“Thanks, man. I know you’re busy here, we appreciate it,” Jack says and claps him on the shoulder.
“Sure thing. Though if Liv gets pissed at me, I’m blaming you,” he says with a laugh, then turns to me, jerking a thumb in Jack’s direction. “How long you been working for this guy?”
“Oh, we don’t work together,” I quickly correct him.
He looks surprised. “No? Sorry, I just assumed.”
“I’m with Siren,” I tell him, handing over my card, and Jack goes very still beside me.
“Ah, now things are making more sense. Couldn’t figure out why Brawler would care about my wedding. Thought you were goin’ soft on me!” He punches Jack in the arm.
My jaw drops just as one of the hovering publi-sharks gets tired of treading water and appears at Eric’s elbow, apologizing to us before murmuring in his ear.
“Duty calls,” he tells us regretfully. “It was great to see you, man. And say hi to Tom for me. We should all go out for a drink, it’s been too long.”
“Absolutely. Name the time and we’re there.”
“Nice to meet you, Cassidy,” he calls over his shoulder as he’s led away, and he’s swallowed up by the crowd before I can answer—which is probably a good thing, since I’m currently stunned silent.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I spin around to face Jack accusingly, my face a flaming ball of fire. In fact, my entire body blazes with indignation.
“You’re with Brawler?” I spit out the words like they’ve scalded my tongue.
He takes his time answering. “Well, actually . . .” he says slowly, “I own Brawler.”
My temperature spikes; mercury showers everywhere. “You what?” I cry, barely recognizing the shrill sound of my own voice. “You’re telling me you’re Jack Bradford? Founder of Brawler?”
“Cofounder, but yes.” He looks annoyed. “Is there a problem?”
My mouth opens but no sound comes out; my brain still hasn’t quite caught up to the fact that the human embodiment of that god-awful hellsite is standing before me with a name and a face （a nauseatingly attractive one, at that）。 I’m simultaneously speechless and shaking with the need to hurl an insult at him that’s both cutting and clever. I’m Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail, holding Tom Hanks at knifepoint after he’s just compared books to vats of olive oil.
Before I can formulate a response, Nat pops up at my side, cheeks flushed and gripping a blue-tinted cocktail. “I cannot believe you just got a private audience with Eric Jessup! I tried to get over here but security kept holding us back.” She sticks her free hand out to Jack. “Hi, I’m Natalia.”
“Ja—” he starts to respond before I cut him off.
“This is Jack Bradford, founder of Brawler.”
Her eyes go silver dollar–wide. “Whaaat? Seriously?”
“Wish I was kidding.”
Jack’s starting to look pissed now. Good. We’ll match. “I’ll repeat—is there a problem?”
“Yeah, Brawler’s my problem. And by extension, you are now my problem.” Natalia hoots and takes a noisy slurp of her cocktail.
I am righteously indignant. I’m standing up for wronged women everywhere. He has no idea what’s about to hit him. I might even break out my Z-snap.
He stares at me impassively, a parent humoring a tantruming child. “So this is about the history between us and Siren? How is my friend Cynthia, anyway?”
I bristle. “She is not your friend.”
He grins, clearly enjoying ruffling my feathers. He juts out his chin, and I have to talk myself out of socking his perfectly chiseled jaw. “Oh come on, we all benefit from this little feud. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Cynthia knows that better than anyone.” His eyes light in recognition. “Wait, I know who you are now. Cassidy Sutton. I’ve read your work.” He nods approvingly, like I’ve passed some sort of test I didn’t know I was taking. “It’s good.”
“Thanks, I’ve been awaiting your validation,” I say sarcastically.
“You know, you should run a photo with your byline,” he says, bypassing my hostility completely, and I narrow my eyes. “You’d get a lot more clicks.”
Oh, gross. “Maybe I don’t want those kinds of clicks.”
He raises a finger. “Now, that statement would be a fireable offense at Brawler. Clicks are king. I would think you’d know that.”
“I’ll take my dignity over clicks, thank you.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Of course, that kind of emotional decision-making is probably why Siren’s traffic has stagnated.”
“Hey!” Natalia is affronted.
I raise a hand to her as if to say, I’ve got this. “You know, you’re every bit as obnoxious as I imagined you’d be.”
The insult seems to amuse him. “Funny, my partner’s usually called the obnoxious one. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t think I was so bad a minute ago.” There’s a lascivious edge to his smirk, like he’s seen me naked. I huff and tug my blazer closed.
“Wait, what happened a minute ago?” Nat asks, trying to keep up.
“He attempted to blackmail me into a date. I almost fell for it, too.”
“So this is the thanks I get for helping you out, huh?” He shakes his head, but he’s still wearing that stupid smirk, like my ire entertains him. And it probably does, since life’s all a big game to men like him. They can behave however they please and never face any real consequences. They can act like a cocky asshole at a bar and still walk away with a girl’s phone number. They can get away with murder and the world will say, May I offer you another victim? “I hand-delivered you Eric Jessup’s first on-the-record comments about his engagement, but somehow I’m the villain here? Please tell me, how exactly have I wronged you?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go there, buddy,” Nat warns.
My blistering laugh could strip paint from the walls. “How have you wronged me? Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the constant stream of misogynistic articles you publish, many of which come at Siren’s expense? Or perhaps it’s that your site brands all women as either nagging harpies or sex objects? Or maybe”—I snap my fingers—“it’s that you’ve inspired an entire generation of men to shout their chauvinism from the rooftops.”
“I warned you,” Nat singsongs.
Jack regards me calmly, his expression unfazed, almost bored. I’m having the exact inverse reaction—the more unruffled he appears, the more agitated I’m getting. “Brawler is a site where men can be men. You know, almost exactly like the website you work for?”
“The site we work for doesn’t encourage its readers to troll and harass anyone who disagrees with them.”
“We don’t encourage harassment.”
“You don’t condemn it, either.”
“I’m not responsible for the behavior of our readers any more than you’re responsible for yours.”
Our gazes collide in a fiery clash. I’m so frustrated, I could flay the skin off his bones.