Page 34 of Ice Devil

Exhaustion had settled over me.

In the last week and a half since I’d come back from Arizona, I’d seen my apartment for all of maybe two hours to do nothing but pack. The hockey schedule was brutal and I’d never experienced such extreme jetlag in my life.

If I wasn’t sitting at my comfy desk where my one personal item I’d brought from home was staring at me, I could be anywhere in the country. The picture was of me wearing a smile. Lately, it felt as if a permanent scowl was plastered on my face.

She looked happy.

I felt miserable.

She had life in her eyes.

Mine were dull and devoid of any emotion.

She enjoyed her life.

Me? All I did was work.

Something needed to give or I’d jump out the forty-story window. Even now, all I had to do was to look around and notice everyone else on the floor had gone home. That’s because they had a life.

Even as reporters.

How did that work?

Oh, yes. How could I forget? I was in a highly competitive market, the world of sports reporting dog eat dog. A far cry from how I’d started in the business but equally as cutthroat.

Lately, I’d gotten more than one cold shoulder, more than a few scowls, and even a couple of male reporters acting as if I’d sold my soul.

The whys didn’t matter to me.

Kicking them all in the balls had become a regular part of my fantasy world. Even now, the images were colorful and particularly vicious. I laughed and dumped my head into my hands, staring at my computer screen. I was way behind in getting articles written, which was also unlike me. I was always on the spot with getting them finished, no matter how difficult the subject or how tired I’d been.

The almost blank screen stared back at me, the cursor blinking as if tapping her bitchy fingers while waiting for me to get my act together.

Maybe my problem was that thoughts about Beck had successfully weaseled in and maintained a spot in the back of my mind.

He’d obviously made an impression on me, whether I wanted to accept it or not. The way we’d left things hadn’t been ideal, but then again, I’d enjoyed the last image of him, his naked body in full display.

There was no way of knowing if he liked the article. I’d been fair, including his aggressive stance on the ice. I wasn’t out to make friends.

At least I had a reprieve for a couple of days before being forced to jet off to yet another location.

When was my next vacation? Oh, that’s right. Cancelled until after the playoffs.

The one good aspect about being at the office so late was that I wouldn’t have any interruptions. Plus, the incentive was great. I’d told myself I couldn’t go home until the article was finished and a bottle of cabernet was calling my name.

“You’re still here.”

There went all thoughts of the wine. At this point, maybe I’d stop by a liquor store and grab some tequila. “Matthew. You’re working late.”

“Since when did you start calling me Matthew?”

“Since you became my boss.” My tone held my obvious annoyance.

Once upon a time, we’d been more. Although we’d been hot and heavy for a little while and I didn’t regret our time spent together, that had been before his million-dollar mentality had taken over. Along with his promotion had come stock options as well as a change in both living status and temperament.

The cool guy who’d wanted to pen stories exposing corruption had lost his way in a sea of dollar bills and flashy cars. So much so, I didn’t recognize him any longer.

However, he’d given me opportunities that had allowed my career to advance. Yet no good deed ever went unpunished. He never allowed me to forget who I was working for. That hadn’t meant we’d agreed on almost anything or that I’d allowed him to walk all over me.