Chapter 2 : Now or Never

*Gwen’s POV*

I felt nervous as Mr. Jeffers roamed around the office, watching everyone like a hawk, even though my tracks were covered. To escape his gaze, I decided to take a break and go to the bathroom where I could practice some deep breathing exercises.

Thankfully, luck was on my side as I discovered that the bathroom was unoccupied. Without hesitation, I took advantage of the opportunity to engage in some much-needed breathing exercises, finding solace in the solitude of the last stall.

These moments of focused breathing had become increasingly crucial to me, as I couldn’t help but feel that my true potential was being stifled within the confines of this job. The lack of opportunity I was presented with was suffocating, and it was as if the walls themselves were closing in around me, leaving me feeling trapped and unfulfilled.

In order to regain my composure, I decided to take a brief moment to center myself. I closed my eyes, placed my hand gently on my abdomen, and began to exhale slowly and softly until my racing heart began to slow to a more normal pace.

Just as I was finishing, I heard the sound of someone entering the bathroom. To avoid drawing unwanted attention, I quickly flushed the toilet and left the stall, hoping that my actions would appear ordinary.

"Oh. Hi, Gwen. I didn't know you were in here."

As I exited the stall, I spotted Courtney standing near the stall closest to the door. She was one of Mr. Jeffers' preferred journalists, and we started working for the Brooklyn Enquirer at the same time.

Although we didn't socialize much, Courtney struck me as a pleasant individual. She had a friendly and reserved demeanor, and unlike me, she didn't challenge the status quo. Courtney was a ‘yes’ woman who always complied with Mr. Jeffers' requests. Perhaps that's why he held her in high regard, like Frank.

I, on the other hand, didn’t want to stoop that low. I wanted to climb the ranks on my own merit, and I would—eventually.

"Hi, Courtney. How are you?" I smiled, rubbing the handwash between my fingers.

"I'm great. I'm thrilled about my new assignment. I have been granted an exclusive interview with none other than the renowned and revered billionaire tycoon, Sammy Matthews. In this rare and exciting encounter, I will have the privilege of touring his luxurious and vast estate, followed by a helicopter ride that promises to be an experience of a lifetime. The sheer anticipation of this event is so overwhelming that I can barely keep calm!”

Her eyes glistened like the sun beaming off the ocean waves.

'Great! Thanks for reminding me how much Mr. Jeffers hates me and apparently how bad I must suck at my job,' I thought to myself.

"That's amazing." I did my best to force a smile, but it wasn't easy. All my colleagues were getting raving stories while I got the boring gutter assignments.

"What assignment did you get this week?" Courtney asked.

"I'm currently pursuing an exciting new lead for the trade show," I responded, trying to make my project sound engaging.

Despite my attempt to convey enthusiasm and excitement, Courtney's response was a subtle smile that conveyed a sense of pity or embarrassment on my behalf.

After leaving the bathroom, I said goodbye and spotted Chelsea making her way to my desk.

"Are you okay, Gwen? You look flustered," she asked, gently resting her hand on my shoulder.

"Did you happen to see the new episode of Grey's Anatomy last night?” I asked. It would seem casual to anyone else listening, but my question was our code for conversations we couldn't or didn't feel comfortable discussing.

"No, I did not, but I would love to chat about it at lunch at the Bristol Cafe, my treat. I'll meet you downstairs," Chelsea winked.

***

Chelsea and I arrived at the Bristol Cafe for lunch, as it was one of our favorite spots to eat and catch up on the latest events in each other's lives.

The waiter promptly seated us and took our order.

"I'll have the strawberry summer salad."

I figured it would be a good dish since we were weeks away from approaching the fall, and the winters in New York could be beyond brutal. This dish would probably be the last time I would be able to have fresh sweet strawberries, as the salad didn't taste the same in the winter.

"I'm going to have the steakburger, sweet potato fries, and a strawberry milkshake."

She handed the waiter her menu and stared at me with her ‘don't judge me’ eyes.

"I didn't say a word," I laughed.

She playfully rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but you're thinking about it."

Chelsea and I had been friends for the past ten years, and she's always been the type of person who loved to eat whatever she wanted. We met in undergraduate school and have been friend soul mates since.

Often, we were the only two on campus that stood out because of our hair. Chelsea had long fiery red hair and I had long, curly golden hair. Because of it, we decided to make Marvel nicknames. I was the ‘Golden Assassin Girl’ and she was the ‘Red Fireball Girl’.

Chelsea also had big blue enchanting eyes, pearly white teeth and a smile that could warm even the hardest of hearts. She was a lot taller than me as well. At five feet nine inches, she was heavily recruited for basketball and volleyball, but she was never interested in sports.

She was a business major while we were in school and had been working as a receptionist for The Brooklyn Enquirer for the past three years. She was capable of starting her own company, but like many of us New Yorkers, money was a big issue.

Chelsea was the only person I was close to. I hadn’t had many romantic relationships and was still single. A common theme I was told in previous relationships is, "You're married to your work."

One could say I was married to my work, but not because I don't value relationships, but because I'd always found purpose in my career, and maybe that came from not having a close relationship with my parents. My parents worked all the time, and throughout my childhood, I learned how to be comfortable with being alone.

I don't know how I would have managed at the Brooklyn Enquirer without Chelsea. She kept me grounded and could always tell when something was wrong.

"What's going on, Gwen? You haven't been yourself lately," Chelsea said, abruptly changing the subject.

I wasn't mad. I actually welcomed it and knew we were meeting for the sake of me sharing my feelings.

"Mr. Jeffers is constantly assigning me these mundane stories. I feel my talent is being wasted working for him."

"Have you thought about talking to him?" she asked.

"Trust me, I've tried, and it always ends up with him kicking me out of his office. I'm shocked he hasn't fired me yet," I noted.

The waiter returned to our table and placed our dishes in front of us.

"Hmm, this looks amazing," I mused.

I love seeing the colorful tapestry on my plate. Colors wereimportant to me as they could easily change the mood. I wanted to decorate my cubicle, but Mr. Jeffers wanted uniformity and only allowed his staff to put pictures on their desks.

"So, do you think Mr. Jeffers has it out for you?" Chelsea asked, taking a sip of her strawberry milkshake.

"I don't know what his deal is. Today, I pitched what I know would be a front-page story about two rival mafia gangs, and he shot it down. He even had the nerve to tell me that it would make us the laughing stock of all of New York."

Chelsea looked surprised. "Really? Huh. I didn't think mafia gangs were still around."

"I didn't either until I stumbled on this story, but Mr. Jeffers won't let publish it," I quipped angrily.

Chelsea paused to take another drink, then continued. "Do you really want to branch out on your own? You know I'd support you no matter what, but I think if you give it more time, you'll get interesting cases."

"Chelsea, I've been at the Brooklyn Enquirer longer than others, and I'm still overlooked."

The thought of losing out on a potentially thrilling story made me lose my appetite. I stared at my food and shoved the strawberries around my plate as if my life had no meaning.

"Maybe I'll look for other jobs; some other newspaper would love to have me at their company. One thing I know for certain is that I'm not going to sit around and wait on Mr. Jeffers to see my potential."

I clenched my fist, still enraged at my predicament.

"Gwen, I think if you keep working hard, you'll eventually be assigned more interesting cases," Chelsea replied, taking a bite of her burger.

I sighed. She was right, in some capacity. But either way, I knew something had to change—and whether that change was coming from me or Mr. Jeffers was yet to be decided.

***

Chelsea and I arrived at the office after a much-needed lunch break. We entered the elevator, and I felt a weight of doom pressing down on my shoulders with each passing floor. As the elevator reached the fifth floor, Chelsea nudged my arm and reassured me everything would be okay.

It’s not that I didn’t believe her, but something had struck a nerve within me, and I felt today was where I had to draw a line in the sand. We said our goodbyes as we exited the elevator, and I headed toward my desk while Chelsea walked back to her receptionist desk.

"Where have you been, Goldy Locks?" Frank asked as he approached me with his hands on his hips.

"Not now, Frank. I don't feel so good." I swiped my hand across my forehead in a faint motion. "I think I will talk to Mr. Jeffers and request the rest of the day off."

Frank nodded in agreement and gave me a small smile before heading back to his work.

Once he left, I went to Mr. Jeffers' office and knocked on his door. Although I don't usually skip work, I couldn't bear the thought of staying in the office for another five hours.

"Enter."

Mr. Jeffers' tone of voice held a slight edge of annoyance, causing me to feel a bit uneasy. I was hoping my plan wouldn't backfire.

I opened the door slowly and cautiously peeked my head into his office. "Excuse me, Mr. Jeffers, but I'm not feeling well. It might be related to something I ate. If it’s alright, I think I might head home. However, I assure you I will finish my assignment by Monday."

I paused, anticipating his response.

"I'll be looking forward to reading your article," he replied, continuing to review his files.

He didn't bother to even look at me. I started feeling like I was just a number at the Brooklyn Enquirer, not even good enough to receive eye contact from my boss.

I shut his office door and exited the building. I couldn't wait to get home. I needed some time to clear my head and continue my research.

***

Once I stepped inside my apartment, I was consumed by the idea of delving into the mafia rivalry saga on my own.

I started pacing back and forth, completely engrossed in the idea of searching for any information available online regarding Darick. My curiosity had now turned into an unrelenting obsession with this infamous mafia boss, who was said to leave bite marks on his victim's necks.

I didn’t know what it is about this case that had me so intrigued, but I’d spent so much time thinking about it and wanting to get to the bottom of what was happening that I couldn’t stop now. I’d come this far, so I needed to keep going, for the sake of Darick’s victims.

Even if it cost me my job in the end.

As soon as I opened my laptop, my eyes were drawn to the image of Darick. The sight of him sparked a strong curiosity within me, compelling me to delve deeper into his story. At first glance, he appeared to be a ruthless mafia boss, but something in his eyes seemed distant. My journalistic intuition told me that a deeper side to him was waiting to be discovered, and not to mention, he was sexy as hell.

The mesmerizing color of his eyes was captivating, as they mimicked the stunning beauty of the crystal-clear Gulf waters with a shade of green. I almost felt entranced by them the more I stared at his picture.

He never smiled in any of his photographs, and his dark silk hair gave him a wicked look that complimented his stern demeanor. The black leather jacket he wore was an odd choice, as most mafia lords dressed in expensive three-piece suits, but this further confirmed that he was different.

I continued to scroll through the pictures of him when I noticed I recognized the house he lived in, its features sticking out to me like a sore thumb. I grabbed my recorder and headed for the door. So much for getting some rest and clearing my head, huh?

I didn't know much about Darick, but I was determined to find out.

Curiosity was slowly beginning to gnaw at the edges of my being, begging for me to uncover the truth behind this mysterious, and oh so, intriguing man.

Just who really was Darick ‘The Bloodthirsty’?