i'm working on a couple other stories besides the ones i've got posted on fictionpress, which is probably why it takes me so long to update. but anyways, to anyone who bothered to come visit this site, it's your lucky day (or maybe not. you decide) ! i want some feedback on one of the stories i'm working on, so here is the info and the prologue to it. i really want to know if you'd be interested in reading it, so somehow (email or message me) let me know!
how to fall in love
summary:
Sometimes love is a leap of faith. Sometimes love happens by chance. And sometimes love is the result of…an online blog? Imagine a world where you date an innocent guy for all the wrong reasons and more people read about that experience than the disaster across the country that killed millions. How do you fall in love with the whole country reading about your every move?
Prologue: Meet Him
“Gordon, I’ve got an assignment for you,” barked Farah Evans. She leaned against the wall of my cubicle. “It’s possibly my most brilliant idea yet.”
I swiveled around in my chair. “Hmm, I’m not sure you can top the last one you gave me. I still laugh when I think about it,” I said with a grin at my boss.
“Nice try sucking up. Still no raise,” she retorted. Her eyes took on a glazed look. “Apart from your normal stories for the magazine, we’re thinking of starting an online blog, starring you. How’s this for your next piece: ‘How to Fall in Love’? Our readers are hungry for something different, and with so many relationships on the verge, I think women would love to get their hands on copy like that. And I want you to get a real personal experience of it. Find a man who makes your heart flip and bam!” she clapped her hands together for emphasis, “You fall in love. Is that so hard?”
You had to hand it to her – the woman was cunning. She thought about only what mattered and knew what counted, what would sell magazines. Farah Evans was one of the most powerful women in the industry – the women’s magazine one, that is – and I held a deep respect for her. She ran her magazine like a dictator, but somehow things were still as laidback and smooth as ever. Everyone adored her; she was efficient and easygoing at the same time. In other words, a walking paradox. And I was lucky to work for her. Everyone who worked under her was. And the fact that I was getting a direct assignment from her meant a lot too; normally, my copy editor did the delegating.
“Farah, have you forgotten I just got out of a relationship? And that I am in no way whatsoever ready to get back into the dating scene?” I asked.
She waved her hand dismissively. “That was months ago! What
was his name? Newman?
“But – ”
“End of discussion,” she said with finality. “I’m counting on you to get this done for me. Don’t let me down; your job and the future of this magazine could depend on this article. Think of how many more poor souls we can reach, simply by exploiting your love life! I want a rough draft of your first week in Cindy’s inbox by next week. Have a nice day, Margaret.”
I winced at her use of my given name. Everyone had always called me Meg.
She strode off without another word, and I heaved a heavy sigh. Across the aisle, co-worker Lindsay Forbes rolled in her chair from her cubicle to mine.
“That was a little harsh,” she commented, not afraid to hide that she had overheard the conversation. We were friends, so it was okay. “So whatcha gonna do about the guy, Meg?”
I shrugged. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t very well say no to Farah. And the article sounded like fun, too. Yeah, fun if I wasn’t the one who had to force myself into falling in love.
“Well, I guess I’ll just ask out the next suitable guy I see,” I said. “As long as he’s clean cut and decent, I’ll give it a shot. And if it doesn’t work out, then it’s back to the drawing board.”
Lindsay looked over my shoulders, in the direction of the elevators. “Perfect timing.”
I turned around to see what had her so interested. “What are you talking about?
“Your future Prince Charming? Yeah, he just got off the elevator.”
There were four people who had just stepped out, two of whom were women. The third was the magazine’s art director, a man everyone on my floor knew to be gay. Definitely not. And the fourth was Jason Martin, our delivery boy.
I looked beyond Jason. “I don’t see him.”
She swatted my shoulder and pointed. “He’s right there!”
“Who?”
“The mail boy, silly.”
All thoughts ceased. I never would have considered him. “Jason Martin?” I asked uncertainly.
“He’s cute enough to make you forget what’s-his-face from last whenever, and he always flirts with you. There, I’ve just given you two good reasons to make him your guy,” Lindsay said with satisfaction
“He doesn’t flirt with me!” I protested. “And besides, he looks like he’s nineteen!”
“Well, I read a report with tons of statistical evidence that a lot of women our age prefer younger men,” said Lindsay, as if she knew everything.
“Oh yeah?” I snorted. “Where’d you read that, Newsweek?”
She shook her head. “Poise.”
“Oh, a couple of ‘reliable’ polls and a survey are really going to make it valid,” I said with a laugh. “Come on, Lindsay. You know better than to trust that crap. Why are you reading Poise anyways? You work for Irresistible. Poise is supposed to be the competition, remember?”
“Shhh. Oh my gosh, he’s coming over here now!” she squealed. “Quick, how does my hair look?”
I pushed her chair across the aisle and back into her cubicle. “We’re not in junior high anymore,” I said. “And why does it matter how your hair looks?”
She didn’t get a chance to respond; Jason Martin was pushing the mail cart right down our alley.
He smiled when he reached me. “Hey Meg, here’s your mail.” He handed me a stack of envelopes and flyers. “And I picked up a bag of Swedish Fish for you on my way here,” he added. “I know they’re your favorite.”
From behind him, Lindsay flashed me a knowing look and gave me the thumbs up. ‘Definitely flirting!’ she mouthed
I shot her a look and shook my head. Unfortunately, Jason thought it was directed at him and took it as a bad sign.
“Oh, do you not like them anymore?” he asked, his face crestfallen. “Sorry. I can get you something else if you want.”
I shook my head. “Oh, god no. I love them just as much as I always have, maybe even more. Wow, that’s really sweet. Thanks, Jason.”
His smile was huge. “Anytime. Have a good day, Meg.”
He turned around to give Lindsay her mail. “Here you go.”
She scowled and teased him, saying, “What? Don’t I get any chocolate covered raisins? They’re my favorite, you know.”
Jason played along and laughed. “Sorry, keep dreaming.”
Just as Jason was about to finish his rounds, I got another urging look from Lindsay. ‘Go for it!’ she whispered.
Impulsively I shot up from my seat and called out, “Jason, wait!”
He turned around, looking sort of hopeful. And that was how I knew asking him out to coffee might not be such a bad idea after all.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Let me take you out for coffee. I mean, you always do nice things for me and I feel like I should repay you,” I said earnestly.
His eyes lit up. “Sure. I mean, yeah, that would be nice.”
“Great. I have a break coming up; why don’t you come back here when you’re done and we can go out?”
“Sounds amazing. I mean, uh, yeah. Sure. Okay bye.” He quickly turned around to leave, but not before we saw him blush with embarrassment.
Once he was gone, Lindsay wheeled herself back into my cubicle.
“So,” she said with a smile, clutching her coffee mug as she spoke to me, “I think he’s perfect.”
“Hmm,” I shrugged noncommittally. “How so?”
“Well he’s definitely interested in you. Um, Swedish Fish, hello! And he totally got embarrassed when you asked him out. Completely unorthodox of you, which is way surprising, but I guess people will defy the rules of feminism or whatever for love these days. Isn’t that cute? You’re in love with him already! Gosh, I can’t wait to tell everyone else!”
“No,” I corrected her, “I did not ask him out on a date, it’s just coffee. And I do not love him! I don’t even know him.”
“But you will,” she nodded, as if she really knew what the future would hold. “I have a good feeling about this one.”
“Just like you had a good feeling about me and Nathan lasting forever?” I asked.
Lindsay ignored my comment. “You’d better hurry to the beauty girls on the fourth floor and get ready for Jason. If my calculations are correct, he’ll be back here within an hour,” she told me matter-of-factly. “What are you still doing here? Go! No guy his age will go out with someone who doesn’t look good.”
“I’m pretty sure that was an insult,” I said, feigning hurt. “But I’m going to let that slide because you’re going to let me borrow your knee-high BCBG boots.”
She pretended to make a big deal out of it. “If I must.”
“Thanks, Linds. You know I love ya. And I’ll totally fill you in when I get back.”
“You’d better, biyatch. Otherwise I’ll hunt you down for these shoes,” she held out the boots for me to take. “They’re my life. Don’t let your twenty-four-year-old feet get them dirty.”
“Just for that, I’m going to step in a muddy puddle,” I shot back.
“Do that and I’ll tell Jason you’re thirty-five and way out of his league.”
I laughed and flipped her off. “You go ahead and do that, you twenty-seven-year-old witch.”
“Give me back my boots!” she howled. “I’m only twenty-six! Get it right!”
I loved the easy banter Lindsay and I had. It was refreshing and such a nice change from the snobby and materialistic conversations I had with the other women who worked with me. Plus, Lindsay always had the cutest shoes. Thank god we were the same size.
“I’ll try to remember that for the next time you decide to go to the movies with a forty-year-old married guy,” I told her.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he looked twenty-one,” she said defensively. “Try to keep your pants on while you’re away from me. I know it’s hard for you, but think about getting to know him first before you get to know the covers of his bed.”
I pointed a manicured finger at her. “You’re one to talk, missy.”
I would never dream of sleeping with Jason, and especially not so soon after Nathan. No, this assignment was strictly business. I wasn’t going to get emotionally involved if I didn’t have to. But the little voice inside my head, a sure sign of insanity, told me but isn’t that impossible?
Of course it wasn’t. If I could maneuver around the bustling
streets of
Keep telling yourself that, the voice said.
Bloody hell. I need to see a therapist.
end of prologue.