The Right Kind of Wrong (3 page)

"Thanks," he says, and I believe he means it. "So, does this mean we're doing the project my way?"
 

I sigh. I hope I won't regret this. "No. It means we're doing it our way. Which means we better start getting along otherwise this is gonna be a long semester."
 

"I'm going to win this thing for us."

"Seriously, Vince, we. As in plural. As in you and me. Not just you. And, I mean it. If this turns into a repeat of our last project, I will find a way to make you pay for it. Don't think I won't."
 

"Okay, okay. I got it. Let it go. What's done is done."

I look at the time on my cell phone. Shit. I still have to fact check Kyle's piece before tomorrow's deadline.
 

Getting out of the egg chair is more difficult than getting in it.

"Hey! Where're you going, we were going to work on the project."

"It's getting late and some of us have to work in the morning. We'll have to meet tomorrow," I say.

"Fine, but you thought I was going to chop you up in little pieces, and now you're about to walk home in the dark in this neighborhood? Not gonna happen."

"Since when did you start caring about what happens to me?"

"I'm a concerned citizen. That's all. I'll walk you to
The Bee
."

I shake my head. "I didn't take my car to work today—"

"Then I'll walk you wherever you're going. I don't trust this neighborhood."

I cross my arms over my chest. I'm not a fragile little girl, but he's not going to back down. "Whatever. Let's go then."

We walk away from the traffic on the interstate behind us. We can talk about our project, the weather, anything. Instead, we stay quiet until Vince clears his throat.

"I like your tattoo. I meant to tell you that earlier."

I look at my arm and trace over the inked skin. "Thanks."
 

"Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as burying him did."

"You two were close?"

"You could say that."

Vince looks at his feet. I can tell he wants to say something comforting.
 

All that comes out is, "I'm sorry."
 

"I don't really want to talk about this anymore if that's okay.” I clear my throat. “I've been wondering about something."

He raises his eyebrows. "What's that?"

"How are you still a student, Vince?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

When he answers, his voice holds a sliver of shame. "Everything was cleared from my record. It's like it never happened. It didn’t, as far as my record is concerned."

I stop walking. "You've got to be kidding me."
 

Vince turns around and walks backwards. "Now isn't the time, Kara. When we get through this thing, I'll explain everything."

"No. You're not getting out of things that easily. What about me?"

"Your name was cleared, too. And it's not like you were totally innocent. I don't know why you're still holding a grudge."

I throw up my hands, exasperated. "One, that's not the point. Two, I shouldn't have been put in that position to begin with. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't cheat."

"You didn't cheat, but you certainly didn't do anything to stop me. You put the entire project on me, or did you conveniently forget that?"

"You offered to take it all!"
 

He doesn't answer. I walk faster to get away from him. His footsteps quicken until he falls in line beside me, and we walk in tandem for a while. Neither of us knows how to navigate the ebb and flow of the tension between us. The air is thick with heat but a breeze tickles my skin and I shiver.
 

What if we had a completely different history? Would he wrap his arms around me to ease the chill? Would he come up the stairs to my apartment and break the tension with his lips? I stop those thoughts. What-ifs are useless.
 

We arrive at my apartment complex. The dingy brown and red bricks make the building look dumpy and some of the lamps are out. I face Vince, thankful he can't see the inside of the building. "Thanks for walking me home."

"Yeah." He doesn't look at me.
 

I unlock the lobby door. "So, I'll call you—" When I turn around, he's jogging down the street, already a speck of white in the black night.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Interning under Kyle means I have to get my ass up before most everyone my age goes to bed. All-night drinking binges?
Not for me.
I stare inside my closet at the bland palette hung in monochrome order. Black, grey, white, cream and tan are my options. Slimming colors.
 

After noticing the time on my bedside clock, I yank a pair of khakis and a black sweater from the hangers and dress quickly. Why am I always running late?

 
I swipe my cell phone off the counter and text Kyle.
You want me to grab coffee?

The phone vibrates in my hand seconds later.
The usual. Hurry up.

 
He's so damn serious. But then again, so am I. How did I get so lucky? I shake my head. He's one of the best investigative reporters in California and even though I earned an internship under him, I still think it was some colossal mistake. Some other girl should be in my shoes. At first, Kyle had me doing grunt work. Coffee, filing, but now he has me fact checking his stories before they go to Roderick. Working hard does pay off.
 

The first time we stayed late to finish his story. We ordered lo mein and fried rice and laughed at each other in our tired-drunk state. That was the night his eyes fixated on me in a different way and his hand found ways to brush against my skin.

It's too early to think about those things so I shut off my bedroom lights, grab my purse and make the mile walk to Starbucks.

The line stretches to the back of the building. I stand behind a woman wearing a fitted navy suit. Her stiletto heels tap her impatience against the tiles. I tap her on the shoulder and she turns around with a scowl.

"Yes?"

"What's going on?"

She points to the front of line. A man wearing a flannel shirt is gesturing wildly to the barista. "That idiot in the front can't make up his mind or something. He's been holding us up for twenty minutes now. I've already had it up to here with people and…" She looks at her watch, "…it's only five thirty." She turns around and her heels tap with even more impressive force.
 

"Uh, thanks," I mumble.
 

From the back, the man in front of the line looks familiar. My gaze runs the length of his back and comes to rest on his ass. It's fantastic, though the jeans aren't anything spectacular. He turns enough and I see his face.
 

It's Vince. Can't I go anywhere now without seeing him? I pull my cell from my purse.
 

You're holding up the line, you know.

A smattering of beeps comes from the front of the line. He pulls it out and looks up, his eyes searching the line. He finds me and waves.

 
I shrink back and avoid meeting his eyes. People are pissed at him. I don't want the stink eyes, too. When I look back up, Vince is heading right for me and I cringe.

"Don't act like you don't know me. Whatcha doing?"

 
Idiot. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"
Not
getting coffee, like the rest of these chumps in line.

"Because of you."

"Incorrect.” He laughs. "That barista up there overcharged me and then made my drink all wrong."

"So you make a huge scene? For a couple dollars and a crappy drink?"

He widens his eyes and looks at me as if I'm in the wrong. "I'm lactose intolerant. All she had to do was put the right kind of milk in it. What are you doing here, anyways?"

"I have to work. But I'm going to be late if I don't leave now. Thanks for that. I didn't figure you for a morning person."

"Haven't been to sleep yet. I was up editing one of my films last night."

Sandy-colored stubble covers his face and the skin beneath his eyes looks bruised.

"Will you sleep at all today?"

Vince shrugs. "Why? Interested in napping together?"

I scrunch my nose in disgust. "Did you really just ask me that?” I get out of the line and walk toward the door. “I have to get to work."

Vince grabs my arm. "I was kidding. You're the last person I'd want to sleep with."

I take the sting from his comment with a smile and push the door open. "Noted. "I don’t look back at him.

The Bee
parking lot can be creepy in the early morning. The street lamps cast a yellowish-orange glow over the pavement and it's so quiet, like the world wants to stand still for just a fraction of a second. A chill sits in the air and the goosebumps spring to life up my arms. When I enter
The Bee
front doors, a wave of heat falls over me.

"You're late." Kyle says from the stairs. "I was about to check the parking lot for your car. Where's my coffee?"

"Sorry. There was some dumbass at Starbucks holding up the line. If I would have stayed, it would've been another twenty minutes." Kyle's eyes linger on my sweater, more accurately, my breasts. He doesn't try to hide it, either. I smile and move past him to walk into his office. "What can I do this morning? I already checked and prepped your feature piece."

I'm barely inside Kyle’s office before he shuts the door and yanks me toward him. He leans down until his breath on my neck. "I know what you can do this morning." His smoky voice is pure lust. It's annoyingly sexy.

I never intended to sleep with Kyle. It just sort of... happened. One minute I was bringing him coffee, doing all of his shit work and the next thing I knew, I was under his smoking hot six-pack in my bed. I know it's not ethical. I know it's not the way things should be, but part of me doesn't care. He makes me think about the things I'm not supposed to be doing with him.
 

Like this.
 

I put my finger to his lips. "Not here, Kyle."
 

My body tenses as he catches my hand and places it on his chest. His lips travel the length of my neck to my mouth. I groan. His musky cologne mingles with his cinnamon toothpaste.
 

"C'mon, Kara. No one else gets here until seven thirty." He looks at his watch. "We have a solid hour before someone shows up. Plenty of time…"
 

I don't want to be caught—even if I'm horny as hell.
 

"Shit, I forgot I didn't fact check the Obama story yet."

Kyle pushes me against the office door and his lips find mine. His tongue barely touches my upper lip before darting in my mouth. I forget for a moment that I'm about to screw the guy I'm interning with in a corner office at the greatest newspaper in California. He knows all the ways to push me to the edge and there's no use even fighting it. And I don't want to.
 

I bite his bottom lip and curl my arms around his neck. My fingers run through his hair. I've come to adore the hardened muscles of his back and I trace them. I concentrate on our breathing, rhythmic and cyclical. Fast, slow. Fast, slow. Kyle does such a damn good job of making me forget things.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

I leave
The Bee
with a smile. Until Vince texts me.
Meet me at library? Research time.
 

A wave of anger courses through me. He can't just make demands. I should stand him up. I hate him. But losing $20,000 is more frightening than dealing with his obnoxious, smug smile. I text him back grudgingly.
Fine
.
 

At the library, I walk through the stacks, my fingers tracing the spines of archaic books with pages so worn I imagine the stories folding in on themselves, disappearing into yellow-cream paper. I find an empty table in the corner of the second floor and set my backpack on top.

I don't see Vince, so I bring out the identity fraud case files to see if I can find a new lead. Spreading my notes on the table, the wood is barely visible beneath my stacks of paper. I pick up a bank statement from one of the victims. The highlighted items on the paper tell me I'm missing something. If I could just figure out what connects these victims together? They're all middle class college students from good neighborhoods with no unusual purchasing habits. Easy targets. Why?
 

"Why them? What did they do?" I say aloud, hoping to jiggle some sort of answer loose.
 

"Who're you talking about?" Vince startles me. He's sitting at the other end of the table, looking at my highly confidential paperwork.

"Nothing." I rush to scoop all the papers into a stack. I reach for the one in Vince's hand but he shifts it to the other. It's further away and I reach across him to grab it but he leans back. I nearly fall into his lap.
 

"Dammit, Vince. Give it to me." I grit my teeth, my hand rests on my hip.

He smiles mischievously and hands me the paper. "Chill out. I was just playing around. Are you hiding something?"
 

I narrow my eyes. "Like I'm going to tell you."

"Damn, you need to get laid or something. You're so uptight."

"I already—" I stop.

His eyebrows rise and he puts a hand to his mouth. "Wow. I didn't know you had a boyfriend. Sucks for the dude for having to put up with your control issues."

I shove all the papers into my backpack and sit in the chair opposite of Vince. "First off, you're an asshole. Second, I don't have a boyfriend. But why should you be shocked that I’m involved . . . well, that I would . . ." I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.

 
Vince's smile settles little wrinkles around his eyes. They make him look less intense. "Just didn't expect it, that's all."
 

I shrug. "I'm not the person you think I am."

"I could say the same about me," he retorts quietly.