***
She’d been sitting for what felt like hours, watching the black cursor flash in the top left corner of the bright white, very empty box. The normal buzz of activity surrounded her. She could hear Kyle talking loudly on the phone, through the door he’d left ajar. A photocopier whirred in the corner of the bullpen, a low drone of voices assaulted her ears from all angles and there was the constant rhythmic tap of computer keyboards. She, however, could write nothing.
Allie had abandoned her assignment long before, knowing she had the better part of a week to complete it and that the simple task would, in reality, take her no longer than a few hours. It was not a sparse word document that filled her screen. Instead, she was looking at a naked email.
‘How does someone go about asking a man they haven’t seen for over five years, whether he wants to meet up for casual sex?’ Allie silently asked herself, blinking at the screen.
“Hey, Al,” an excited voice interrupted her musing. Grant’s desk was just a few feet away and rather than get up, he used his sneakered toes to propel the small wheels of his chair towards her. In his hands he held a manila file and on his face he wore an excited grin. “I think we can still get him. Look at this,” he offered, using one final thrust of his legs to reach Allie’s desk and flinging the document towards her.
She hummed disinterestedly, as she accepted the file. “What’s this?”
“It proves that a large amount of money went missing from Pelzer’s charity,” he enthused.
“How did you get hold of this?” she asked, her head snapping up.
“Perhaps best you don’t know,” he muttered, leaning conspiratorially closer and still bearing his broad grin.
“Grant,” she said, as though chastising a child. “You know we can’t use this.” She picked up the file, careful to keep it closed and handed it back to the man by her side.
“But,” he protested.
“Do you have any idea what could happen to you, me and the paper?” she interrupted.
“You wouldn’t have said that last week,” he muttered, remembering how doggedly she had been willing to pursue the case and how little regard she’d had for what was ethical or legal.
“It’s not worth the risk,” she told him flatly.
“So, you think we can get him some other way?” the young gofer asked optimistically.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, turning back to the glare of the screen.
“I don’t get it,” Grant huffed. “What’s changed? I thought you wanted to nail this guy.”
“I did,” she tossed off-handedly. “I do,” she added, realizing she’d spoken in the past tense. “Look, I was too single-minded, there’s more to life than airing Pelzer’s dirty laundry.” She glanced at Grant over her shoulder, and was met by a look of incredulity, as though he half expected her to reveal that the statement had been an instance of her dry humor.
“Are you feeling okay?” he eventually asked, leaning back in his chair and regarding her carefully.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m moving on,” she added breezily. “If Kyle is killing the story, then we’ve just got to accept that.”
Grant prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue, still unsure whether to take her seriously or not. “So, that’s it?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“Grant,” she sighed. “Life is too short to be chasing lost causes.”
“All right,” he quipped. “Who are you and what have you done with Allie McLaren?”
“Ha ha,” she sarcastically responded. Focusing on her computer screen, she lifted her hands to the keyboard. “I’ve just got other things on my mind right now,” she told him, as her fingers unconsciously began to move across the keys. “Time waits for no man,” she added, as the speed of her typing increased. “Or woman,” she added quietly.
“Okay,” Grant sighed sulkily, pushing himself up from his chair and gripping the back. “When you come back to your senses and change your mind, you’ll let me know, though?” he suggested turning his back to her as he dolefully wheeled his chair back to his desk.
“Sure,” Allie called in response, not even aware of what he’d said. She was much too absorbed in the letter that was taking shape before her eyes. Her brain wasn’t consciously dictating the words that appeared on the screen, her fingers moved fluidly, almost independently of her. In a little under a minute, she had found the right way of phrasing her invitation.
Leaning back, she scooped her hair off her shoulders and pressed it in a loose ponytail at the back of her head. She scanned through the email just once, hesitated momentarily, before muttering, “What the hell?” As the words were murmured under her breath, she lunged forwards, grasped the computer’s mouse and clicked ‘send’.