I
thought it was too late. I thought our story had already been written.
College sophomore Brooke Anderson thought she
had it all − a loving family, her sexy high school sweetheart, a supportive,
quick-witted best friend and dreams of being the next hotshot reporter for the
Washington Post.
Fate had something else in mind when Brooke
collided with the devastatingly handsome upperclassman, Rich Davis. Rich was
cocky, conceited and arrogant. He was everything that Brooke didn’t want, but
Rich never gave her the option. He had already made the choice to be, at the
very least, her friend. Would Brooke accept this egotistical man’s friendship?
Would she choose to want more? Would it be too late if she did?
Fast forward nearly ten years. Brooke’s life
hadn’t played out quite as she had envisioned it. She was suffering from the
heartbreaking loss of her mother, her high school sweetheart was long gone, and
her dreams of the Washington Post had turned into a career at a small town
paper. Brooke decided it was time to follow her dreams. If she couldn’t be
happy in love, at least she could be happy in life.
Brooke’s dreams brought her to the lobby of the
Washington Post where fate intervened once again as she collided with none
other than the devastatingly handsome Rich Davis. As her potential employer,
Rich now seemed off-limits. Brooke wanted her successful career more than a
chance at love. But, was it really her choice to make, or was it beyond her
control?
Maybe our story is, in fact, Unwritten …
“Your
view … your entire office … it’s exquisite,” I said after soaking it all in.
“We
haven’t spoken in over nine years, and you want to talk about my view? But now that you mention it … my view is
quite exquisite and I’m not referring to the skyline, or this office” he said,
while licking his bottom lip. “You’re just as beautiful as ever, Brooke.”
“…
… … Rich, why am I here?”
Rich
walked over to his side of the desk and placed his palms flat on its surface as
if bracing himself before speaking, his intense, teal-blue eyes looking
directly into my soul. “You’re here because when your application came across
my desk, I knew it was a sign that I had to see you again … had to hear you
laugh again … had to smell that sweet scent again. I’ve missed you, Brooke.”
He
took a deep breath before continuing, “Every time an application came across my
desk I hoped that one day it would be yours. You always said this was it for
you – your end game and your dream job. I’d be lying to myself and to you, if I
didn’t tell you that I came here and accepted this position, hoping that one
day we’d find each other again.”
“So,
you only scheduled an interview because you wanted to finish what we never
started ten years ago?” I asked in my
most accusatory tone.
“Pshh,
you would get that from what I just said, wouldn’t you? No, of course not,
Brooke. I wanted you to come for an interview, because I was impressed by what
I read on your resume. You’ve had an impressive career and I think you would
make an excellent addition to my editorial staff. Trust me, I’m not the only
one who thinks that. Your resume made it through three layers of a selection
process before it ended up on my desk.”
“Oh
… OK. Well, thanks.”
He
looked at me with the most devilish grin before adding … “It just doesn’t hurt
that I want to get to know you again.”
I
could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and expected that they had turned a
bright shade of pink.
“Rich,
I can’t do this. I really do want this job, but if I accept the position,
assuming that you are offering me one, I … we can’t do this. You’d be my boss.
I can’t and I won’t be my boss’s pet. No one would ever take me seriously. I
wouldn’t take me seriously. I’ve worked too hard for my career.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke, I should have kept that to
myself. I don’t want to scare you away. How about this … I don’t offer you the
position – today? We talk – you know, catch up – conduct a real interview. Then
I’ll send you on your way to your hotel. You will then eat at the restaurant
where my secretary has already made dinner reservations for you. I’ll just
happen to show up and we’ll meet once again. I’ll just be Rich and you’ll just
be Brooke. We won’t be interviewer and interviewee. What do you say, Miss
Anderson? Sound like a plan?”
I
had to give him credit; he sure did make it sound so easy.
“Sounds
more like a date than a plan, Mr. Davis. You’ve really given this some thought.
That truly is some proposition,” I responded with a wink.
“I’ll
take your feisty response as a yes then. And, yes, I’ve been thinking about
this since I left you on your doorstep, wearing that ravishing, purple gown
over nine years ago. Now, the quicker we begin your interview, the faster we
can get to dinner, the earlier I can get you to my place so we can make up for
lost time. What do you say, let’s begin your interview, shall we?”
“Ye-,
Ye-s, sure … fire away.”
M.C. Decker is the author of the
debut novel, Unwritten. She lives in a suburb of Flint, Michigan
with her husband and spoiled-rotten Siamese cat, Simon. For the last decade,
she has worked as a journalist for several community newspapers in Michigan’s
Thumb region. She enjoys all things ‘80s and ‘90s pop culture: movies, boy
bands, music and especially the color, hot pink. She also strictly lives by the
motto, “Life is better in flip flops,” and is a diehard Detroit Tigers
fan.
Twitter - MC Decker@AuthorMCDecker
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