wave down Myrna, the executive assistant. She rushes over, looking over her shoulder warily.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a hushed voice.
“The Shark is here.”
“Now?” I ask, feeling my stomach drop to my feet.
“Yes. Just arrived. He’s in the conference room.” She nods down the hallway. “It isn’t looking good for us, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
She walks away, leaving me with my mouth open, partly from the questions I want to ask and partly from the shock of the news she’s just delivered. The Shark is here. Marco Vallejo is here. The father of my daughter is here. The room seems to rotate on its axis, and I clutch the edge of my desk to gain my footing.
I look around at my co-workers, all who appear to be busy at their desks, but I can see it’s a façade. They’re just as scared as I am, trying to keep their wits about them as a meeting that could change all our lives takes place. I lean forward in my seat and peer out over my desk to get a glimpse of the conference room that’s down the hall. The shades are pulled and the door is closed, but I know he’s in there.
I have an inkling of what he’s in there talking to George and the higher-ups about. I know he’s been after our paper for almost a year now, and I can’t help but feel like I had given some sort of upper hand by letting him know some of the ins and outs of the company during our evening together. The thought riddles me with guilt, and anger. Anger at myself for being so stupid and anger at Marco for using me for his advantage, in more ways than one.
It doesn’t help that our paper hasn’t been doing well. I’ve heard talk of our numbers are down and I’ve seen the success ofTheNew York Voice, our biggest rival that’s been in the hands of Marco for many months. I wonder if he took hold of it just to drive our numbers down, to make it seem like he is our only way out of this mess. It seems to be working because this is now the second meeting George has had with him this week. Marco has been breaking him down little by little. It makes me want to hate him, but I can’t.
Part of me somehow still holds on to the man I met the night of the party. The man who made me feel like I was the only woman in the room. The man who kissed me in a way I have never been kissed before. The man who shattered me into a hundred little pieces, melting me back together again with the way he touched me. It’s hard to forget someone like that, even when I know who he is now. That being someone who can ruin everything.
If Marco gets a hold ofThe NY News Daily, and it’s looking that way, I will lose my job. I can’t afford to start from scratch. It’s hard enough as it is to get by. I’m barely making ends meet now that I have Josie. All my money goes toward diapers and clothes and toys. It will only get harder as she gets older and needs more. It will be impossible to give her the life I want to.
I’ve already been looking around for another job, seeing what’s out there, and it’s slim pickings. It seems like most of the independent newspapers have been snatched up by Marco, and I’m trying to stay far away from him. I don’t have experience in anything else but journalism. It would be difficult to find a job somewhere else, especially one that caters to me being a new mom.
If worse comes to worse, I might have to turn to my brother Troy for the help he often offers. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, even worse than the morning sickness from the beginning of my pregnancy. I know he can afford it. I know he has wanted to help me, long before I became a mom and he fell in love with his little niece. He knows nothing about how she came to be and is always cautious around the subject ever since I threatened to shut him out of my life when he kept probing me. I don’t fault him for wanting to know, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. Though, if he helps me, I might have to. I would owe him that much.
I’ve always taken pride in not going to my family for help. I’ve been unreasonably stubborn about it to a fault. I know they just want to help. At least Troy does. My father would just find a way to hold it over my head and sway me into working for him somehow. I’ve never wanted to be known as Erica Gunner, daughter of multi-billionaire CEO. I’ve wanted to make my own name, carve my own path. Now that I’m about to lose my job and have an almost three-month-old, it seems like I might be out of options.
Even if Marco takes over and I somehow keep my job here, I will always be on edge. He might find out about Josie, and I’ve done everything so far to ensure that doesn’t happen. If I work under him, he will have a better chance of putting two and two together. I made the decision long ago that I don’t want my daughter knowing who her father is. He doesn’t deserve to know her.
I spot George walking down the hall toward the conference room and rise quickly from my desk chair, causing it to tumblebackward. He looks at me, as if he’s annoyed by the noise that’s broken him from his thoughts. I quickly pick my chair up and catch up with him, trying to keep up with his pace.
“George. Please, before you go in there…”
“What is it, Erica?” He sighs.