He's a Prince. She's a journalist.
They have a complicated relationship. More like he's into her but she hates his guts.
He needs to behave. She needs to let loose.
He's interested in her because she's the last girl interested in him.
Both of them n...
Chapter's song: Sugar by Maroon 5 (this song is the bomb!)
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Dear Ms. Two cents' worth,
I have been with my girlfriend for three years and she has really let herself go. I'm not attracted to her at all. So I met this other girl and we have sex in our apartment when my girlfriend is at work. Blah blah blah ...
Signed,
The Usual Dick
I roll my eyes.
My office clock, hidden beneath a pile of fast food wrappers and cups of coffee in various stages of decay, clicks over to 3:58. I have two minutes to get my column into my editor.
It's going to have to be this one. I reach for my coffee and sip, then spit it out all over the jerk's letter. Must have been my cup from yesterday. I scramble for a piece of fruity Trident and chomp. One day old coffee is not my beverage of choice.
Time to write my answer to this jerk.
Dear Usual Dick,
Please fuck-off and get gonorrhea.
I delete that line. Pretty sure the editor won't like it and I need this stupid job. I need the money and it's only for a while. Until I can get on the news desk. Sighing, I click on my other story. The one about the humanitarian crisis in Syria. I quickly write up a bunch of comments about being true to yourself, blah, blah blah, and hit send. I loathe the Help Column. I also sent him my other article, hoping that he takes me seriously. Fifth-one and counting.
Shutting down my computer, I glance at the mess around me. Should I pick it up? I'm about to grab my jacket and take off when I stop. Does it look like a serious newspaper journalist office? Ugh. Condescendingly, I fish out the wrappers, make a ball with them and throw it to the canister. The little ball bounces off the ledge and ends up on the floor unwrapped.
My phone rings as I'm about to pick up the trash from the floor. Instead, I push it under my desk. If I don't see it, it's not there.
Could it be Mr. Smith? Did he give my other article a go? My heart races as I pick up the phone. "Kate speaking!"
"Hi there!" It's Emily, my best friend. I slump on my chair as I hear Marianne, her baby, gurgling on the background.
"Hi Em."
"Wow, someone is glad to hear me!" She quips.
"Sorry, I was expecting my boss to call."
"Still trying to change the world, one article at a time?" She knew about me sending actual news articles to Mr. Smith since last month. She gave me the idea when I told her I was writing other stuff on the side.
The stench of the hamburger wrapper underneath my desk reaches my nose. Ew. "He keeps ignoring my second mail."
