Montaine by Ada Rome Page A

around my forehead. I wet my fingers under
the tap and smoothed the hairs back into place, pulling my sagging ponytail
taut.
    I’d stayed late to finish
some projects and to research ideas for the cover story contest. Big and bold,
Trent had instructed. So far, the only topics I could come up with were small
and commonplace. I racked my brain, scoured news items and blogs, but still
drew a blank.
    I suddenly heard voices raised
in argument just outside the bathroom door. I pressed my back against the cold
tiled wall, feeling guilty for eavesdropping but also reluctant to stumble into
the middle of someone else’s fight. My ears perked to attention when I realized
that the voices belonged to Trent and Kill.
    “This is my magazine. I built
it. Not you.” Trent’s voice was cool and lethal.
    “You wouldn’t be anywhere
if it wasn’t for me.”
    “Bullshit. You wouldn’t be anywhere if it wasn’t for me . You’d still be writing about
library socials in Crapsville, USA. I created this magazine from the ground up.
It’s mine. You don’t get to call the shots. I do.”
    “Look at you. So high and
mighty. The great Trent Montaine wasn’t always so great. I’ve kept your
secrets.” Kill hissed like a cobra. “Be careful, or I might let them out.”
    “Fuck you, Kill. Go
ahead. Stop being a pussy and do it. You’ve been threatening long enough. What
is it that you want anyway? What’s your end game?”
    “I want a piece of what
is mine. I want recognition. And I want you to stop thinking with your dick
before it destroys this magazine.”
    “What the hell are you
talking about?”
    “You know what I’m
talking about. Little miss intern mooning over you. Instead of hiring someone
qualified, you hired a pair of tits.”
    “It’s not like that.
She’s not like that. You don’t know shit, Kill.”
    “Oh, I don’t know shit.
You forget that I’ve seen it before. All you’ve ever wanted out of life is to
be worshipped. Everything else is secondary.”
    I heard a brief scuffle
and a sudden thud on the other side of the wall as a body thumped against it.
    “Do you think I don’t see
right through you?” Trent’s words dripped with disdain. “You’re just jealous.”
    “Jealous?” Kill’s voice
was strained and breathy, the stifled sound one might make under the
throat-closing grip of a steel hand. “Of you? Trent the superstar? Trent the
millionaire? Trent who fucks models and drives Lamborghinis? Why would I want
all that?” he asked with an edge of sarcasm.
     “Jealous of her. Of Kat.
You’re jealous because that girl is a better writer than you will ever be. You
know it’s true. But I’m warning you right now, you better back the fuck off of
her. Show some respect. Or you’ll have to answer to me. Are we clear?”
    “Aye, aye, captain.”
    Another thud pounded
against the wall. Kill made a noise like a strangled squawk.
     “I’m not fucking around,
Kill. This ends now.”
    There was silence,
followed by a rustling slide of fabric. Then I heard the clip-clop of footsteps
echoing down the empty hallway and a long breathy sigh outside the door. I
waited, my ears primed to detect the slightest sound. I heard nothing.
    I slowly eased open the door,
inch by inch, trying for stealth. The hinges betrayed me with a loud, grinding
creak. When I peeked around the doorframe, I was practically nose to nose with
Trent. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his thick chest, his
head turned in my direction, his eyes two burning blue flames.
    “Hello, Kat,” he said in
a low and level tone.
    “I-I…I’m sorry,” I
stuttered.
    He waved away my apology
and shook his head. “No need to be sorry. I guess you heard all of that?”
    “Yes.” There was no point
in denying it.
    He nodded, his bottom lip
thrust outward and his brows knit together in thought.
    “Wanna talk about it?” he
asked, still in the same deep and even tone.
    “Not really.”
    “Good. Me neither.”
    Now it was my