Chapter 7: Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

there ain't nothing in this world for free

oh no, I can't slow down, I can't hold back / though you know I wish I could

oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked

***

Just before 8 am Monday morning, Gavin is waiting for the elevator when I get there.

Light blue dress shirt, black slacks pressed to perfection. Why does he always have to look so immaculate?

Oh crap. I really, really don't need a repeat performance of last week's embarrassingly hot ride up to the fifteenth floor.

"Morning, Ms. Collins."

"Good morning, Mr. Stone."

Calm, cool and professional.

"Restful weekend?" His tone is completely neutral.

"Something like that." Alison and I got a little drunk Saturday night, when I confessed to her the details of my eventful week. "Yourself?"

A small smile tilts up the edge of those full lips. "Something like that."

And then we follow the early-morning herd into the elevator, and as we press ourselves in with a dozen other people, I remember what happened last time and my mind short-circuits because he's behind me, his back to the rear wall of the elevator, and I can feel his warmth, the lean hardness of his chest against me, his exhales a hot tickle at the back of my neck.

I must be imagining it when I hear him curse a little, under his breath.

My eyes flutter shut as the tip of his nose brushes the shell of my ear. My breaths are shallow, because as another couple people pile on, I trip a little, faltering, and his large, warm hand splays across my hip, steadying me. I swear it burns, through the thin material of my dress, and maybe it's in my head but he keeps it there for longer than necessary, and when it falls away, his fingers and mine brush together gently at my side and Christ, this isn't supposed to make me so damn flustered.

Floor after floor, like slow motion.

I try to remember to breathe, but the heat from his body pressed against the curves of mine is maddening. It's just nature, okay? Because he's a very attractive male and I'm a normal woman with hormones, damn hormones, and he makes me want to turn around and press my face close to his and... stop it, right now.

When we finally get off that cursed elevator, I catch him run a hand through that thick brown hair, let out a small breath. I swear his face is flushed. But he greets Dani as he walks past the reception desk and strides away to his office, and I pretend nothing happened, like always, and go back to doing my job.

***

"Roger," I begin with a sigh when he walks into the office with his coffee, "Why didn't you warn me that Detective Rowley was gonna try to get into my pants?"

He shakes his head, because he's too old and too tired for this. "Collins. You're young and female. What do you want me to say?" He looks uncomfortable, like something is crawling up his backside.

I roll my eyes. "This is the twenty-first century. Are you seriously telling me that as a woman in journalism I still have to use my looks to get a lead?"

He shrugs, tossing his bag onto his chair and taking a long sip of his coffee. "I wish I had something to tell you. This industry isn't better than any of the others, Collins. But I think you can take care of yourself just fine."

"Thanks for that motivating speech, boss."

Seth laughs from his desk. "That's what you get for talking to him before he's finished his coffee, Mel."

"Learned that lesson the hard way," Marcus pipes in. He was out of the office a lot of last week doing interviews. He's a big guy, maybe 6'2, and so far he seems nice enough, like the rest of the team. "Rowley's a decent guy. I've never had a problem with him."

Because he doesn't want to sleep with you.

"You guys talking about Detective Dylan Rowley?" Lydia asks as she walks in, heading to her desk. A small, mischievous smile plays on her face. "Cute, isn't he, Melanie? If I was five or ten years younger, I'd go for it." A wink in my direction. Not helping.

"So how did the first interview go, champ?" Seth asks, saving me from having to respond to Lydia.

"Ugh. Well, he knows something. Something big, and I know it's important. But he warned me that I was getting in over my head." I snort. "And then he said he'd tell me more if I went out on a date with him. Not part of my job description."

Marcus whistles. "Are you going to do it?"

That is the question. "Haven't decided yet. I should just suck it up and go for dinner with the idiot, but then he wins, and it's an affront to female journalists everywhere."

"You have a point, I guess," Lydia shrugs. "But at least he's charming and handsome. Could be worse..."

I groan and the others laugh.

"And that sexy accent," Marcus teases, and I bury my head against my desk, trying not to smile.

"Get back to work, you clowns." Roger doesn't sound amused. He's never amused.

***

Somehow, word of my dilemma has spread around the office. So when we all crowd ourselves into the lunch room, Steph is ready to attack me with questions.

"I heard he's hot, Mel. How hot?"

I blush, closing my eyes and shaking my head to protest against this entire conversation.

"Very hot, Stephanie," Lydia supplies. She's a little too old and wise to be fawning over the young, dashing detective, but she's doing it to tease me anyways. "And British."

Stephanie fans herself, a couple dark curls framing her face. "Mh, mh, mh," she drawls. "If you don't want him, honey, I'll take him."

"Knock yourself out, Steph."

As I take a bite of my sandwich, Dani walks into the lunchroom carrying a bouquet of flowers. "Melanie, these came for you."

The whole room erupts into catcalls and hoots, and my face turns bright red. I begrudgingly take them from her, laying them in front of me on the table and snatching the note attached to the top.

"What does it say?" Ryan asks curiously.

Everyone, except maybe Ashton, leans in from around the room to catch a glimpse. I roll my eyes.

I tear apart the little envelope to read what's scrawled on the card.

Hey love,
I know you're stubborn but I'm even worse.
Go for dinner with me.
You can ask me whatever you want after and I'll answer you, even if it's against my better judgement.
More importantly, you know I'll show you a good time, boring journalist or not.
Dylan

He thinks he's so damn charming. And maybe he is. I let Steph pluck the card from my fingers and they take turns reading it and passing it around while I ignore them.

And then, as if my day could not get any more humiliating, a certain someone decides to walk in to microwave his lunch. I thought his PA did that for him. Dining with the commoners today, I guess. It takes all my self-control not to look at him. Act normal.

"What's all the fuss about?" he asks casually, curiosity tugging at the edge of his mouth. Okay yes, I looked at him. Because everyone else was looking at him, and it would have been weird for me not to.

Roger, sitting at the corner of the room hunched over his newspaper, grunts. "Collins has herself an admirer."

Gavin raises an eyebrow, eyes flitting over to me. I wish the earth would swallow me whole. I swear there's a knowing sparkle in his eyes.

"Detective Dylan Rowley from the Toronto PD," Marcus pipes in. "Collins interviewed him last week and now he wants her to go out with him."

I glare at Marcus, and he just winks at me.

"He said he'll give her info about her lead if she does dinner," Lydia adds with a small laugh. "But I don't think dinner is all he has in mind..."

More raucous laughter. I don't meet Gavin's eyes, but I feel him looking at me, his gaze warm against my skin.

"Stop it, you guys," I beg, flushed.

Fantastic. Gavin must think I'm some kind of hoe.

"But," Seth adds, "She wants to refuse him on principle, except she knows that whatever info he has is very, very good." Thank you, Seth.

"I've heard there are other things about him that are very, very good," Marcus teases slyly, and at this point I've had enough, so I get up from the table and toss the remnants of my lunch in the garbage.

"You guys are so hilarious," I say sarcastically, flashing my middle finger at Marcus before I walk out, leaving the flowers and the note behind.

Their laughter follows me as I collapse into my chair, letting out an annoyed sigh that spills into the empty office around me.

I pull out a highlighter and start skimming through an article I was reading for research purposes. The familiarity of letters and words inked onto the paper is comforting, and I will the heat away from my cheeks.

Footsteps approach from the direction of the lunchroom, and when I look up, it's Gavin, making his way back to his office.

I think he's gonna pass by me without paying me any attention, but because I'm just the luckiest, he stops near my desk, and I meet those sharp, piercing blue eyes with the soft brown of my own.

"Ms. Collins."

"Mr. Stone."

He runs a hand through that thick hair, putting his lunch down onto Seth's desk momentarily. I watch the light flicker off those brown waves, creating flashes of gold. His hair is messy, I realize, because he always runs his fingers through it.

I remember, that night over a week ago, running my fingers through it too. Shit. We stare at each other, a spark charging through the space between us.

"Roger says you're a hard worker and that you're dedicated to your lead," he says slowly, gaze floating across my face.

My mouth opens a little, not having expected that. I blush a little at the thought of Roger willingly paying me a compliment. "I like to think so." My voice is guarded. I let out a small huff, letting my eyes fall onto the papers littering my desk. "When I don't have to sell myself for information."

A small chuckle. Oh so rough and masculine. It sends shivers down my spine. "It's just a date, Melanie. I've done worse."

My eyes snap up to his. There's definitely a double meaning there, and I don't miss it.

And because I am a fucking idiot, I open my big mouth and say softly, "Worse for a lead, or worse with me than a date?"

He raises one of those perfect eyebrows, and those bright, intelligent, intoxicating eyes meet mine, darkness clouding them. "Both."

We are both playing with fire, and I'm going to hell for it.

I shut my eyes to cool the heat in the air that has settled over him and I. And then I shiver because his long, smooth fingers are  touching my chin, a gentle tug to tilt my face upwards, where I glimpse something unreadable on his face that makes my insides melt. "Chin up, Collins." His voice is gruff, it sends sparks through my system, just like that small touch turns my skin to flames. "I know you can handle it. Rowley doesn't stand a chance."

Something about the way he mentions Dylan's name suggests familiarity, and I wonder, suddenly, if they know each other. And is it so bad that my heart jumps in my chest from how inexplicably sweet that was? But as I meet his powerful, solid gaze, I know he's staking his claim. Doesn't stand a chance because you're mine. Oh, fuck.

And he picks up his lunch and walk away with that same long, commanding stride, and my eyes trail after him, still in a daze.

We weren't supposed to cross that line, we weren't supposed to bring any of that up again. But we did, and now my job is somehow more complicated, as if that were even possible.

***

Song credit: Cage the Elephant, "Ain't No Rest For The Wicked"