Page 207 of Right Man, Right Time
Ollie:Send me pictures of your his and his closet.
Ross:It will be beautiful.
Ollie:I have no doubt in my mind.
“Hey, Ollie,” Ryot Bisley says as he comes up to my desk.
Let me tell you the difference between Roberts’s office and The Jock Report office. Instead of cubicles, it’s all open seating. We all have laptops, and we can come and go as we please, hook up to any station, and get comfortable. There are recliners, private rooms for concentration, and games like ping pong and air hockey all through the space so you can take a mental break. It’s truly amazing here.
“Hey, Ryot,” I say, setting my phone down.
“I have a new client who just signed on, and I was hoping you could help him with his article. It’s his first time, and he’s a bit self-conscious about his editing abilities.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for. I’d be more than happy to look over it.”
“Great,” Ryot says, then hands me a printed-out piece of paper. Odd, we usually do everything online, but this will work. “If you could make it a priority, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure, I’ll get to it right now,” I answer.
“Thanks, Ollie. Let me know if you have questions, and when you’re done, just bring it to my office.”
“Sure, not a problem.” Ryot takes off, and I walk over to the community office supply table, grab a red pen and highlighter, and then sit in one of the recliners.
Once I’m comfortable, I lift the paper and read the title.
“The Truth About Silas Taters . . .”
What the actual fuck.
I look up toward Ryot’s office and see that he’s disappeared behind his door. This is not an article I want to read. It’s not an article I should read because who knows what he’s going to say, something that might hurt me. It’s been several weeks since Silas threw me out of his life...and I don’t feel anywhere near healed.Will I ever stop hurting?
But I can’t tell Ryot I can’t edit the piece because when I took this job, I swore to myself not only will I be the most loyal employee to the men who gave me a chance, but that I would do anything they asked.
Anything.
And this is anything.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I squeeze my eyes shut.
You have to do this. There’s no option. So just read it and get it over with.
On a deep breath, I focus my eyes back on the paper.
“The Truth About Silas Taters.”
Written by Silas Taters
You might know me as a starting forward for the Vancouver Agitators, for my quick feet on the ice, and my ability to conceal a puck until the last minute, tricking the opposite team’s goalie.
Others unfortunately might know me from a recent article that was released about my personal life.
Either way, you know of me, and I figured I should set the record straight.
This past summer, a girl in a bar kissed me. I wasn’t expecting to fall for her, nor was I expecting her to make me feel wanted, needed again.
But she did.
In a few short weeks, I found myself falling hard for this girl.
