“Hello, West.” Her soft sultry voice fills my ear.
I rub a hand over my face. “Alison, I need a favor.”
“A favor? From me?” She laughs. “You must be desperate.”
“Well, yeah, I am.” Beyond fucking desperate to fix at least some of the damage I caused.
She laughs again, and I can picture her sitting at her desk, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder, getting such a kick out of this. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to give someone a job.”
“A job?” She snorts. “You have like three billion employees. You give them a job.”
“I would if I could, but she won’t take one from me.”
“Oh, West,” she purrs. “Have you been a naughty boy?”
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Look, she’s a great writer. She’d be an asset to your magazine.”
“So give her a job at yours. If she says no, offer her more money. Everyone has a price.”
Regret grips my throat. “Not this girl, Ali.”
“Oh, West.” Her tone is serious now. “Has someone broken your ice-cold heart?”
“A job, Ali.”
She hums but doesn’t say anything.
“Did you see that puppy farm piece in Genevieve last month?”
“Yeah, I read it.”
“That was her.”
She’s silent for several seconds, and I’m opening my mouth to beg when she asks, “That’s who you want me to offer a job to?”
“Yes, Lily Sloane. But she can’t know I had anything to do with it.”
She lets out a loud breath.
“Ali, come on. You read the article; you know she’s a good writer. She’s a great person too. Sweet and loyal and …” The words stick in my throat, and I cough to clear it. “Do this for me and I’ll owe you.” I hold my breath and wait for her to give me an answer.
“Fine,” she eventually says, and my heavy exhale makes her laugh.
“Thank you.”
I end the call and rest my forehead on the cool desk. My head throbs, partly due to the aftereffects of drinking almost an entire bottle of Scotch last night, but mostly with the knowledge that we’ve lost her. We had the perfect woman, and she loved each of us equally. With everything she had.
Now everything is broken.
And I can’t fix it.
