Matteo Page 2

  One thing’s for sure – I can’t stay in his presence for much longer without breaking. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth before glancing quickly at my wristwatch. I don’t really see the hour. All I know is that it’s time to get away from this divine piece of man.

  “I really need to get going. I have an important meeting to get to at the office. Can you have your secretary send me some notes?” I reach for a pad of paper sitting on the table beside me and I scribble down my personal email address.

  He takes the scrap of paper from my outstretched hand and the tips of our fingers brush. I instantly feel heat roll down my neck. “What is it that you do, Ms. Parker?”

  My stomach tightens into a nauseating loop. “I’m a blogger,” I say curtly, deliberately remaining vague.

  A condescending chuckle escapes his lips. “Surely your little blog can wait a while so that we can discuss your nine-figure inheritance this morning.”

  I feel my pulse spike. My eyes narrow. My chest tightens. I poured my everything into that blog. I built it up from my college dorm room and now it’s finally starting to get the recognition it deserves. I most definitely don’t appreciate having it shrugged off by this smug asshole.

  Between his good looks and his privileged background, I bet he’s never had to work hard for anything in his whole life. With his family connections, getting into law school was probably a breeze and after graduation, a cushy job was waiting for him here at his daddy’s law firm. This man knows nothing about the hustle and I won’t let him talk down on the business I’ve struggled to build from the ground up.

  “Actually, it can’t wait,” I say, seething. “Have your secretary email me, Mr. Moretti. I’ll see myself out.”

  With that, I grab my purse and stomp out the door.

  Chapter 3

  I watch as Mackenzie pulls a thick slice of bread from the basket sitting in the middle of the table, breaks off a huge chunk and drags it through the platter of butter.

  Madison rolls her eyes with an exasperated grunt as she thrusts a butter knife in our little sister’s direction. Mackenzie smirks, sets the knife down next to her plate and swipes another piece of bread through the butter.

  Madison looks like she’s about to have a conniption. She tends to be a little uptight. Meanwhile, Mackenzie is as carefree as ever and knows exactly how to push all of Madison’s buttons just for fun. Over the years, Madison has always scolded Mackenzie for her lack of table manners, but I’ve witnessed this non-verbal waltz between my sisters enough times to know that, this time, something deeper is bothering Madison.

  “What’s wrong, Maddie?” I say, giving her a playful kick under the table.

  “Nothing,” she says with an unconvincing shrug.

  Mackenzie’s eyebrows furrow. “The New York Flame posted a story saying that Domenic is about to call off the wedding,” she informs me. She scrolls through her smartphone and produces a recent article written by an Eloise Benoit, claiming that Domenic got cold feet and decided to bail on my sister in advance of their upcoming nuptials.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say tossing back a hearty gulp of my scotch. I angle my chair away when I glance out the street-level restaurant’s window and notice the paparazzi on the sidewalk snapping away at some celebrity or other as they enter the front door.

  “That’s what I told her,” Mackenzie says grabbing a sip of her water. “Fuck the New York Flame and fuck that Eloise Benoit. I bet she’s a fat, ugly troll who lives with a thousand cats.” Mackenzie sneers.

  Madison sighs and it seems like the whole world is sitting on her shoulders. “I’ve just got way too much going on – with dress fittings and cake tastings and pre-wedding jitters. The last thing I need is to have Dom run off on me now.”

  I slide my hand across the table and tap her lightly on the fingers. “Maddie – Dom isn’t going anywhere. You know that.”

  Her lips scrunch up and her eyes begin to water. She nods slightly but doesn’t say a thing.

  “Would you like to order?” a perky voice says out of nowhere, startling the shit out of us. I glance behind me to find a busty, petite thing with shiny cinnamon hair I can imagine sliding my fingers into while fucking her from behind. Too bad her voice is annoying as fuck.

  Madison hurriedly tucks her head into her chest, discreetly wiping away her tears.

  “Not yet. We’re waiting for our brother,” Mackenzie offers, going for another slice of that bread. The waitress l nods with an overzealous smile and walks away.

  “Aren’t you on a no-carb diet or something? You might need to lay off the bread,” I say eyeing my sister. I don’t mean it facetiously. I swear. She’s not fat or anything but she’s training to become a professional ballerina and I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to watch what she eats. I’m just a concerned brother looking out for my little sister’s best interests.

  She doesn’t take it that way, though.

  “Asshole,” she growls at me, throwing her linen napkin my way before turning her attention back to Madison. “It’s just the wedding jitters. That’s why you’re such a nervous wreck,” Mackenzie says knowingly as she leans back in her chair and pops another piece of bread into her mouth.

  I glance at my watch again before facing Madison as well. “Look – if it makes you feel any better, I’ll talk to Domenic. Make sure he knows better than to hurt my little sister.” I poke her softly in the shoulder and she finally cracks a smile. “Does that sound good?”

  “Sounds good,” she says hoarsely and I ruffle the top of her head.

  “Hey – stop,” she whines, ducking out of my reach. “I just got my hair blow-dried.” She rakes her dark mane back into place.

  Mackenzie snickers and peers over at the door before her expression turns serious. “What’s taking Michael so long? I have ballet rehearsal in an hour. I don’t wanna be late.”

  “I saw him at the reception desk speaking to a client when I was leaving the office,” Madison says between sniffles. “Pink and blonde hair. Blue dress. Killer heels.”

  “Ellie Parker,” I say, a grin itching at my lips when I think of the way her skin-tight dress hugged that sexy little frame of hers.

  “Huh?” Madison asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

  “Ellie Parker. She just inherited ToneWave.” Madison is more or less familiar with the ToneWave file. I think she worked on it when she was still an intern at the law firm.

  She pouts slightly. “Ugh – lucky bitch. That company is worth a fortune.”

  I swirl the scotch around in my tumbler. “Ellie Parker’s a lot of things,” I mutter under my breath. She’s sexy and feisty and –

  “Ah – here comes the birthday boy now.” Mackenzie’s eyes are riveted to the door.

  My gaze follows hers and I see Michael and his wife, Ruth, entering the restaurant.

  “About goddamned time,” I growl as I slide out of my chair to give my older brother a birthday hug.

  Chapter 4

  I lean back in my swiveling chair and chew distractedly on the fingernail of my thumb as I stare out of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that allows me an unrestricted view of the small but modern open-concept newsroom. A dozen or so workers are milling around, putting together the stories that will go up on our blog over the next few hours.

  My best editor sits cross-legged on a beanbag tucked against a wall, tapping way on his laptop. A trio of freelance photographers are huddled around my graphic designer’s desk pairing up images with stories coming down the pipeline. The two new interns are off in the kitchenette stuffing their faces with doughnut holes like they’re going out of style.

  This may not look like your traditional newsroom, but we’re damn good at what we do and New York City is finally starting to take notice.

  So, I’m still furious. How dare Matteo Moretti downplay the business that I’ve spent the last three years building? I may not be a lawyer but I’ve worked hard nonetheless and built up something valuable. It’s been tough but we’re finally st
arting to get the results we’ve been striving for.

  Just three years ago, this blog was nothing but me working late nights out of my dorm room while I slogged towards my degree in journalism. Today, I have five full-time employees and work with dozens of freelancers. Our website gets hundreds of thousands of hits per month and our newsletter subscribership is growing daily. Our experimental print-run last year was lucrative enough that I’ve begun seriously considering whether permanently offering a print-version of our blog is a smart move.

  The New York Flame is dedicated to exposing the dirty, little secrets of the city’s socialites and influencers. And we’re damned good at what we do…wait, I already said that.

  But it’s true.

  I’m proud of what I’ve built. The New York Flame is a success. And if Matteo Moretti wants to underestimate me, he’s the fool.

  I’m pulled out of my reverie when I notice Dove – dirty blond dreadlocks hanging down her back and red canvas sneakers casing her feet – as she approaches my office. She holds a plastic-wrapped sandwich in each hand.

  “Pulled pork?” she says brandishing the sandwich in her left hand, “or beef brisket?” she waves around the sandwich in her right hand.

  “Beef brisket,” I say with a small smile, reaching for the sandwich. I can never turn down anything that comes out of that woman’s kitchen. She’s an amazing cook. “Thanks. I’m starving.” I unwrap it and take a greedy bite.

  “Forgot to eat again, huh?” she says as she sinks into the modern plastic chair opposite my glass-top desk. She eyes my outfit suspiciously. Usually, I wear jeans and a stylish blouse to the office, but I came into work straight from my meeting at Cartwright Moretti Stevenson, so I’m a bit overdressed in my blue shift dress and my 4-inch heels.

  “Yeah – I was in a rush this morning,” I say as I reach over to the far corner of my desk and grab two bottles of water. I slide one across the desk to Dove. “Had a personal appointment.” The look on her face tells me that she’s curious to know more but she won’t ask. Although Dove is the closest thing I have to a friend, we still keep the requisite professional distance from each other. I’m her boss and I don’t want her to get comfortable enough to forget that. Our Monday morning meetings sometimes dip a toe into girl-talk territory, but not too much. She knows that I have things that I guard close to the chest and so does she. Unless a matter is work-related, it’s pretty much ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ between us.

  She and I make a good team. I’m the blog’s editor-in-chief. I also oversee operations and manage the office. I’m also not afraid to roll my sleeves up and do some good old-fashioned reporting when the occasion arises. But, lately I’ve been too busy with the business aspect of running the blog to get any writing done. Dove, for her part, is my chief financial officer and she’s also responsible for our marketing and human resources. The New York Flame is a small publication so she and I both wear multiple hats. We’ve talked about hiring someone else to manage marketing but despite our recent successes, I won’t allow us to splurge on unnecessary expenses.

  “You’ve gotta remember to take care of yourself, doll,” she says to me with a sympathetic look in her eyes. I’m a workaholic and she knows it.

  I scrunch up my nose. “I’m trying,” I say unconvincingly as I grab my smartphone off of my desk and distractedly type out a quick text message to my mother. I haven’t heard from her in a few days and I can’t help but wonder what corner of the world she’s off exploring right now.

  Dove shakes her head at me before changing the subject. “So, the WSJ website just picked up that story we posted yesterday about those NuVoTron Mobile executives who blew half-million on a wild weekend in Vegas,” Dove says wearing a hopeful expression as she shoves a handful of her long, thick dreadlocks over her shoulder. “We’ve already seen a serious uptick in traffic on the blog over the course of the morning.” She takes a bite of her sandwich.

  “That’s awesome,” I say beaming. “Do we have any other stories lined up to ride the wave of traffic?”

  She opens a manila folder and plops a few sheets of paper onto my desk. “They’ve all been verified. We have quotes. Sources. We’re just waiting on your approval, boss,” she says with a wink before biting into her sandwich again.

  I shuffle through the proposed stories and select the four with the most potential to go viral. “These,” I say handing them to her and tossing the rest into recycle bin under my desk. Unlike our competitors, we value quality over quantity. I won’t post a story just for the sake of volume. I need to be fairly certain that our stories are, not only interesting, but also accurate. Do we make mistakes? Do erroneous stories slip through the cracks? Occasionally. But if you read a story on the New York Flame, more likely than not, it’s accurate.

  “Great – we’ll get these stories up on the blog right away.” Dove wraps up the rest of her sandwich and eases out of her seat.

  “Anything else I should know about?” I ask before taking a huge gulp of water.

  “Umm…” she glances briefly at the face of her smartphone. “I’m interviewing a new freelance photographer in the morning. Do you wanna sit in on the meeting?”

  I shake my head. “Nah – I think you can handle that.”

  She nods at me before her eyes drop back to her phone. “Also, you’re meeting the ad guy from Hampton Fresh Juices tonight for drinks. I’m sure he’s gonna make another big ad buy when you show him last quarter’s traffic numbers.”

  I roll my eyes and groan. “Ugh – Lester Buntlake? I hate that guy.”

  Lester is well aware that Dove does our marketing but he insists on meeting with me every quarter on the off-chance that I might someday get drunk enough to hook up with him.

  Dove flicks her hand at me dismissively. “He’s a total goner for you, doll. Just look cute and bat those pretty gray eyes at him and we’ll all have our rents paid for the rest of the year.” She laughs at my annoyance.

  I groan. “I hate you…but you’re right.”

  Chapter 5

  “Hey. Sorry I’m late,” Domenic mumbles as he slips into the leather-upholstered armchair across from me.

  “No problem, man,” I say nonchalantly taking a long swallow of my scotch before lifting my empty glass in the air to catch the cocktail waitress’s attention. My eyes survey her as I speak to Domenic. She’s wearing a little black skirt that’s dangerously tight and her tits are about to spill over the low neckline of her stretchy white top. “What the hell is going on with you and my sister? I met her for lunch today and she was falling apart. Some gossip column is reporting that you’re about to call off the wedding.”

  Domenic looks at me and shakes his head, frustration wrinkling his face. “I told her to just ignore that rag. Me and Madison have never been better. I can’t wait to make that woman my wife.”

  Domenic and Madison, got engaged a few months ago. They’d been friends their whole lives, so when they started dating last year, it took everyone by surprise but they’re in love. It shows. It’s almost nauseating. The wedding is just around the corner. So, I’m relieved to hear that all is well in paradise.

  “I told her to stop fussing over those tabloids. You wouldn’t leave her. You know that I would kill you if you did.”

  Although there isn’t a single note of humor in my tone, Domenic chuckles. “You don’t have to threaten me, man. I wouldn’t dream of leaving her. My life is nothing without Maddie in it.”

  I finally get the cocktail waitress to bring her provocatively-clad ass over to our table and get me a second scotch. Domenic orders a gin and tonic.

  He looks nervous as he shoves his hand through his curly blond hair. He leans forward and drops his voice to a whisper. “But, she wants a baby, man.”

  “What?” My fist slams into the table and I jerk backwards in my comfortable leather chair as I laugh. “Maddie wants a baby? You guys aren’t even married yet and she’s already pressuring you for kids!”

  “That’s what I’m thin
king,” Domenic says with pure anxiety in his blue eyes. “I do want to have a family with Madison. She’s the woman of my dreams. But, between our law careers, her ballet studio and my rugby contract, I just don’t think we have the time. Besides, at this point, I just want to get married to her. I want to have fun without having to be responsible for another human being. Is that selfish of me?”

  “No, that’s definitely not selfish. Having a kid is a big deal. Maddie needs to understand that.” The waitress approaches and places my drink in front of me. I give her a generous smile and she grins down at me. I watch her deliberately lean forward, displaying her ass to me as she places Domenic’s drink in front of him. She throws me a wink over her shoulder.