Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,96
the words struggling to come out of her mouth. She looks like she might actually barf.
I stand up from the couch, somehow. My legs are wobbly and my heart is racing, the sound of it moving back and forth between my ears, making it hard to concentrate. “What do I do?” I look to my two best friends.
“What do you do?” Bree asks. “You run to him!”
“Go get him,” Holly says, wrapping her arms around me. Bree, not normally a hugger, jumps in as well.
“One more thing,” Henry says, and we turn back to the TV as a group, arms still around one another. “I have one more announcement. I wanted to officially let everyone know that as of tomorrow, our own Stacey Moriarty”—he holds his hands out toward her—“is moving to midday news.”
“What?” Moriarty says, sounding horrified. Her eyes practically bug out of her head. Clearly, she had no idea this was coming either.
“Congratulations, Stacey,” Henry says, turning toward her, his facial expression conveying that she needs to remember that’s she on television. Live television.
“Well, yes,” Moriarty says, plastering on a less-than-convincing fake smile. “I’m . . . excited to . . . do that, of course,” she says, the words coming out robotic sounding.
David, who’s been sitting at the other end of the news desk, realizes that Moriarty is floundering, and he quickly takes over, closing the show, a task that has been Moriarty’s for many years. And then it goes to commercial.
Bree, Holly, and I stand there looking at the screen in stunned silence.
“This might be the best thing I’ve ever seen on television,” Bree finally says.
“Quinn,” Holly says. “What are you doing standing here?”
“Go!” Bree yells. “Go get your man!”
I don’t even think—I slip on some flip-flops, grab my keys, and run out the door. I get to my car as fast as I can and drive out of the garage, my wheels making a deafening peeling sound as I leave.
I arrive at the station in no time, park my car hastily, and run to the door. The night security guard, who I’ve met on a few occasions, looks me over with a questioning glance. I look down at myself, out of breath from the adrenaline pumping through me, in cupcake pajamas and flip-flops. I also remember my hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun that is currently limply flopped over the side of my head. I’m a hot mess.
He doesn’t say anything, though. He nods at me once and then presses the button that lets me in, the air-conditioning feeling like a cool blast as I go inside.
I pull my hair out of the bun and let it fall over my shoulders, and I comb through it with my fingers. All the while, I’m looking frantically for Henry over the sea of cubicles and evening and night staff and interns.
I feel scattered as I look for Henry. Did he go back to his office? Did I already miss him?
I move around the desks and closer to the studio, where the lights are dim now, the evening news having just finished.
And then I see him. He’s standing on the edge of the studio, looking to be in an intense conversation with David. Moriarty is nowhere to be seen. She must have marched right out as soon as the broadcast ended.
“Henry,” I say, and he turns toward me. When David sees me, he turns and walks away.
And then I’m running. I run directly into Henry, wrapping my arms around him and nearly knocking him over.
“Oof,” he says, as he steadies himself from my launch, wrapping his arms around me.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, into his neck. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“You liked it, then?” he asks.
I pull my head back so I can see his face, his eyes, his lips.
“I loved it,” I say, feeling a little breathless from everything. I lean in and kiss him hard on the mouth.
I pull my lips from his and take in his face again, fully in awe of this man in front of me. “I can’t believe . . . how did you . . . what about . . .” I stammer out, not able to complete a full sentence.
“Well,” he says, his eyes earnestly on mine. “I need you to believe it. I did it because I want to be with you, and I don’t care about all my rules from before. It was daft of me. I was scared, and I’m