The Last Guy
“All I’m saying is it was very convenient that your shirt just happened to have a missing button—”
“It. Was. An. Accident,” Stone enunciates.
“You don’t have to get huffy,” Savannah retorts. “It’s just we all know you really wanted the Smith case.”
Stone’s eyes turn to slits. “Who is we?”
“Ah, no one. I just meant—”
Stone cuts her off. “Whatever. Speaking of segments, how did the Smith one go? Oh, that’s right, I already saw. You stood there in the humid Houston weather and got nada. No verdict yet. You win some, you lose some.”
Savannah’s face tightens.
“Tell you what, Savannah, next time you can take the monkeys and llamas, and I’ll do the courthouse beat.” Stone is crossing her arms, her shirt is barely hanging on. One quick glance tells me that every guy at the table has his peepers glued to that straining paper clip.
I’m about to go over there—
“Feeling protective?” Trent asks me. I guess he’s reading my face.
I nod.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes bouncing between me and the table.
I quickly run down what happened on the segment.
His eyebrows are sky high. “Oh, damn. I missed it. I guess they won’t reshow it?”
“No, they will not,” I say dryly.
His eyes light up. “Doesn’t matter. That shit will go viral. I bet it’s already on YouTube.”
Before I can reply, Marv marches in, his face still red. I wonder how many viewers have called in to complain. “Rebecca!”
She flinches as she turns to face him.
“My office. Now.”
Her shoulders wilt and her face falls.
My hands clench.
If he fires her, I will beat the fuck—
“Can I have more chicken?” Trent’s voice brings me back.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say absently, my eyes on the door as Stone walks out and into the hall. I hear the clicking of her heels as she takes slow steps toward Marv’s office.
I can only imagine what’s going on in there . . .
Fifteen minutes later she’s back in the break room and heading to the box of chocolate donuts we have delivered nightly. The defeated look on her face is killing me.
“Stone, over here,” I call. “There’s a fan here to see you,” I say, nudging my head at Trent who’s waving.
“Holla, girlfriend! Come give old Trent a hug! I miss my Pussycat friend.” He stands and opens his arms wide. “Plus, I hear you might need one.”
Stone comes our way, her face cool. “Hey, Trent.” She gives him a quick hug and takes the barstool next to him.
She looks at me.
I look at her.
“Nothing to say?” she asks me. “Aren’t you going to make a joke?”
“Haven’t you had enough?”
She sighs. “Just say whatever you want to say and get it over with.”
I shrug. “Fine. You make the news worth watching. How’s that?”
Surprise crosses her face. “Dammit, why do you always say the nicest stuff when you’re such an—”
“An incredibly handsome and talented man?”
“He really is,” Trent says, chewing. “He made me this salad.”
She perks up as she checks out Trent’s dish. I quickly mix up another salad and slide it over to where she sits. She stares down at it in bemusement and takes a bite, bliss flitting across her face.
“It’s really not fair that you can cook, too,” she mutters, taking another big bite.
I laugh and Trent stares at Stone and me as if he’s just figuring something out.
A few minutes later they are bonding over the The Lion King while I check my phone for any updates in sports. I’m glad they like each other—although I don’t know why that’s important.
“Are you over Mufasa’s death—because I’m not,” Stone says as she sips from a Diet Coke she’d pulled from the fridge.
“Right! I mean, I get you need to see Simba grow into his own person—especially when he kills Scar—but Mufasa? TEARS. Breaks my heart every time.”
“Me too,” she agrees. “So what Disney character is your fav, Cade?”
She’s asking me?
I look up from my phone. “I don’t watch those movies.”
“He’s the big sports jock,” Trent comments. “Although I recall a few times when he might have indulged in a Gossip Girl marathon with me.”
“Don’t forget Love Actually,” I say. “You made me go to the theatre with you.”
“I suggest you start with The Little Mermaid,” Stone says to me.
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I love it. So should everyone else.”
“Is there sex in it?”
She fiddles with her drink. “No, silly. He’s very handsome—Prince Eric—he even has a cute dog.”
“I like cats.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I even have one.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I cock an eyebrow. “So ladylike.”
“Ladies don’t show their tits on TV.” She gets that defeated look again, and I want her to stop—so I pick at her.
“Is the mermaid a blonde?”
“Redhead.”
“Nevermind. Never going to watch it.”
She flicks interested eyes over me. “Only blondes for the Killer?”
“All day, everyday.”
“Figures. I saw your ex. You like them skinny too?”
“Don’t go there, Stone. You won’t like my answer. Or maybe you will.” My voice is silky.
Trent is watching us with a rapturous expression. “You two are so . . . frisky. I like it. All I need is some popcorn. We def need a Disney marathon. Cade’s place, after work. Wanna call Chas?”
“Shut up, Trent,” I say.
He laughs.
But Stone isn’t done. She’s staring at me with an odd light in her eye—as if she enjoys our little run-ins. She eases back on her stool and considers me. “The Little Mermaid is about a girl who gives up what she holds most dear—her family and her singing voice—for the man she loves.”
I smirk. “And how does that work out for her? Doesn’t she get ostracized by her family?”
Stone gasps. “You have seen it!”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“Some say it’s sexist in how it portrays women, but I don’t agree,” Trent says, stirring the drama pot—and never one to be left out.
“Why is it sexist?” Now I’m interested.
Stone is perturbed. “The movie is not sexist!”
Trent shrugs. “Beats me.”
Stone is shaking her head. “Ariel is empowered and brave and daring—”
“Nice rack?” I interrupt, my gaze hot as it traces the curve of her body. I picture her in a coconut bra. Shit. That’s sexist. But I can’t help it. I fucking want Stone so bad I have a hard-on at work talking about a goddamn mermaid movie.
She ignores me. “ . . . for example, Eric is the damsel in distress when Ariel rescues him from drowning—”
“That’s enough for me. I’d do her. I like a girl who fights for her man.” Now I’m just pushing her buttons.
Stone looks flustered. “You can’t appreciate it if you haven’t actually seen it.”