Sex Says Page 4

  I stepped onto the elevator and rode up four stories. My Converse tapped across the hardwood floor of the hallway until I reached the conference room Joe preferred. For a guy whose office was a throwback into a seventies time machine, he was such a weirdo when it came to the aesthetics of pretty much everything else.

  He refused to use the conference room on the third floor because he said the walls were too white. Cue my slow blink—I honestly had no idea that was a thing. I thought white was just that—white.

  He also refused to eat lunch at this kitschy, fifties-themed diner on Market Street because he claimed they were trying to blind him with their ambient lighting.

  Personally, I didn’t care how bright the restaurant’s lights were. Their bacon cheeseburger and double chocolate milk shake tasted like they were made in heaven, on the actual cloud nine. If my eyesight were the price, I’d pay it.

  My eyebrows rose in curiosity when I reached the glass-lined walls that looked into the conference room. Only Joe and Miranda, one of my fellow columnists, were sitting inside.

  That was odd. Generally, Joe didn’t call a meeting unless all of his staff was involved. Efficiency and all that jazz.

  I wrapped my fingers around the cold silver metal of the handle and pulled it open. As I walked into the eerily empty conference room, neither of them glanced up to note my arrival. Instead, they sat hunched around her laptop, perusing something intently.

  Miranda pointed toward the screen, and Joe grinned, a soft chuckle falling off his lips with ease.

  “Uh…hey, guys,” I announced.

  Both of their eyes went wide, and Miranda quickly shut her laptop.

  “Hey, honey,” Miranda greeted. “How was Daisy on the ride in?”

  I ignored her question. “What were you guys looking at?”

  “Facebook,” Miranda said.

  “Twitter,” Joe also said, at the same time.

  I raised an eyebrow as I sat down in the black leather chair beside Miranda. “You guys are acting strange.”

  “Strange?” Miranda asked in a pitchy voice, and then she forced a fake laugh. “I’m not acting strange. Are you acting strange, Joe?”

  “Nope,” Joe said and cleared his throat. “I’m not strange.”

  I pointed an accusing finger in Joe’s direction. “You’re always strange.”

  He pointed back at me with a teasing smirk. “Like you should talk. You ride a bike instead of driving a car like a normal adult, and when you come to meetings, you dress like that.”

  I glanced down at my attire and then looked back at him, holding both arms out. “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

  “Lola, I adore you,” he started. “But look at how Miranda’s dressed, and then look at how you’re dressed.”

  My face scrunched up in annoyance. I didn’t even have to look at Miranda to know she was most likely wearing heels, an A-line skirt, a silk blouse, and a sleek jacket or sweater. It was her go-to workplace appropriate outfit. She must’ve had twenty different versions of that very outfit, just different colors and patterns.

  “Just because she sticks to the business dress code like she works for Human Resources doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” I retorted.

  Miranda scoffed, “Hey, I look fabulous.”

  Joe laughed. “Lola, honey, you’re so far from sticking to the office dress code it’s not even funny.”

  I stared back at him in annoyance, but he just continued on.

  “Pigtails, cutoff jean shorts, gym shoes, and your tank top says ‘Tacos.’” He ticked off the items that made up today’s outfit. “It literally just says ‘Tacos.’”

  “So what? I like tacos.” I shrugged. “And these aren’t gym shoes, Joe. They’re Converse.”

  He grinned. “Appropriate office attire is still a pointless conversation with you, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “I honestly think you might be the weirdest, yet most likable employee I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m not that eccentric.”

  Miranda laughed. “Last team meeting, you wore roller skates.”

  “They were my transportation!”

  “You never took them off,” Miranda added. “You had them on the entire meeting, and Joe continually had to ask you to stop skating around the table.”

  “First of all—” I held up my index finger “—they’re new and San Francisco has a lot of hills, so I was utilizing Joe’s rambling time wisely by getting in some roller skating practice. And, secondly—” I added another finger “—it was the only way for me to stay awake. And I wasn’t the only one suffering. Mike from accounting was two blinks away from falling into a coma.”

  “I was not rambling,” Joe muttered.

  “Yeah, you were,” Miranda said and I nodded.

  He narrowed his eyes at both of us. “I don’t ramble.”

  “Last week, while you were on the phone with your wife, she actually called your assistant, while still on the phone with you, and asked your assistant to tell you that you were needed in a meeting,” Miranda retorted. “Even your wife tries to escape your rambling.”

  He raised both hands in the air. “All right, enough with the patronizing of the boss. Let’s get to the actual point of this meeting so I can call my wife and let her know her little assistant trick will not work on me again.” He half smirked and shook his head.

  “Fantastic idea, Joe,” I agreed. “I’d really love to know what the point of this meeting actually is.”

  “Well,” he said and glanced at Miranda. “Would you like to take the lead on this one?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Yeah… No. This is why you have that cushy office. Because you get to deal with these kinds of things.”

  “What kinds of things?” I asked and looked back and forth between them. When no one responded, I knew Joe was trying to push something off on Miranda. She was his favorite professional buffer.

  The last time she’d played this role, we’d ended up with one less columnist on our team…

  My eyes went wide. “Oh. My. God. Are you firing me?” I stood up from my chair in absolute shock. “Holy shit! You called me down here to fire me?” I shrieked.

  “Jesus.” Joe’s hands went to his ears. “Your column is a favorite among our female readers. You’re not getting fired. So please do me a favor and avoid making that sound for the rest of my life.”

  I looked at Joe and then at Miranda. “Okay, so then, what’s going on?”

  “Have you happened to go online at all today? Like, Facebook…Twitter…YouTube?” Miranda asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Sit back down,” Joe instructed, and surprisingly, I listened. He flipped Miranda’s laptop back open and tapped the keyboard a few times. “So, this YouTube video has gone viral, and it’s well… Just watch it first.” He turned the screen toward me, and I was faced with a guy, smoking a cigarette and talking directly to the camera.

  Holy hell. Who the fuck is this guy?

  I mean, I was pretty sure he was talking…speaking words…something along those lines, but I was focused on his face.

  Vivid blue eyes.

  Firm jawline.

  Dimples in his cheeks that appeared when he flashed a sexy little half smirk.

  Seriously, he was really, really good-looking.

  He was one of those guys that every woman would do a double take just to believe he was real. Lucky for me, no double take was needed here. I could continue to stare at him like a creeper, and he would be none the wiser. I honestly had no idea why Joe and Miranda wanted me to watch this guy’s YouTube video, but why question motives that led to eye candy like this?

  He glanced down at the newspaper in front of him. “Sex Says…The byline reads Lola Sexton…” His insanely blue eyes looked at the screen again. “…and if you are, in fact, a real person, Miss Sexton, I entreat you.”

  It took a few seconds for his words to register in my brain, but when they did, my ey
es went wide and I looked at Joe. “Wait…what? Did he just mention my column?” And when he started into some diatribe about me dictating to my readers, I stopped gawking at his stupid looks and started to get really pissed off.

  “Is he bashing my fucking column?!” I shrieked.

  Joe winced. “Apparently, this guy isn’t a fan of your column.”

  I mean, I didn’t expect everyone to love my column, but I also didn’t expect someone to so blatantly call me out when they had a differing opinion.

  What in the fuck was this guy’s problem?

  This had to be the biggest asshole move I’d ever witnessed in my life.

  Fuck this guy. I didn’t care how good-looking he was. He could take his blue eyes and cocky smile and shove them straight up his ass.

  “What the hell?” I muttered as I continued to hear the bullshit spew from the dickhead’s mouth. “He hates my column so much that he made a YouTube video about how much he hates it?” I shrieked again, and Joe covered his ears this time.

  I jumped up from my seat, knocking the leather chair my ass was resting on to the ground, but my eyes stayed fixated on the screen. “You’re an asshole!” I shouted and pointed at the screen. “No, not just an asshole, you’re a fucking asshole!”

  But he couldn’t hear me, obviously, and just continued talking until he brought his hate parade on home with the last words, “And Reed This, Sex Says: There’s someone out there for everyone, but good luck finding the right person for you when you’re pretending to be someone else.”

  “What in the fuck did I just watch?” I glanced at Joe and then at Miranda. “I mean…seriously… What was that?”

  “Well…if it makes you feel any better, he managed to bring a lot of publicity to your column. My phone’s been ringing off the hook all day,” Joe updated.

  My eyes narrowed. “How did this stupid video bring publicity?”

  Instead of answering the question with words, Joe showed me with the cursor of the mouse, slowly dragging it across the screen until it rested below…

  3,456,798 views

  My jaw dropped to the floor. “This video has over three million views? When was this posted?”

  “Apparently, he just posted it last night.”

  “It hasn’t even been live for twenty-four hours, and it already has over three million views?”

  It was safe to say calm was a memory. Joe covered his ears again, and Miranda grimaced.

  “This isn’t bad news, Lola,” Joe said, and I glared at him. “It isn’t,” he repeated. “This guy’s video just brought a national spotlight to your column.”

  “By basically telling the world he thinks I’m an idiot!”

  “I know this doesn’t feel good, but I’m telling you, Lola, this is actually good. There are interviewers, newspapers, TV stations…” He started to explain, but I couldn’t listen to his words. I was too fired up.

  “What’s this guy’s name?” I cut him off midsentence.

  “Reed Luca,” Miranda chimed in.

  I stomped toward the door, and Joe called to me, “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to find this asshole.”

  “Lola! I don’t think—”

  Those were the last words I heard before the door to the conference room slammed shut behind me. I was a woman on a mission, heading straight for the elevator, and then to the front stairs, and then outside to unlock Daisy.

  I hopped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could until I realized I was actually heading in an unknown direction and I had absolutely no strategy when it came to finding the know-it-all, asshole vlogger.

  Shit. Sometimes, I was too impulsive for my own, rational good.

  My phone pinged with a text notification, and I pulled it out of my pocket to read a text from Joe.

  The Devil: For the love of God, do not kill him.

  Me: What’s his phone number? Email address?

  The Devil: I don’t know.

  Me: Joe… I know you well enough to know you probably have this guy’s home address by now. And if you don’t give me something, I will stalk this bastard on every form of social media until I find him.

  The Devil: Lola, you need to remember that you are the face of a column for the San Francisco Times. And anything you do will reflect back onto the paper.

  Me: I promise I won’t kill him.

  Joe texted me the asshole’s email address a minute later. And fifteen minutes after that, I was in my apartment and sitting in front of my laptop ready to give this guy a piece of my mind.

  To: Reed Luca

  From: Lola Sexton

  Subject: Hello, Asshole

  FUCK YOU

  FUCK YOU

  FUCK YOU

  FUCK YOU

  FUCK YOU

  You are an asshole. Name the time and place and I will meet you there and I will kick your ass.

  I paused after that last sentence.

  Jesus. I sound like a middle school boy ready to brawl outside the schoolyard.

  I had to take a different approach to this email. I mean, for one, telling this guy I wanted to kick his ass was a bit ridiculous. And two, the fact that I would be riding to that fictional fight on my bicycle that had pink wheels and a basket didn’t scream intimidation. And three, I actually wanted to meet this guy. I wanted to speak to him face-to-face, where he couldn’t hide behind a goddamn camera.

  Delete. Delete. Delete.

  I had to be professional about this. As much as I wanted to tell this guy to choke on his own penis, I had to take the high road. And then, when I got to chat with him in person, I could tell him off with that whole penis-choking scenario.

  Good fucking idea, Lola.

  To: Reed Luca

  From: Lola Sexton

  Subject: I saw your video…

  Hello Reed,

  I hope you are having a pleasant day. I saw your YouTube video directed at my column, and I would love to discuss your opinions further.

  Would you be willing to meet up sometime this week?

  Sincerely,

  Lola Sexton

  So much careful control in one little email.

  I would love to discuss your opinions further.

  On the surface, it was benign. But underneath all of that, I sensed something else—a bomb waiting to explode. There was so much subtle power packed in her seemingly simple words, and I wasn’t even sure how I could tell. Normally, I needed a face-to-face encounter to read a person’s intentions, but something about what I knew about Lola from her column and the careful way she’d arranged her words when emailing me spoke to violence I wasn’t sure I’d ever witnessed.

  Limb amputation, genital mutilation, and a healthy hock in order to leave a loogie behind on the tattered body.

  Would meeting up with the woman behind the words lead to anything other than some kind of police involvement? Though, really, I kind of miss them…

  No, no. I was supposed to be reformed.

  But even the converted could find themselves in trouble when they least expected it. An impulsive video on YouTube that led to millions of views was proof of that. My inbox was now cluttered with interview requests from various media sources, as well as hate mail from angered Sex Says fans who didn’t appreciate my candid view regarding their favorite dating and relationship column.

  I stared at the blinking cursor on the screen where I’d opened a return email and volleyed.

  Red wire, blue wire, red wire, blue wire…

  Goddamn, I couldn’t help myself.

  Fuck it. I’ll cut both of them.

  To: Lola Sexton

  From: Reed Luca

  Subject: Re: I saw your video…

  Greetings Lola,

  I’m beyond interested to hear what “Sex” has to say about my perspective. I’m sure you’re fairly busy sticking your nose in all sorts of business, but I’m a busy guy myself—so it’ll have to be tonight. Bitters, Bock & Rye, 8 p.m.

  Reed Luca

  I couldn’
t wipe the smile off of my face as I pushed send, picturing her head damn near exploding as the challenge and insult in my words made impact. I obviously didn’t actually think she was a nosy, no-good busybody—at least, not in the malicious sense. But I had a feeling accusing her of being one would really get her goat, and fuck, I loved to incite reactions.

  Other people go sailing or hiking or maybe take a kayak out in the Bay—I mess with people. Swear to God, it gives me all the adrenaline rush I need.

  Conscious of the hour—and the stink of hours of manual labor seeping from my pores—I jumped up from the chair and headed for the shower, shucking my clothes as I went.

  Years of people watching aided my attempts to construct a prototype of my new foe in my head as I turned on the water and waited for it to heat up. What kinds of expressions did she frequent, and how would she react to the sight of me? Would she seem stuffy and aloof, or would she confront me head on with open terms and little regard for consequence?

  The variances in human nature fascinated me, and the more time I spent in this ever-changing world, the fewer outside of the box reactions I received. I wasn’t sure if it was the “we know what’s best for you” movement or a desperate need to succeed, but people very rarely surprised me by deviating from society’s carefully crafted rules—women, especially.

  Women often worried about the impression they would leave or being too aggressive in the eyes of a man. They led with kind words and veiled insults rather than coming out and saying exactly what they wanted to say, and they sheltered the things they needed out of fear of being too needy.

  I wouldn’t really describe it as bad—as I tend to believe everything in the world has a scale of balance and normalcy, no matter the circumstance—but I would describe it as unifying the herd. Fewer people saw options other than college or a nine-to-five, and fewer people strove for what they really wanted out of life. They worked hard for money, but unfortunately, hadn’t made even half the same progress toward fulfillment.

  Steam rose from the flowing water as I stepped inside.