Make It Known

Chapter 5: Team

Chapter 5: Team

not very pretty but we sure know how to run things

living in ruins of a palace within my dreams

and you know we're on each other's team

***

That evening, I lay cross-legged on my bed with my laptop open in front of me and google him. Just for the record, this is called research, not stalking.

His Wikipedia page doesn't give a lot of information. Born and raised in Toronto. Undergrad at U of T, MA from Ryerson. Like me.

It says that he first published something at The Press during his BA. Hm. How the hell did he get that opportunity?

I skim through an interview about him when he won the Pulitzer. The article gushes about how he's one of the youngest in history. It quotes him talking about his mentor, the editor-in-chief of The Press before him, John Mattheson.

I recall Gavin mentioning his editor this afternoon, when he was describing the article that hangs by his door. When I google Mattheson, it shows his death date, two years ago. Succeeded as editor-in-chief of The Press by Gavin Stone. Shit. He was 28 when he started this job.

I scroll through Gavin's long list of accolades and awards and prizes. The more I read the more curious I become.

It's mind-blowing, knowing that I'm working at a place with a legacy of so many incredible journalists. So many legends have sat at those desks and walked those halls.

I remember, suddenly, Gavin's haunting blue eyes, the sharpness of his jaw, the brown waves of his hair. I remember the way his hands felt, the way his mouth felt. Then I chastise myself for it.

Memories of today's meeting, his wit and charm, fill my head. I realize, suddenly, that he did me an incredible favor. He could have fired me. He could have come up with a reason. Ended my career, then and there, easily.

But he didn't. He agreed to let it go. If anyone found out, he would face accusations of harassment, misconduct. It's completely unethical, for him to be my superior without disclosing it to HR.

This also intrigues me, sends a strange flutter through my chest. Every minute, he becomes more and more mysterious.

There's a part of me that wants to impress him. To make him see that I will kick ass at this job, that his risk was worth it.

So damn worth it.

***

The next morning, I get to the office a little before eight. As I wait for the elevator, none other than the object of too many of my waking thoughts comes to stand beside me.

Gavin wears a perfectly-pressed white shirt, his charcoal slacks tailored to perfection. Everything about his appearance is immaculate, except for the slightly messy head of thick brown hair. I feel my heart beat a little faster with an awareness of his presence.

"Ms. Collins," he greets, his gaze flicking over to me for just a brief moment.

"Morning, Mr. Stone," I reply. Neutral and professional.