Chapter One

"Not today Satan!" I screamed in outrage as my apprized 2014 Honda Accord roared and sputtered miserably beneath me.

Sput... Sputter...

"Shit..." I moaned and quickly maneuvred the car to the side of the road, where it gave one last sputter then a sickening lurch before coming to a definitive stop.

"Come on Trixie," I pleaded and tried desperately to start the engine up; but there was no sign of life whatsoever.

"Just ten more minutes baby, " I tested it again, hoping that Trixie would by some miracle restart and get me to work on time.

I'd already been arriving at work late for the past week or so, and Lucy Cameron, the contemptible Editorial Manager, was already sending forthright threats to terminate my career at Brent's Publishings.

Yet there I was, late as ever for the weekly editorial board-meeting.

"Why me?" I frowned and banged my head repeatedly against the steering wheel, before seizing my personal belongings and hopping out.

Without delay, I quickly dialed Dave- an acquaintance who worked with the towing company— and asked him to do me the favor of retrieving Trixie.

Taking a cab was the only option I had, which took five minutes to flag and fifteen minutes of Bollywood music to get to Brent's.

Plus my hair, that had been up in its first ever messy-bun masterpiece, was now not even in any kind of bun due to natural ventilation.

"I have asthma," the Indian driver had proclaimed, "A.C mess vith my lungs."

Fuck my life.

My therapist, Dr.Harrison, would undoubtedly have something disproving to say about my antagonistic views on life.

Under normal circumstances, I would've taken the stairs (it was the only form of exercise I ever did).

But seeing as I was walking on chalk-line with my career, the objectionable elevator would have to do.

The elevator ride was—as foreseen— agonizingly slow.

Those sudden, sharp jolts combined with the distasteful music didn't make it any more tolerable either.

By the time I had gotten to my work station, irascibility was gnawing away at my mental and I knew it was probably going to be one of my less buoyant days.

"Ava!" Khloe's shrill voice called out.

Khloe was an intern at Brent's, and admittedly, one of my closest friends. She'd moved to Seattle couple months ago and by fate, the apartment building adjacent to mine. Our connection had been instantaneous, even though we were so damn different.

Khloe was a sweet little rose; with her curly mane of fiery-red locks and big green eyes that always looked like she was about to tear up.

Whilst I, Ava Castellano, was a cactus.

It worked though—our friendship worked.

"You're late."

I grunted, shrugged on my jacket and smoothed my hair. "I didn't seem to notice."

I was never too sure if Khloe just chose to ignore my sarcasm, or if she truly was too oblivious to even recognize it. Either way, I always felt like a bitch; especially given her benevolence.

"Here," she handed over my writing pad and a steaming cup of coffee, " You'll need it."

With a contrite sigh, I thanked her and promised we'd grab martinis later on.

I walked briskly towards the meeting room and tried to season my mind for the proximate and possibly cataclysmic events to unfurl.

To be honest, if I was by any chance incompetent or inept in my writing, I wouldn't have had a job at Brent's.

I might've been an extremely apathetic individual, but I was one of their best writers, and they damned well knew it.

Taking in a deep breath, I gingerly pushed open the door of the Meeting Room.

"...some renovations in the way-"

Lucy Cameron stopped mid-speech and looked away from my colleagues.

All other eyes followed suit.

"Ava Castellaño," she tapped her manicured nails ontop of the wooden desk. She tended to do that a lot when she was upset or frustrated.

Lucy was one of those unhappy middle-aged women whose sex and love life were most likely non-existent, resulting in their irrational anger towards the world.

She wasn't bad looking though, with her sharp blue eyes and her signature low bun. Her face just had a perpetual sourness to it.

"Lucy Cameron." I challenged.

She threw me a look.

"Didn't I make it clear what time you should've been here?"

Her voice was-as usual- hoarsed and croaky, like she'd consumed way too many dicks when she was younger.

"Yes you did."

"And what time was that?"

"10:30 a.m."

"And what time is it now?"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"11:03."

"So are you early?"

"Is that a rhetorical question or..."

A few chuckles rose from the table.

Her glare was caustic.

"We'll discuss this later. Have a seat."

A sardonic smile was my response as I took a seat beside my other close friend, Danielle.

"Your wit is going to get you killed one day," she whispered.

We exchanged grins.

Danielle and I had met at a club two years ago, where I saved her ass from getting raped by some sleazy dweeb who had drugged her drink.

I mean, if I was a dude I'd probably want to get my Marvin Gaye on with Danielle too. She was gorgeous: African-american with long legs, dark eyes, ridiculously black curly hair and curves for centuries.

"As I was saying," Lucy continued, " If we want recognition, we have to do things dissimilarly. It gets so boring to be editing the same kind of pieces e-ve-ry single week. So, I've decided that for this week's project, each of you will be assigned a trending topic to do an article on."

"What is your definition of trending?" A familiar voice asked.

Ah, that would be Jake from State Farm.

He loathed the nickname; and it was for that same reason that I continued calling him that. I mean, he did look like the guy from the commercial.

"Current stuff Jake," I offered with a smirk, "Not like your khakis ofcourse but you get what I mean."

He frowned and flicked me his finger.

I yawned. "Yes Jake, we're all acquainted with the size of your dick."

"Yes current happenings in Seattle," Lucy waved her hands to dismiss the banter and laughter. "Upcoming bands, music, art, restaurants, stuff like that."

"We've been pitching this idea to you for like...ever." I raised an eyebrow and took a sip of my coffee.

Brent's publishings wasn't one for sensation. I mean, we wrote really good stuff. It was just that, well, it got old pretty fast. Lucy wanting to loosen things up a bit was a shocker- and a relief to most of us.

Lucy frowned. "Well I'm just now thinking what a wonderful idea it is."

"Why?" Danielle chimed in cynically, "Because the other publishing houses are taking a new route?"

She was right. Our neighbor and rival, A Day In Seattle had recently started doing more unconventional stories about stuff that most people, especially the younger generation, could relate to.

As you might have guessed, they were getting crazy publicity and their magazine reviews were really good.

"Not entirely, " Lucy responded, dissatisfied with our congruence.

"Anyways, for this week, I will be assigning each of you a story to work on. Be warned that most of these stories will include interviewing and extensive field service."

She began issuing us some folders with our new assignments.

This ought to be interesting, I thought as I collected my folder.

"Ava," Lucy piped up before I had gotten a chance to look at my assignment.

"I need to speak to you in regards to your assignment. So don't leave after everyone has been dismissed okay?"

I nodded.

She turned to the others.

"People please note the deadlines for the articles. Email them to me or bring them in at the office: whichever suits you best. The magazine needs to be edited and organized by this Friday so I'll need those pieces ASAP. Get to it. Meeting adjourned."

"I bet she's going to threaten you," Danielle murmured when we started gathering our stuff.

I laughed. "What'd you get?"

"The new club on Lincoln Street," she replied smugly.

"Now that sounds fun."

"Ava," Lucy summoned.

"I'll catch you later," I told Danielle.

"Martinis at Scott's?"

"Definitely."

I approached Lucy.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"Ava," she sat in her chair and crossed her legs.

"If you've opened your folder then you would have seen your assignment. If not, then let me tell you. You're to interview an artist tomorrow at 11 a.m, Hudson's café, West Seattle."

"Okay."

"I'm advising you not to be late for this one, okay? Mr.Wyatt has an important flight to catch tomorrow so we should be extremely thankful that he has even given us the time of the day. Understood?"

Wyatt? The name sounded oddly familiar.

"Yeah, understood."

Lucy sighed wearily. "If you miss this interview Ava, I'm afraid it'll cost you the termination of your career."

"I won't let you down."

"Mhm. You're dismissed."

The rest of my day at work was spent responding to some Letters To The Editor and writing a column on noise pollution. After I was done, I decided to do a research on the artist I was to interview.

I flipped open the folder and skimmed through the details until I found his name.

Caleb A. Wyatt.

The room dipped and whirled in a dizzying blur at the sight of the very familiar name from my past.

I gripped onto my desk for support.

Caleb A. Wyatt?

No frickin' way.

Surely this was some sort of mistake. It had to be a mistake.

I glanced at the name again, and it brought back a rush of memories.

Caleb had been my fifteen year old, brown-haired, amber eyed, childhood neighbor/rival.

We'd always been combatting with each other- he'd constantly bullied and teased me, and I would always threaten to bash his face in. I'd simply detested him.

LIES, a distant conscience accused.

Okay, so maybe I'd had a slight crush on him back then- and when his family had moved away, I'd been angry and little heartbroken.

Sue me. I was thirteen and naive- and that was all in the past.

Plus when had he moved back to Seattle?

And an artist? I thought he had wanted to become an architect?

Why the fuck did I even care? I hadn't seen the guy in a decade; and after the interview, I doubted if I would ever see him again.

"Hey, you ready?"

I jerked my head up out of the stupor to face an expectant Danielle.

I blinked. "Ready?"

She rolled her eyes. "Scott's? Rings a bell? You didn't seriously forget that we were going to grab martinis did you?"

"Of course not," I lied and tried to push away the angst I felt at the thought of seeing Caleb again.

"Are you alright?"

I forced a smile and nodded.

"Sure," she folded her arm against her chest. "Are you horny? I can hook you up with the hot bartender–"

I held up my hand. "Danielle please... I have a dildo."

"You should start dating again."

I shot her a withering look.

Quite frankly, dating wasn't my thing. I didn't have the time or strength for anything like that. My dating history was old, growing moss and sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

Literally. My ex was a diver.

Danielle sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. Let's go. Khloe is waiting downstairs."

Our little Monday-night tradition at Scott's was exactly what I needed.

I just wasn't planning on drinking much. The interview was set at eleven a.m so I would need to get up a bit earlier than usual.

Caleb A. Wyatt or not, I wasn't going to lose my job.

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