Manwhore +1

I’m struggling to control my emotions, stumped by his continued generosity to me. “I love Edge,” I admit, “but I want . . . I want to be somewhere with potential and that doesn’t remind me of what I almost gave up for it. Somewhere with freedom. I’d love for my friends to have jobs, of course. Have a way to earn more, work more. Maybe I want something more, I’m . . .”

He looks at me—both patient and expectant—as if he’s still waiting for more.

“Malcolm, back down,” I finish.

“Do you or don’t you want Edge? Tell me.” He tilts my face up so those keen eyes absorb every inch of my expression.

“No,” I hear myself say, painfully realizing this is true. “I don’t. I hadn’t realized until now how much I want a fresh start. Edge is in my past now. I want . . . I want the best for my friends but maybe we each have to find our own way . . .”

“I’ll make sure your friends don’t lack for opportunities.”

“You will?” My eyes widen, and I grip his shoulders. “Then back down.”

“Not yet.” He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “We still have a way to go.”

“How high are you raising the price? What if Satan backs down and leaves you as the purchaser?”

“He won’t back down. He’s been wanting to go head to head for years. He wants to show me who has the deepest pocket and after I’m done with him it will undoubtedly continue to be mine.” God, his smirks are killing me.

I laugh, then groan. “Malcolm, you’re too bloodthirsty. Back down now.”

“Once your two weeks are up, when he can’t touch you,” he calmly assures.

“Malcolm,” I groan.

He laughs and pulls me close, staring into my eyes. “Don’t you trust me? Take that leap, Rachel.”

I sound a little scared when I ask, “Are you going to catch me?”

“It wouldn’t be a leap if you knew that for sure, it’d be a step. In steps, you go by facts, you leap on faith.”

In me, I read in his gaze. And in you.

I nod, breathless under his touch, the look of complete ruthlessness and determination I see. “Okay. But . . . back down please.”

“Rachel, I will.”

“Promise me.”

He laughs tenderly over my concern, but then he falls sober, extremely so. “You want me to promise?” he asks softly.

I remember he doesn’t make promises. So I bite my tongue and say nothing.

Then he leans forward, slowly, achingly slow, “I promise you,” he suddenly rasps out, with a firm nod, “I do. I promise you.” He seizes my face to look at me and kisses the corner of my lips. “The moment you’ve stepped out of Edge for the last time, you come to me. Whatever I’m doing, you come to me. I want you to always come to me.”

I’m still reeling as I nod, and then I just lie there in his arms—Malcolm mentally planning his strategy, and me, learning to trust.

THE FINAL LEAP

My last day at Edge, I cry. My friends cry, and Helen, she sucks it up. Valentine brings a pie and tells me, “I’m still rooting for Malcolm.”

“Don’t, Val,” I whisper. “What’s happening shouldn’t be happening. I’m not staying . . . Edge and I are done. Wouldn’t you like to start new?” I glance at Sandy, who’s also at my cubicle eating pie. “Maybe start up something like Bluekin, edgier, where we can all maybe own shares of our start-up—motivating us to really make a killing for it.”

Valentine looks around, then says, “Dude, I can’t forgo my salary for months while we try to get the online thing going.”

“I know, but—”

“And Sandy barely makes rent. She can’t afford to freelance while also working on our own website, just hoping it’s a success.”

“Let’s at least think about it. Maybe talk about it a little more. If you’re let go by . . . well, if Noel Saint lets you go or proves impossible to work for, please don’t just take shit from him. Move onward—to something better. Even if it doesn’t seem like that at first. It’s scary, I know. Hell, I’m still scared but I also know I want something more.”

“You? Not playing it safe? I’m . . . stunned, frankly.” Val nods admiringly.

“I can’t play it safe now. I’m taking a leap and if I find something good, I’d love you guys with me. I can’t have this guilt of you guys losing your jobs because I left—”

“Hey, it’s not you who’d can us, it’s that asshole.”

“Still—”

“Rachel, get out of here. Go and get a life. A different one. One where you can look back and all this,” he spreads his arms to encompass the newsroom, “was just a part of it. A big part, but only one part.”

I really had hoped Valentine would consider us maybe striking out together, giving ourselves a platform for our stories. I really wish they weren’t so understanding and kind, and so hard to leave. I really wish Helen had been an asshole all the time, so I could walk away with my box of things without tears in my eyes. But of course that’s not the case. It never really is, in real life.

So I do sniffle—a lot—and give out more hugs than I’ve given out in a while, and then I walk out of Edge and dump my box of things outside, keeping only the portrait of my mother I used to have on my desk and a little pen that I got at a motivational conference that says GO FOR IT, and so I am.

Without a call.

Without a text.

Without any kind of forewarning . . .

I head to M4.

Saint asked me to come to him, but the truth is, I need to. I just need to look at him and be inspired by all that strength of his and maybe, I just need to hear him tell me everything will be all right.

I’m leaving the old me behind at Edge.

I’m leaving all my mistakes.

I’m leaving the scared girl behind.

This is me taking the leap.

And I need to know that he won’t let his father goad him any farther, that he won’t be acquiring Edge.

Because Malcolm Saint has done enough for me.

I’d let him do anything else now, I realize, because I trust him—he can love me, protect me, help me—but not go to war over me.

At reception, the ladies are surprised to see me—but I can tell they’ve seen the social media. They know I’m the “girlfriend” now.

“Miss Livingston, what a surprise,” one says. “I’m sure Mr. Saint will be pleased—if you’ll let me ring you up?”