The Thorne at My Side

CHAPTER 5

For The Record

MAGGIE

"That's nice of you to say Mike, I appreciate it."

Mike, my lackluster date from last week, called me because he wanted to talk about the Thorne announcement. One of the things we bonded over when we met was the prevalence of AI in content creation.

"I'm serious Maggie, you are in the perfect position to document the downfall caused by this technology."

He's been on and on now for most of my Uber ride to the podcast studio. He wants me to start collecting evidence. I can't tell if it's for a book or a criminal case.

"I'll think about it Mike.” I placate. “It's going to be interesting that’s for sure. Listen, I just pulled up, I gotta go."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later."

I hang up without responding instead of lying. The last thing I want to do is talk to him again. As I step out and thank the driver, a matte black Tesla Model X, with those obnoxious wing doors, pulls up behind me. I roll my eyes because all the possible good will points this jerk could earn by driving an electric car get wiped away by the wing doors. I jump on the elevator and head up to the third floor. In the reception area there is a table with green apples and cucumber slices. I put a few on a napkin before stepping back and taking a seat.

I bring the apple to my lips but pause when the door opens.

Austin.

Sam and I took a full fifteen minutes after watching him walk away earlier to discuss his physical attributes. I haven’t been that thirsty ever in my life. I spotted him the moment I walked into the room, my eyes drawn like magnets to where he was standing at the back. I’m not even sure what caught my attention first?

Was it his chestnut hair that looked like he styled it by running his fingers through it?

Or his broad chest and shoulders that filled the jacket he wore like a second skin?

Maybe it was the way he confidently slid his glasses back into place before burrowing into my soul with his iron ore eyes?

I struggled for the rest of the presentation to keep my eyes off of him but I felt his gaze on me the whole time.

I definitely noticed his ass and thick thighs as he walked out. Sam and I could have used a cigarette to calm us down after the way we oogled him.

I admired his suit when he was at the workshop earlier and it’s still as sharp now. He smooths his hand down the front of the navy blue wool with a small monochrome plaid woven throughout and my eyes follow the movement. His shirt is crisp and he still isn't wearing a tie so I can see the dip at the bottom of his throat under an Adam's apple that bobs when he lifts his gaze and lays eyes on me.

Two earthy eyes sparkle behind his round framed tortoise shell glasses and you’d think that would make them more difficult to connect with but you’d be wrong. It’s like the glasses serve as spotlights and all I can focus on is the way his eyes slightly widen as he recognizes me.

"Hello again," I say with a smile as I lower the apple back to the napkin in my lap, wishing I had taken the time to reapply my lipstick before coming in here. I couldn’t believe that my snarky side got the best of me and that my professionalism slipped into almost flirting. Maybe this is my opportunity to redeem myself, play nice.

"Well, what a small world," he says as he steps over and takes an apple for himself. I watch him settle into the chair across from me. He sits back and slings one leg over the other and balances his ankle on his knee. I watch, transfixed as he pulls his phone from his pocket and begins typing something. I find myself swallowing air when he parts his full lips to sink his teeth into the apple. The crack of his bite ripping through the flesh of the fruit echoes through the room and my mouth waters.

I am laser focused on the droplet of juice stuck to the corner of his mouth. The urge to stand up, walk over to him, and lick it clean hits me like a freight train.

"Oh good, you're both here!" A woman says with a clap that startles me out of my lusty haze. "I'm Jenna, your producer today. Did you introduce yourselves? Maggie Collins, speech writer and campaign communications expert," she waves towards me, "and Austin Thorne, senior executive at Thorne Media Corp and lead on the new AI Media project that was announced today."

What now?

He’s who ?

How did I not know who he was?

After dropping that bomb Jenna walks out of the room and I am left shell shocked. My eyes are unfocused and the room around me blurs. Austin Thorne threatens everything I hold dear. My job, my profession, my intelligence. The product he invented challenges my livelihood and I won’t be able to ignore it. I feel, more than see, Austin stand and start to move past me. I snap out of my trance and grab him on the, unfortunately firm, bicep.

"You're Austin Thorne?" I accuse.

"The one and only," he says as he spins slowly in my direction. I hate to be drawn in by his dangerously dark eyes but I am. They're captivating.

"Why were you at my workshop today?" I ask as the heat returns to my body, and I feel the flush climbing up my neck. It’s unclear if it is umbrage, frustration, or craving. My breathing is shallow. I’m not sure if I’m going to fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. When the next words come out of my mouth I learn that snark is my defense mechanism. ”You needed to size up the competition?"

"You're not my competition, Maggie."

"Yes, I am."

He laughs. He has the fucking nerve to laugh. Shock and indignation roll through my chest. He is standing here mocking everything I have worked for. Everything I have built over the last twelve years. "You're not. There isn't any competition for the product I'm about to bring to market. People are going to love having their news spoon fed to them in a tone and language they understand. I'm not responsible for the American public being too self-absorbed for their own good. I'm going to dish out what they want to hear, revolutionize the news industry, and make a ton of money while I do it."

He looks at me like I might have a response for that.

Unfortunately, I don't.

Speaking impulsively, off the cuff, has never been a strength of mine. I learned that the hard way when I tried to wing a response in my student council president debate in high school that I couldn’t think on my feet. I do much better when my statements can be prepared, edited, and revised before going out into the world. It's why I'm so good at speech writing, I love crafting a well thought out message. One that ebbs and flows and brings people along for the ride on the waves of the spoken word.

"Ready?" Jenna calls from down the hallway. Austin cocks an eyebrow, taunting me for a response, and when I don’t give him one he holds out a hand indicating ladies first. I step down the hall and shoot a text to Sam.

MAGGIE: Get me everything you can on Thorne Media Corp - who pays them for stories, for advertisements, annual revenue. Anything.

SAM THE MAN: Sure thing boss!

I put my phone on silent but keep it on the table in front of me as I settle into my chair and put on the headphones. Sam is an incredible opposition researcher. She'll be able to find me something. I simply have to hope that Austin Thorne is as ill prepared to meet me as I am to meet him.

◆◆◆

"Well, let's take a moment to consider the alternative."

It physically hurts to contain my eye roll as I mark another tally on the top of my notes. It's the sixth time Austin has said “consider” since we sat down to record. I started keeping track after the second time he said it.

"Maggie? Any response to Austin's point there?" The host asks with an animated shift of his shoulders in my direction .

I blink, hard. I was so caught up in being annoyed by my brutally handsome but irritating opponent slash co-guest that I totally missed the point he made.

"I'll save my breath on that one," I say with a snarky smile and as much deadpan sarcasm as I can muster. Maybe some political blogger will read between the lines and come up with a point for me.

It's happened before.

This interview is not going as well as I hoped it would before I learned that Hot Austin was Austin Thorne. Sam has sent a few texts but nothing useful. I was hoping she'd find an exposé saying he accepted money from fur traders to cover up a story about clubbing baby seals. Or some connection to oil companies. Or the mafia. Or a fringe political group that believes our next president should be a goat.

A girl can dream.

Instead she sent a few articles about the Thorne gossip outlet which I am familiar with because of a run-in my sister's best friend had with them last summer.

It was an insider tell-all style article about Liz’s friend Nora and her boyfriend, the rising home improvement TV star, Jimmy Lewis. It said terrible things and could have been considered libel if Nora had wanted to press charges. I was able to track down the anonymous source for them and confirmed she was paid.

Considering , as Austin would say, this article was small potatoes on the celebrity scale, I can only imagine how much they shell out for good stuff.

"Ha, alright, fair enough, I wanted to move on anyway." Charlie, the host, says as he flips to his next page of notes. "A lot of our listeners are outside of the D.C. area and they message us asking what it's really like to live and work in politics. We posted your headshots just before recording and, well, I'll be honest, they're getting quite the response."

"I’m not surprised Charlie, I tried to use it as my state department photo but no luck," Austin chimes in, oozing charm, and I feel a small tremor under my right eye. I press my fingers into it because I do not want to go full twitchy eye with Austin two feet in front of me. "What’dya think Maggie? Would you consider pulling some strings from the Senator's office and get these headshots on our passports?" And when his smile turns on me I hate that I blush as much as I hate the twitch that triggers again.

"No, sorry Austin, we use our connections at the State Department to address global crises." I sneer as I add another tally to my Consider Tracker.

"I want to get back to that," Charlie says quickly, "but first, Maggie, what is it like dating in D.C.?”

"Your listeners want to know about my dating life?"

"Well, kinda. They're interested in the politics but also the lives of the people in politics."

"Let's consider the subject here for a minute," Austin chimes in and I snap my head toward him unsure where this is going. "Maggie here is one of the hardest working people in D.C., I doubt she even has time to go on dates."

I don't catch my reaction quickly enough and I tuck my chin into my neck as I try to decipher if that was a compliment or a dig or a passive-aggressive combination of the two.

"That's certainly true, both of you are dedicated to your high-profile jobs, so how do you find time to date?" Charlie asks Austin.

"My latest relationship ended recently so considering that, I've been taking it slow. Keeping my options open." Austin says as he insecurely looks down at his fingernails. If I was in a better headspace and not feeling like I'm on a tilt-a-whirl I'd pounce on this moment of vulnerability. But also I'm wondering who would date this guy? Besides being sexy as hell, and richer than sin, he's cruel and mean and aloof.

Instead of kicking him when he’s down I add another tally at the top of my notebook. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose.

"Have either of you heard of SMS Connect? For our listeners, it's a new service in D.C. where young professionals sign a contract that says they're willing to text with a match, words only, no pictures, for three months before they even suggest meeting each other. The idea is the matchmaker knows what you need in a relationship and doesn't want physical attributes to interfere."

"I've heard of it," I say while trying to keep the crimson from running rampant across my face. "It seems like an interesting concept."

"Are you on it?" The host asks me and my mouth goes completely dry. Like I just stuck a handful of saltines in it.

"From what I understand,” Austin jumps in, “if she was, she wouldn't be able to say. This matchmaking business is more secretive than the freemasons." He throws me a wink and my stomach trips over itself while my brain flicks me between the eyebrows.

We manage to get back onto political topics but I'm continuously distracted by Austin. By his presence, his eyes, his "considerings".And by the fact that he has out-talked me this entire time.

I made a comment about wildlife being negatively impacted by the oil industry. He spat back about how farm land displaced native species populations and I didn't have a response or a redirect .

Then we got into early education. The senator has been working to make PreKindergarten mandatory for public school districts. Getting kids in school as four year olds immensely benefits the child and their family. But Austin had a stat from a not-yet-released study saying kids who started phonics at age five read just as well, if not better, than those who started earlier.

The volleying went back and forth after that. I got him on microplastic pollution in the water supply. He got me on the senator's flip-flopping opinion on tax reform.

I’ve learned that saying anything nuanced is best left to newspaper editorials. It's immensely easier not to misspeak or get misquoted when you've had time to draft, edit, revise, and revise again before printing.

We wrap up and promise to do it again sometime. I said I'd "consider it" and gave Austin a pointed look.

He didn't respond and I enjoyed a moment of pride for being snarkier than him.

But maybe having jokes that are so inside they only exist in my head is a red flag.

The final “considering” tally was seventeen in an hour and a half. Way too many.

With my phone in hand, I leave the recording studio and walk towards the elevator. I can hear the door brush along the carpet as it swings open behind me and I can feel the way Austin closes the distance between us. I don't want to talk to him. The anger I was feeling before, the fire that was lit in my belly has died off. I'm exhausted. I want to go home and eat something sweet while watching an action movie.

Sometimes you’re just in the mood for Daniel Craig.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to throw me under the bus back there." Austin says as he reaches my side at the elevator .

"That's not nearly high tech enough of a way to take you out." I mutter as I open up the ride share app.

"Oh, c'mon, MC, all those brains of yours couldn't come up with something?" He laughs as he steps forward and holds the doors back while I step through. He presses the lobby button and it almost feels like we’re being shut in a barometric chamber. All the air has been sucked out of this small space and I’ve never been claustrophobic until this moment.

I stare straight ahead as an instrumental version of a Black Eyed Peas song plays over the speakers. I can feel Austin’s gaze on me like my skin is being scanned by a laser.I’m not ready to know why I feel so attuned to his presence.

“Shark attack,” Austin says and I whip my head around to look at him.

“What?” And why isn’t he respecting elevator etiquette? The rules of polite society say you should just stare straight ahead and not speak when in an enclosed space with another human.

“A shark attack death would be poetic don’t you think? As long as I was doing something awesome like surfing or wakeboarding when it happened.”

“Maybe you’re taken out by a disgruntled employee, but they give you some weird disease when they sneeze on your salad and you die slowly as your teeth turn to dust and you choke on it.”

“Cruel but that’s closer to what I expected from you,” he says with a wink as the elevator lands in the lobby and he holds his hand in front of the doors for me again.

His long strides bring him next to me as I reach the front door. Sam always complains about how fast I walk. I’m 5’9”, she’s 5’4” and Austin is even taller than I am, 6’2” I’d guess. Again he opens the door for me and holds it as I walk through. It’s this weird waltz we’ve done now three times as he holds the door, lets me pass, and then slides up to my side.

The ridiculous Tesla is still idling at the curb so I’m assuming it’s his.

“Although, with your speech writing capabilities maybe you could go a little more realistic. Snot-borne diseases rarely cause dental issues.” He leans close to make sure I hear him as he passes me and I catch his scent. Salty, and fresh, with a musk like olive oil or something. I feel an awareness turn on in my chest and have to stop myself from inhaling deeply.

And while I am wondering if that scent is sold as a candle I could burn in my studio apartment, my brain registers his words. And how his tone is this infuriating combination of teasing, smug, and confident. And how I don’t want to stop sparring with him.

"My speech writing brain power is better spent trying to solve political problems than debating nonsense with you.” He spins around on his heel and strides back to face me. "AI isn't nonsense. This is going to change the world."

"But not for the better," I ground out as my clenched fist finds my hip.

"It's going to be the best thing since sliced bread. People are going to flock to it for its convenience even though it's laden with preservatives. People are lemmings and don't want to think for themselves. They want to sit back and be told what to think. They want to know that they're thinking what their friends are thinking. They want dumb dance videos and marriage pranks."

"No, people want more than that." I reply but even I can hear how empty my argument is.

"Maggie, c'mon." He stands up a little taller and I only realize how close we have gotten to each other when I have to lift my chin to maintain contact with his graphite eyes. "You're a smart person so tell me, why do videos of people doing something nice for a stranger out perform nearly anything else on the internet?"

"Umm, I ah," I mumble.

"I'll tell you, they go viral because the people on their phones don't realize that humans can interact with each other. They've completely forgotten that positive, real life, interactions exist. They're living in their algorithm and not thinking for themselves. They're sending memes to their friends instead of meeting them for coffee and talking to them. They're following GPS directions in their hometowns because they've forgotten how to think for themselves. Most people think they’re political because they know the words to Hamilton or watched The West Wing with their parents but have never canvassed for a candidate or connected with their representatives.”

I won’t admit it but he just described half of the frustration I experience at my job. It is sexy to be on the side of the young female candidate. But while I’m going to take the backing from people who are voting for her because she’s a woman, a part of me wishes they’d pay attention to the issues and understand what the policies mean.

"So your solution is if you can't beat ‘em join ‘em?"

"More or less. It's too much work to right the ship; we're headed straight for the iceberg, but I can play some lovely music while the boat sinks."

My ride share pulls up and rolls down the window, "Ride for Maggie?"

I'm still stunned that Austin wants to be the string quartet conductor on the Titanic while the rest of us fight for our lives.

"Time to go," Austin says and then he leans closer and I can feel the heat of his breath on the shell of my ear as he whispers, "next time I'd be happy to give you a ride."

He slowly pulls back and his eyes rake over my body. Lava pools in my center under his gaze and I make my way to the gray sedan on wobbly knees.