Page 17 of Let's Kiss and Tell

My shoulders slump because I’m now regretting opening up as much as I did. In her eyes, I’m some chump who agreed to attend his ex’s wedding, and on top of that, I can’t even find my own date without enlisting the help of someone I just met. Lucy probably has a friend she’s willing to set me up with, and while I appreciate the offer, desperation isn’t my favorite color.

From what I remember, Lucy didn’t share her last name, but someone like her must have a strong digital footprint. I adjust my laptop and searchLucy Sex and Relationship Columnist.To my hunch I was right. Lucy’s professional website is the first thing I see, and I don’t hesitate to click on it. A bright photo that has the contrast and gradient of a film shot sits center on the homepage with the nameLucy Reidin bold black letters at the header. She’s sitting on a green couch in jeans and a white T-shirt, mid-laugh. It’s the most hypnotizing photo I think I’ve ever seen. This is the fun, sexy, confident Lucy I was with on Friday night, and I oddly find satisfaction in being able to look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time.

The first thing I want to see is the tab labeledArticles.When I click it, there’s a long list of bylines fromCosmopolitanandElle.Titles like “Three Ways to Ease into a Threesome” and “So, Your Bi Partner Wants to Be Open?” I click on one, and then another, and then another. While some topics make me feel mildly uncomfortable, I find myself enlightened and having more of an open mind toward other topics. After about an hour of reading some of Lucy’s most personal thoughts, I feel like I’ve found the key to her diary—and suddenly more connected to her than I want to be.

My mouse hovers overAboutand when Lucy’s bio appears, my face collapses.

“Lucy Reid is currently a sex and relationships columnist forTheLA Journal’s digital magazine,The Rue.”

I sit up straight and reread that sentence.

“Of course she is.” I close my eyes. She was at Gold Line for Jay’s goodbye party. She was at Jay’s goodbye party because she works atThe Journal.She works atThe Journal,which means…she now works with me. “Great.” I sigh. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I told my future co-worker that I hate dating, or that I’m attracted to her…” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Orthe fact that I’m fucking talking to myself.”

I exit her website and delete her text message. Responding is a bad idea. Lucy is a bad idea. I don’t care if she has some friend who she thinks might feel bad enough for me to be a plus-one. It’s not worth it. I chuck my phone over to the other side of the couch and start working on my next story.

An office isn’t necessary, but it was Jay’s, and Nadia insisted I use the space. Thankfully, the square footage isn’t anything obnoxious, but it’s big enough that I feel like I matter. I have something to prove. To the team atThe Journal,and to myself.

The room is sterile. White walls, a white desk, a glass door and a glass wall looking toward the hallway. Any remnants of Jay’s have been discarded and cleaned up like he never existed. It’s funny how that feels. I’ve seen many people go through the doors at the past companies I’ve worked at and it’s always business as usual. We make a big deal and give our sad speeches when someone leaves, but the Monday after it’s almost like they never existed. A business has never suffered from one person leaving.

I see a familiar figure walking toward me, and we give each other a wave through the door.

Nadia Lewis is a busy woman. When the state of the world is…the way it’s been for the past decade and counting, running a news department for one of the most notable publications leaveslittle room for “me time.” So, when Nadia is knocking on my office door at nine-thirtya.m.on a Monday, I know it’s important.

Standing up, I gesture for her to come inside, and she raises a hand motioning me to stay in my seat.

“Good morning, Marsh.” She closes the door behind her.

“Morning.” I lower the screen on my laptop.

“How are you feeling?”

“Great,” I say. “I really do feel great. Ready to get my hands dirty.”

“There are a few assignments that got shuffled around over the weekend,” Nadia says. “Did Kat from admin show you how to use the assignment board?”

“Yep.” I nod. “Got downloaded on everything last week and went through the hub with Jay before he left.”

“Perfect. There’s a new feature that came up,” Nadia says. “It’s in your folder.”

“You got it. What’s the story?”

“The peg is the trial between Alf Olson and Aditi Singh.”

It’s not new information that Alf Olson is one of the wealthiest businessmen and entrepreneurs of the past forty years. He’s created technology systems that are used throughout companies, homes, and cars worldwide. A few days ago, it was announced that his philanthropist wife, Aditi Singh, has filed for divorce and is asking for a settlement that includes half of his assets. The repercussions of Alf losing half his assets is one of the most newsworthy headlines lately. Given today’s climate, that says a lot.

“I’m listening,” I say.

“News just broke this morning that the divorce is because of infidelity.”

“Of course,” I say under my breath.

“Olson has spent millions on escort services, OnlyFans models, the list goes on. The trial is set for next month.”

“So, no interviews,” I say, knowing the answer.

“It’s impermissible with anyone directly involved,” Nadia says. “But I think there are some former escorts and leads that you can chase an interview with. No names.”

“Got it. Sex work, infidelity, I’ll come up with something.”