Of course, he beat me this go-round. My heart sank when I first saw it, but I chose to believe I might pull through. Yet it’s seven p.m., his has been consistently earning views in the top spot all day, and mine has languished to fourth. Two other podcasts surpassed mine in the hours since I started checking, and my disappointment and ire have grown.

  It’s a tricky thing, vehemently hating the success of the guy you’re sleeping with.

  But that’s how I feel as I walk into the Cast About offices. It’s just a quick stop by to grab some audio equipment I need to record my intro for Thursday’s episode, and it couldn’t wait. I waited until the last possible second, sneaking in after the regular office-goers left and especially avoiding Collin.

  I can’t stomach seeing him right now, not when I want to kill his chances at the Monday time slot.

  Is there some way to sabotage him? Of course, there is. I have it in the palm of my hand. I could spill the beans about us sleeping together. What he’s like, what the sex is like.

  I chew on my fingernails once again while mulling it over. The episode, if I record it, would fucking kill. It would bring in a million listens like the snap of my fingers. The two most popular podcast hosts on the most popular network are fucking? It would bring fans of our shows in by the droves. People have written fan fiction dedicated to us, and they don’t even know how hate-fueled Collin and I’s relationship used to be.

  Before our conversation, before he ever kissed me or I asked him to take me home, I probably would have. I would have had zero qualms about spilling all the tea and running him over with the bus while doing it.

  But now, our situation gives me pause, which is just another thing to hate him for. I hate that my feelings for him cloud my judgment, no matter how much I try to deny them. And I despise nothing more than emotions getting in the way of something that could get me a step closer to success.

  “What’re you doing here today?”

  I turn to find Kelly standing at my back, observing me manically chewing at my hands in the middle of the office.

  “I needed to come in and get some audio equipment for the intro I’m recording tomorrow. But I’m packing up now.”

  “No rush, just usually don’t see you here on Tuesdays unless you’re recording.” My boss moves to perch her butt on a desk, settling in for a conversation.

  I try not to fidget. Kelly and I have a nice relationship, one that is more cordial than just boss and employee. But authority and impressing people who matter has always made me anxious. Chalk that up to daddy issues or lack of guardianship, but it’s always been a thing of mine.

  “Hoping to do better on Thursday than I did today.” I try not to hang my head.

  “Lark, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Your episode was very good today. Fourth in the charts out of the hundreds of thousands of podcasts is incredible.”

  “Yeah.” I blow out a breath.

  “But you want to be number one to land Monday.” She nods knowingly.

  “That Monday slot should go to a woman.” I fold my arms over my chest.

  Even if I am the ultimate respecter of authority, I need to make my stance known. Part of me is so pissed about being measured on my listens because Cast About is half-owned by a woman. Lester is a man who held on to the most popular release day for a very long time, and it would make sense to promote a woman into that spot.

  Kelly looks down at her black crocodile skin boots and chuckles. “God, I knew it was a good decision hiring you. But watching you over the past two years blossom into this powerhouse of a professional woman, it’s been a real treat to behold. I want nothing more for you to succeed, to reach levels you haven’t even dreamed yet. Do you know why I have qualms about you getting Monday, though?”

  Hearing that she is apprehensive about giving it to me makes every nerve in my body seize with fear. “I wasn’t aware you did.”

  “Don’t take this as a threat, Lark. It’s not. Nic and I are extremely happy with your show, with how you speak to audiences, with how you represent the company. But you’re … well, you’re too focused. Sometimes to a fault, and it can come off as cold. You keep going the way you are, and you’ll burn yourself out eventually. I promise you will.”

  Swallowing that is like choking on a bitter pill. One I don’t necessarily even believe. “Being dedicated and professional isn’t as detrimental as people always says it is. Some of us like maintaining decorum, unlike others on this network.”

  So I’m taking shots at Collin, but I can’t help it when I feel so completely exposed by my boss.

  “It’s not a bad thing to let people help you. Love you. Want to support you. It’s how you keep longevity. Because eventually, you’ll stumble, and those people will pick you up when you think it’s impossible to keep standing.” It’s as if Kelly is looking right through me.

  I feel more vulnerable than I ever have. “I’m not used to that. At all.”

  “I figured as much. Do you know why I hired you, Lark? It’s going to sound cliché, but you reminded me a lot of myself as a young woman. It was me against the world, and I won’t tell you my sob story because I know you have one of your own. But life only started getting good when I let someone in to enjoy it with. Nic didn’t give me drive or work ethic, he couldn’t have built what we have at Cast About if it wasn’t for me. And vice versa. But on those dark days, in the hard times, I’m stronger because I have him to help me up. Whether it’s a partner, or a friend, or your coworkers, you would only stand to gain by allowing people a little closer of a look.”

  “I talk about my sex life on a national podcast weekly.” It’s not what Kelly is getting at, but I’m grasping at straws because I’m defensive.

  “But sex isn’t emotions, not to you. You’re one of the only women I know who has accomplished that. It’s rather impressive. I’m talking emotions, Lark. Letting people see the things that scare you, the things you won’t even say out loud to yourself. That’s how you grow. It’s also how you’ll get the edge professionally, I promise. I’m on your team, I want you to win the Monday slot. But you have to show that you’re willing to do the hard work to do that. Not just the boots on the ground work, which Nic and I both recognize you’ve always done.”

  She smiles at me, a warm, empathetic gesture because I know she knows that she just ripped a huge hole in my carefully constructed image.

  Kelly leaves me to my thoughts, and I sink down into my desk chair even though I was just heading home.

  How will I take this competition and the time spot if doing so means ripping the scariest, most hurtful Band-Aids off?

  If that’s what it’s going to cost me, do I even want to win with a price that high?

  14

  COLLIN

  My knuckles knock on her front door, the sound reverberating through the wood.

  Lark doesn’t answer, so I knock again.

  “Hello?” Her voice comes through the door.

  “Open up, it’s me,” I tell her.

  The door creaks open, and when she sees I’m standing in her hallway, she opens it fully. “What are you doing here?”

  Her cute little sweatpants and sweater set have my mouth watering. It’s the same pink as her bedframe, molds to her curves, and looks so damn soft I want to run my hands over her.

  “You didn’t come into the office today, so I thought I’d bring dinner to you.”

  Lark doesn’t move, only raising one eyebrow. “I don’t come into the office a lot of days, and I didn’t invite you over.”

  We’ve seen each other three of the last five days, and I thought we talked about it. Exclusive. Which means when I want to, or she wants to, we are freely open to say so and see each other.

  I huff an annoyed breath. “I wanted to see you, brought Indian food, and maybe I’ll give you an orgasm or two. Sound good?”

  God, this woman was an immovable brick wall.

  “Fine. But you should know I’m mad at you.” She lets me in and follows me as I set down the takeout bag on her kitchen table.

  “What did I even do?”

  “Your episode has been top of the charts since yesterday.”

  When I turn, after setting down the bags, Lark is standing in the middle of her apartment, arms folded, tits sitting high, scowl directed straight at me.

  “You’re really that pissed about my episode beating yours out?” It strikes me now just how at odds we are.

  I’d been over the moon that my episode had done so well. I interviewed St. Nicky, this guy who owns an erotic dancing—read: stripping—service that goes around to Christmas parties that want a little spice. He talked about some of the wildest holiday parties they’d been a part of, some behind-closed-doors secrets of some of the biggest companies who use them, and other sexual topics that perfectly melt in the Christmas theme.

  It went viral. Not only am I ecstatic, but my listens are through the roof. And not once have I thought about how that impacts Lark. That’s probably why I have never been boyfriend material because I am used to being selfish.

  And she is fucking pissed; that much is evident.

  “I want that prime release day, Collin. Of course I’m pissed. Just because I like fucking you doesn’t mean I don’t want to beat you.”

  Didn’t I have the same thoughts early on when Nic and Kelly announced the stipulations to be promoted to Mondays? Though, over the course of the last few weeks, that competitiveness waned.

  “What we’re doing between us hasn’t changed a thing for you?”

  Walking to her, I pull her into my arms because I can’t help not to. It’s been a full twenty-four hours since I touched her, and that seems like a lifetime. When the hell have I ever been this desperate for a chick?

  She rolls her eyes and lets out a pouty little huff. “You don’t understand. You wouldn’t, really.”

  “So tell me.” I still haven’t let her go, even though she’s trying to distance herself.

  Lark plants a hand on my chest, almost as if she’s trying to keep space between us. “You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. Back in college, you got that primetime radio slot before any of us, sophomore year when I was still doing grunt work and overnight time slots. People flocked to your show, listeners fawned over you. You’re a man, it’s bound to happen. You might not have put the system in place, but it’s ten times harder for women to have success, no matter the avenue. Then Cast About came along, they picked you up first. We both got shows, but it took me a hell of a lot longer to have the listenership you did. And now this. It’s maybe none of your fault, but you’ve never struggled. Not like I have.”

  It feels like Lark just peeled back a ton of layers and allowed me to see a part of her she doesn’t show to many people.

  “And so you should get the time slot because life has been more difficult for you?”

  “Don’t be an ass, Collin. I deserve this because I work so fucking hard for half of what you’ve got. I deserve it because for once, I need the lucky break. Because it should go to a woman now that Lester is leaving. Because I’ve been marching toward this with singular focus and I want it so bad I can taste it.”

  “I’m asking a question. No, I haven’t struggled like you. But I do work hard. I do hone my craft and do my research and come prepared. I fully recognize the privilege I have. I’m sorry it’s been so difficult for you. I want that Monday slot too, and I’ve been working hard to secure it. If my listens are higher, then I deserve it. You wouldn’t want me to roll over and let you have it anyway. You’d be pissed if I did that.”

  “Damn right I would. Because I can beat you fair and square.” The way she says it has something itching at the back of my consciousness.

  “But … you would play dirty if you had to. Maybe you’ve even thought about it.”

  Lark shrugs. “And what if I have?”

  A ripple of doubt shivers down my body. Here I am, thinking we’re making headway, and she’s over there plotting my loss.

  “Look, I want the time slot. But I’m not going to cut you off at the knees or go behind your back to do so. I want to play this fairly. I also want to keep seeing you. Take that for whatever it’s worth.”

  All I can do is be straight up with her and hope she’s willing to do the same.

  “Let’s just drop it.” She looks away.

  This is a much bigger discussion that sweeps to a grander level than either of us is prepared to hash out right now.

  Could I, though? Could I cut her off at the knees? Could I play dirty? Maybe before. But not now.

  “Why are there so many bags?” Lark looks suspicious as she moves out of my arms and points to the table.

  “Well, that’s the other part. We’re making Christmas cookies.” I beam, knowing she’s about to bite my head off.

  “No way in hell.” Her lips purse.

  As I start unpacking the Indian food containers, I explain. “My family does a cookie swap every year and I always lose. I need someone who can bake behind my operation, and thought I’d ply you with Naan and sex to help me.”

  “What makes you think I can bake?” She chuckles, finding humor in me pressuring her to a date with me and doing holiday things together.

  “One time you brought this killer pretzel and chocolate chip banana bread to the office. I think about it often. Can you make it for me again?” I rub my stomach just thinking about it.

  Lark mutters something under her breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you bulldoze people?”

  “All the time, but I do it with a charming sparkle in my eye and a smile.” I give her both at this moment.

  Her scowl intensifies. “You better have brought chicken tikka masala or I’m throwing this and you out of my apartment.”

  Luckily, I did. She confessed the other night that it’s her favorite takeout food, and I stored it away like a squirrel with nuts. We eat with some small talk about people we’ve seen around town who are spending Christmas here with their families, and TV shows we’ve watched lately. Lark tells me about the latest romance book she’s read, which includes a graphic description of a blow job the character gives. And so now I have a hard-on as I’m clearing our plates from the table.

  “So what kind of Christmas cookies are we making?” she asks with a bitter tone, but I can tell by the way she’s eyeing the ingredients that she’s excited.

  “Raspberry thumbprints. They’re my mom’s favorite, and I want to be the golden child for once.”

  Lark laughs. “Why do I have a feeling you are the golden child?”

  “Nah, that would be my oldest sister. She gave them a grandchild, hence she’s the current favorite.”

  “And you’re one of four, right? Big family. Seems like a lot of chaos.”

  She looks at the recipe I’ve pulled up on my phone and starts silently directing the baking process with flicks of her hands as I do her bidding.

  “It was. Still is. But it’s fun. I’m the baby, so I get away with a lot more shit.”

  “Ah, I see. So much makes sense now.” She gives me a wry smile.

  All the ingredients are mixed properly together, and Lark plops two balls of dough out for us, motioning for me to knead and roll it out.

  “How about you, any siblings? Does your mom make Christmas cookies? Maybe we can make her favorite.” I itch to know more about this girl who rarely tells me about herself.

  “No siblings. And no, she doesn’t.”

  “You never made Christmas cookies with your mom, or what?” I ask as we work side by side on the dough.

  “My mom died giving birth to me.”

  The rolling pin I just picked up clatters to the floor. My heart stops. Sheer sadness and heartbreak pull at all parts of my body.

  “I … I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry, doll.”

  In all the years I’ve been aware of Lark, known her, or worked with her, this has never been something she revealed. Actually, I know very little about her life outside of work. No, that isn’t true. The whole world knows her sex life. But her family, how she grew up, what makes her happy? Yeah, I’ve gained some knowledge on that in the last couple weeks, but nothing like this.

  Lark won’t look at me and is still massaging the dough like she didn’t just drop a bomb.

  “Thanks. It’s not something I make public knowledge. But no, suffice it to say, she and I never made Christmas cookies.”

  I’m floundering. There is so much I want to say, yet I don’t know the proper protocol for this. I’ve never had a friend lose a parent, much less this tragically. I also can’t get a read on whether Lark wants to talk about it or wants me to shut up. Fuck, when she said I never struggled in my life, she meant it. I just didn’t realize how much she struggled.

  “I’m really sorry. Did your dad … um, do you have any stories about her? Any good memories, holiday or not?” I’m grasping at straws, and the air feels so stiflingly awkward around us that I want to clear my throat.

  She still won’t look at me and starts cutting the dough into shapes to fill with jelly. “My dad has a very high powered sales job, he pretty much left me with other family members so he could go travel my entire life. Probably couldn’t be reminded of losing her. I saw him once, maybe twice a year growing up.”

  Her words shatter me. Standing in her small kitchen, I’m internally falling apart for her. Because I get it. The picture of Lark Bradley comes so sharply into view that it nearly bowls me over.

  This confident, ridiculously smart, brazen, take-no-prisoners woman was born of a kind of trauma I’ll never understand. Suddenly, nothing about what we’re doing together seems light and easy. With my track record, if I knew this was lying beneath Lark’s surface, I probably would have run in the other direction.

  But now, I only feel something extremely foreign to me; the need to protect her. To heal her wounds. To talk about really hard things and let her vent to me.

  The realization is so shocking, it scares me. Not enough to change the subject, though.