Unforgiven Page 5

  I swap out my oversized handbag for a more chic clutch and grab my car keys and cell phone. “Let’s do this,” I mumble to myself in the mirror.

  The elevator is waiting for me as I approach. Just as I step in, I hear Jonah’s voice. “Hold the elevator.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Well, well, well… look at you,” he says with a whistle. “Aren’t we stunning this morning? Where are you off to, looking like that?”

  “First day at the new job,” I grumble as I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He looks like he’s fourteen as he’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and t-shirt, and his blond hair is tucked under a baseball cap turned backwards. “Why are you wearing a backpack?” I inquire as he presses the L on the elevator keypad to bring us to the lobby.

  “I’m going to class,” he smirks.

  “Class?”

  “Yeah. I’m a fifth-year senior.” He laughs.

  “A fifth-year senior?” I repeat.

  “Yeah. It’s still to be determined if I’ll be making it to sixth-year senior.”

  “Unbelievable,” I say under my breath. “So how is it that a college student can afford to live in a condo like that?”

  “Ah, it’s my dad’s place. It’s nothing but a tax write-off for him and a party palace for me. I mean, former party palace, now that I have a next-door neighbor.” He winks at me. The elevator slows to a stop and the doors open. “After you.” He holds the door and smiles at me.

  “Thanks. Have a good day at class,” I say, my tone snarky as I step out of the elevator and cut across the lobby.

  “Have a good day at work,” he offers back and jogs away in the opposite direction.

  The bustling newsroom and the number of people buzzing around seemingly oblivious to my presence immediately intimidates me. I’ve been here all of three minutes and have already received two dirty looks and an eye roll. “Good times,” I whisper to myself as I toss my purse on my desk and sit down in the ergonomic chair. My cell phone buzzes inside my purse and I pull it out to see who’s calling. Reagan. I hit ignore and set it on my desk.

  “You must be the infamous Lindsay Christianson. I’m Michael Wilson. You can call me Mike; it just sounds more manly.” I look up to find “Mike” standing inside the entrance of my small cubicle, his arms resting on each side of the short walls, making the space feel even smaller than it really is.

  “Infamous? No. Lindsay Christianson? Yes.” I smile at him and offer him my hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he says, reaching out to take my hand in his. His handshake is weak, but his smile is contagious, welcoming. I feel an instant connection to Mike and am happy he’s so friendly. “Well, you’ve been quite the talk around here for the last week.” His eyes dart around the newsroom as he lowers his voice.

  “Why?” I ask, confused.

  “You really have to ask that?” He chuckles and tosses his head back dramatically. “Are you all settled?” he asks as he changes the subject quickly. I make a mental note to follow up with him on that declaration later.

  “As much as I will be for today.” I exhale loudly and look around the newsroom. People are moving around quickly as the morning news broadcast is coming to a close in a few minutes. Leaning in to me, Mike lowers his voice again and raises his eyebrows.

  “I’ll help you navigate your first few days. The rumor mill is rampant already, so get your thick skin on and prepare yourself,” he says.

  “I’ve been here for five minutes,” I say quietly, although I’m honestly not surprised. This industry is full of arrogant, self-absorbed, claw-your-way-to-the-top-and-take-out-anyone-in-your-way assholes—I’ve heard the stories.

  “Started last week. What can I say? You’ve ruffled feathers and made waves even before your first day.”

  “Awesome.” I shake my head.

  “Just giving you fair warning. Come on; we have our morning production meeting and Rob will introduce you to everyone.”

  Rob is the news director and my new boss. I tuck my phone into my clutch and shove it into one of the empty desk drawers. Grabbing a notebook and pen, I follow Mike through the newsroom to a large conference room where people have already taken seats and are chatting casually over cups of coffee and bottles of water.

  “Good morning, everyone.” Rob’s voice is boisterous for this early in the morning. His smile is forced, but he commands attention. The room quiets quickly and everyone finds a seat either around the conference room table or along the wall, which is lined with chairs. Mike and I stand awkwardly just inside the conference room, all eyes on us. “This is Lindsay Christianson,” he announces to little fanfare. I get a few nods and tight smiles, but it’s as cold as a North Dakota winter in this conference room.

  “Over here,” Mike mumbles, walking toward two open chairs that sit along a wall behind the conference table. I spend the meeting taking notes and observing everyone in this room. I can tell without even talking to most of them if I’ll like them or not. I judge people based upon their fake smiles, their uppity attitudes, and all around basic lack of kindness. I guarantee that Mike will be my only friend at work. Rob wraps up the morning meeting and everyone hustles to start on their assignments. I close my notebook and take a deep breath.

  “Ready?” Mike says as he stands and waits for me. I was lost in thought, recalling everything we went over in the meeting.

  “Ready,” I repeat after him.

  “So, tomorrow, you’ll get your first assignment. Rob is going to make it rough on you the first few weeks. He likes to see what his reporters have. How they handle the pressure. He’s going to throw stories at you, offer you a photographer, then pull that photographer out from under your feet to see how you react.” As we walk back to our desks, Mike preps me on what to expect and my stomach clenches at the thought of shooting my own stories. Even in Wilmington, I had a photographer with me at all times. “Don’t panic. You’re going to do fine.” He smiles at me. “And I’m taking you to lunch today, so be ready around eleven-thirty.”

  “Eleven-thirty,” I mumble as I fire up my computer and review all the notes I’d taken in the meeting. I can hear my phone buzzing from my desk drawer, but I ignore it—again. I spend the next few hours jotting notes and making a list of questions to ask Mike. There is a flurry of activity in the newsroom right now—this is the part of the job I love. The fast pace, the stories—the multitasking and working to put together a great newscast just seconds before it goes live.

  I notice the time is almost 11:30 and I take a minute to powder my face and freshen my lipstick before I go looking for Mike. With one last brush over my cheeks, I shove the compact and lip-gloss back into my clutch.

  “No matter how much of that you put on, it’s not going to help you,” the high-pitched voice comes from behind me.

  “Excuse me?” I spin my chair around to find a leggy brunette standing in the entrance to my cubicle. One of her hands is resting on her hip, her eyes are narrowed, and her lips pursed. If I remember correctly, Rob called her Amanda in the production meeting earlier.

  “Make-up isn’t going to help you,” she says a little louder as she takes a step forward into my small office space. Her tall stature should intimidate me, but it doesn’t. “You’re not pretty enough to ever make anchor. Rob will keep you around for a little while because of your wholesome appearance—it’s what he does. It’s good for ratings. But that baby fat you’re carrying around isn’t going to help you and your face…” She taps her finger to her chin. “It’s just that you’re not pretty enough to ever sit at that desk.” She nods her head to the large anchor desk that sits surrounded by glass walls in the studio. “But depending on how good you suck dick, he might keep you around longer than he usually keeps them.” She winks at me with a smirk on her face.

  I stand up and take a step closer into her space. I want her to know that she doesn’t intimidate me. I’ve heard the stories about the catty behavior in newsrooms across
the country, and I knew I’d get some backlash in regards to this job. I’m young. This is a top twelve market and I came from a much smaller market in Wilmington. I am an unknown in this business and I get that the perception of how or why I got this job is probably because I got on my knees and sucked some dick, when in reality, I worked my ass off to get this job. I work hard and I earned this job.

  “Well, the skank look isn’t working for you, sweetheart. So tuck those tits back into that blouse and lay off the black eye liner. There is a difference between smoky eye and Goth. We want to attract viewers, not fucking scare them,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine as I push past her. I find Mike standing just outside my cube, stalled in his tracks, his eyes wide.

  “Did I just hear you call her a skank? Because if you did. I might kiss you.” He flashes a huge cheesy grin at me. “Except I’m gay, so that might be weird for both of us.” I can’t help but laugh at him.

  “I might be from the South, and I really am a nice person, but when bitches come at me, I won’t back down.”

  “Good, because that bitch is out for blood. Watch out for her, Lindsay.”

  “Noted,” I say as I follow him out the doors.

  A rush of cool air greets me as I push through the glass doors and into the lobby of my building. Juggling a large paper bag with three bottles of wine for dinner, I head for the elevators in a hurry. “Ms. Christianson, I have a delivery for you,” I hear Marco say as I almost make it to the elevator. He’s hot on my heels. “Let me help you,” he says as he strolls over, carrying a large vase of roses.

  “Hi, Marco.” I can hear the strain in my voice, a sign of the utter exhaustion I’m feeling.

  “These just arrived for you.” He shifts the vase of roses into one arm and reaches for my bag of wine. The bottles clink together as he shifts the bag in his arm. He gives me a suspecting look, and I can’t help but smile.

  “It was a rough first day,” I joke. “However, I don’t plan to drink all three bottles tonight.”

  “They won’t always be bad, Ms. Christianson,” Marco says politely, then nods. I hope he’s right. My upset stomach is a constant reminder that I may have made the biggest mistake of my life thinking I could make it in a market this size. I’m a little fish in a big pond here. I feel defeated and I’ve been in Phoenix for less than a week.

  Marco is a complete gentleman as we ride up the elevator together and he holds everything while I scramble to find my keys and open the condo door. He sets everything on my kitchen island while I search my clutch for some cash to tip him.

  “Thank you for your help, Marco.” I pull five dollars from my clutch to tip him and he immediately pushes the money back at me.

  “No tips, Ms. Christianson. It was my pleasure.”

  “Lindsay,” I correct him.

  “Glad to help you, Lindsay.”

  “He might not take tips, but I will!” Jonah says from the open doorway.

  “Mr. Murphy. Nice to see you,” Marco acknowledges and nods at him as he leaves.

  “I’m not really in the mood for company tonight, Jonah,” I say, pulling a bottle of wine from the grocery bag and setting it on the granite counter. I shuffle through drawer after drawer, looking for a wine opener. I didn’t think to pick one up at the store. After coming up empty, I feel tears sting at the back of my eyes. Resting both of my hands on the kitchen counter, I drop my head forward and I breathe. Taking deep breaths in and out, I try to calm the nerves I feel bringing me toward a breakdown.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Jonah’s voice is quiet, but full of concern. A lump begins forming in the back of my throat, not allowing me to answer, so I shake my head back and forth, a silent answer. “Don’t get upset over a wine opener. If you need a wine opener, I have one I can bring over.” He lets out a small laugh, his voice calming. I know he’s trying to cheer me up, but that’s when the tears spill from my eyes. I swat at the traitorous tears that roll down my cheeks, angry that I let myself get emotional.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get a wine opener from next door.” Jonah hurries to the door, giving me some privacy. I kick off my pumps and my aching feet begin to relax against the cool, wooden floor. Traipsing across the living room, I begin unbuckling my belt as I make my way to the bedroom. With each piece of clothing and accessory I remove, a bitter reminder of my day is torn from my body.

  I stand in nothing but red lace panties and a bra and stare at myself in the full-length mirror. My long, blonde hair falls down past my shoulders in loose curls. My long arms have lost much of their definition and are starting to look thin—lanky. The red lace waistband of my panties sits below jutting hipbones. I haven’t seen my hipbones in a couple of years. Hello, old friends. Nice to see you again. Raising my arms above my head, I turn to the side and am still able to see some of my curves, although most of them are noticeably gone. Baby fat, I hear Amanda’s squeaky voice in my head, as I run my hands over my ribs and down to my stomach.

  “Got the… wine… opener…” Jonah’s voice breaks when he finds me standing in my bedroom in next to nothing. “Sorry, the door was open, so I figured …” He pauses. “I’ll just be in the kitchen.” He turns away quickly, closing the bedroom door behind him as he leaves. I stop my fervent body inspection and pull on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. I give myself a quick inspection in the mirror and head to the kitchen.

  I find Jonah standing at the kitchen island, pouring a single glass of Riesling. His eyes are downcast, watching the wine slowly fill the glass. “Thanks for the wine opener,” I say, startling him. Wine spills from the bottle and splashes against the stone countertop.

  “You’re welcome,” he says as he sets the bottle down and reaches for a small hand towel to wipe up the spill.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean it up.” I move toward him and tug at the hand towel he’s just picked up.

  “I got it, Lindsay. Sit down and enjoy your wine.” His voice sounds as tired as I feel.

  “Will you join me? I have more than enough wine and, clearly, I’m not planning to toss back three bottles of wine by myself tonight.”

  “Thought you said you weren’t in the mood for company?” He smirks and pulls another wine glass down from the cabinet.

  “I’m not, but…” I pause, looking away and out the long windows. The sun is just beginning to set and the sky is a beautiful combination of pink and orange. “I’m lonely.”

  “I’ll stay for just a few minutes.” Pulling up a stool, he sits next to me at the island while I swirl the white wine around in my wine glass.

  “Jonah, why are you so nice to me? I have been a complete bitch to you ever since we met.”

  He nods his head in agreement while he squeezes his chin. His eyes focus, deep in thought. “Because behind that bitchy façade you have going on, it looks like you need a friend.”

  Once again, I’m reminded of how truly alone I really am. “I do need a friend. Thank you,” I choke out.

  The doorbell ringing pulls me from my thoughts. “Coming,” I holler. Pushing myself up from the couch, I turn the deadbolt and pull the door open.

  “Hi!” Melissa’s voice is perky. Her long, red hair is pulled up into a messy pile on top of her head, and she’s dressed for hiking.

  “Hey, come in. Let me just grab a bottle of water and I’ll be ready to go.” For the past two weekends, I’ve hiked with Melissa on Saturday mornings and enjoyed myself. I’ve always loved the outdoors and hiking was something Lindsay and I never did. Lindsay was never the outdoorsy type. This is one activity I can do without becoming overly sensitive about missing Lindsay, since I have no familiar memories of us doing anything like this.

  I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and pull my keys off the hook in the kitchen. “Ready?” I ask as I step into the living room. Melissa quickly sets a picture of Lindsay and me from last Christmas back on the mantle. That picture has been my lifeline to Lindsay since she left. Her head is tilted back and she’s lau
ghing. Her smile is large and infectious. My arm is wrapped around her, pulling her into me, and my lips are pressed to her forehead. Reagan snapped this candid picture of us on Christmas Eve last year and, the second I saw it, I knew I wanted it framed. It summed us up perfectly—comfortable and content.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop,” she whispers.

  “Don’t be,” I reassure her.

  “You look so happy.”

  “I was.” I swallow tightly. “You ready?”

  She nods her head. “I mapped out a new trail for us,” I say as I open the door and wait for her to step outside in front of me. I glance back to the eight or so picture frames, all in varying sizes, staggered across the mantle. Each frame holds a picture of Lindsay or Lindsay and me together. My chest tightens when I see those piercing blue eyes, as if they’re watching me. I miss her eyes, her lips, the smell of her hair on my pillow, and her soft skin pressed against mine. My stomach turns as I tear my eyes away from those pictures and close the door behind me.

  “How far in do you think we’ve hiked?” Melissa asks as she props her hands on her knees and bends down to catch her breath. We’ve kept a steady pace at a pretty good incline and I know I’ve probably pushed her farther than she was ready for. We’ve barely said two words to each other since we left the trailhead—a good sign that I was probably moving too fast—but I’m not really in the mood for conversation today anyway.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe three miles or so.”

  She stands up and reaches her hands above her head to stretch.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, finally feeling guilty.

  “I’m great.” She smiles at me. She twists the cap on her bottle of water and presses it to her lips. Her lips are light pink and full. In the sun, I notice the light freckles sprinkled across her nose. She looks younger than I expect her to be.