Newspaper nemesis.

"Jenna, I hope you will acquaint yourself with Seal. Seeing as he is your only lead on this story, I took the initiative to set you up an interview, maybe he can follow you around and help." Abraham tries to hide his laugh and plays it off as a cough.

He knows what he just did. He just set me up for failure before I even had a chance to start the story. But I can't give him the satisfaction of a negative reaction. Two can play at this game.

"Thank you hammy." My cheeks ache from the large smile I give him, but I don't stop until I am around the corner and he is out of my site. He hates that nickname. I slouch against the wall that separates the writers from the editors and photographers. This story is my only chance to make it to the other side of the 'great divide', the colloquial name for the wall in the middle of the office. It turns the simple square into two rectangles and acts as a physical representation of the emotional divide between the workers in the office. Which fits the whole vibe of the publishing company itself, "The Division". Abraham's father chose that name when he took over the Wall street journal after it went bankrupt. It used to publish truthful stories that were happy and brought a smile to its readers, but now it only publishes political debates and, even though we say we are an unbiased publisher, we aren't. Abraham's father new what people would buy so he gave it to them. Stories about the war, the political battles between countries and states, and any other conspiracy theory he deemed fit to be labeled as truth. Everyone in the office conforms to his rules, that's how you get the job, but I don't. It seems my moral compass isn't broken like the others and that's why my stories never make it past editing. Sometimes they change a lot of the content but most of the time they just don't bother and move on to another story.

My eyes drift across the room of people typing vigorously on their keyboards, the clicks echoing through the open office. The writers have the best view of the city; glass windows surround the tables and chairs showing the city around the building we are in. The other half of the office faces the river, which is often covered in mist during the winter, just like today. I gaze at the glass meeting room, the smallest of the ones in our side of the office. In it, sitting at the small wooden table in an office chair that is way too small for him, is Seal. My only hope. A thorn in my side. An ex-military soldier now professional bodyguard. Well, he used to be, until his only client was shot dead at the global peace conference two days ago.

Clearly, he wasn't any good at being a bodyguard. I have to make peace with this stumbling block, the quicker I do, the quicker I can get this story done. My shoulders straighten and I roll up my office shirt and re-tuck it into my slacks while I stride across the room and head to the meeting room. The black fabric of my pants is oddly thick and scratchy, I never usually try a new brand of pants, but I spilt coffee on my jeans, and I will not show up to work and have Abraham call me out for 'peeing' my pants.

I open the door and Seal stands up.

"No need to stand."

His large body squirms in the chair, creaking as if the chair itself is crying out for help under the pressure.

"So, your name is Seal? What about that?"

His voice is deep and almost uncanny, as if in any moment he could reach across the table and end my life within seconds.

"It was the name given to me by my team." Nothing more. Nothing less.

The interview went on for almost an hour; it was like sucking water out of a rock. Impossibly hard and irritatingly amusing. He was exactly what you would think a bodyguard would be. Like talking to a wall. A strangely handsome, slightly pissing me off wall. Near the end I escaped for a coffee, anything to get out of that room.

The kitchen is small and is at the other end of the office. I take my time, each heel slamming against the grey carpet in a soft rhythm. I got to the kitchen, reaching for my coffee mug at the top of the shelf. Even while wearing high heels, I am still not able to reach the back of the top shelf, but considering the cleaner knows I am unable to reach it you would think he wouldn't put it at the back on the top fricking shelf.

"Almost. There." My fingers fiddle with the handle dangerously sliding the mug closer and closer to me.

"Here, let me help you." A blue sleeve reaches up at my mug and grabs it. I follow the arm down and see none other than Abraham. His usual smirk sits on his face. He lowers the mug but misses the counter and it releases from his hands. A thousand shards scatter across the kitchen floor gliding on the smooth tile. As if hell below sent him, Abraham's father walks into the kitchen to see the mess.

"What the hell is going on here? Jenna, why are you dropping you mug? You're going to pay for it not the company."

My jaw is locked; I keep my anger under control but Abrahams little laugh sends me on a spiral.

"Yes sir." The fire in my mouth is almost too much, but I can't release it, I am so close to getting a story published. Considering what Seal told me, by tomorrow I might have a full story.

That week I spent my hours researching the full story. From all perspectives. Seal and I wondered to the hall where the peace conference was held earlier this week, he stood by the wall while I searched for anything and anyone to talk to. I ran around town after work finding witnesses, trying to find out who assassinated Seal's client, the head of the international unity group. Fighting for peace, sadly, is never peaceful.

I'm currently leaning against Johanna's desk in her unusually large office room. She didn't get it herself of course, the only way to get an office this large is to sleep with Abraham's father. Her desk costs more than my salary for the whole year.

"That's one way to buy someone's silence." My hand slides against the glazed wooden desk.

Johanna stops in her tracks; she was previously pacing back and forward telling me about how my writing isn't even worth reading in her free time.

"What?" Her eyes linger on my hand. Her voice shakes, worried that I know the secret she thinks she is hiding.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry I was thinking about my current lead." I lie through my teeth.

"Well don't bother following it. Its weak and-" Her eyes scan me head to toe. "Frankly, you're no writer."

I roll my eyes, "That's literally my job Johanna."

"Not for long. Now get out."

I rush out her office before she can slam the door behind me, and I slam into Abraham's chest.

"Watch where you're going Abraham, I can't afford to break a nose right now."

"Just the person I was looking for. Jenna." His voice is filled with poison.

"Don't have something else to do other than bother me all day?"

"I do; in fact, my job right now is to bother you all day."

"What do you mean?"

Just in time hell itself sends his father who strides down the office, eyes locked onto me like a missile. Ready to serve a massive blow. And he did.

"Ah, Jenna, just the thing I'm looking for." Thing? what am I an object? "Glad to see that you've met your new partner for whatever story you're working on. Abraham told me that you were in dire need for help. So, I assigned you the best writer we have. Abraham himself."

"I'm one day away from resigning." I turn to my left and walk anywhere but near those two.

Abraham sees this as an opportunity to annoy me more and decides to follow me. We end up in the kitchen where it is quiet. There I let a rip.

"Are you ****ing kidding me? You know that I have little less than a week to get this ****ing story to the writers and editors before your father decided to move on to the next ****ing lie that he paints as the ****ing truth. Damn you."

"Jokes on you Jenna, I'm enjoying every little bit of this. I know you're going to fail, I'm just here to help." He grins from ear to ear and it pisses me off. I want to slap that smirk off of his face.

I sigh, "Whatever, just don't get in my way."

"I won't make any promises."

"So, here is what I have. Someone on the inside helped the shooter get in." I read from my notes, my shirt is covered in coffee and breadcrumbs from this morning where I stalked a detective and bombarded them with questions. "That's it. But, considering that there were only three people close enough to the head of the IUG I'd say we can narrow it down to either the driver or... Seal."

Abraham listens intently but his eyes wonder around the room. We went back to the building where the shooting happened, we headed upstairs to one of the private offices to make a plan.

"You're overthinking this." He snatches the notes from my hands. "Clearly it's the driver. Case solved." He lifts his hands above his head holding my notes above me, wanting me to jump.

"Abraham, give me my notes back you-"

He tosses them to floor. "Aw come on, you know you love me."

"Damn you."

I kneel down to collect my notes.

"This story will make front page. Written by Abraham." He stands triumphantly.

"You? I'm sorry, its going to be published under my name. You'll get in on the by-line if I'm feeling generous."

"Ha. Ok, you do release the reason my dad put me on this team is because he can't have someone like work for his company. And as long as the press doesn't know who you are, then as far as they're concerned you don't exist."

I open my mouth to unleash all the anger and hate and every other emotion I feel towards him out but a noise in the corner of the office room catches my attention. There is a door, hidden behind a poster. I move closer my body movements slow and planned.

"Where are you going?" Abraham sounds annoyed that I'm not paying him any attention.

I can feel the cold draft coming from the bottom of the poster. I know there is a door behind it. In one swift motion I pull the poster off the wall and fling it to the side. Abraham quickly walks over to my side and stares in awe at the metal door I just found. His body is to close to mine. My heart races, he is so annoying and childish. But up close he is pretty attractive; his blonde floppy hair and glasses secure the nerdy look he gives off. To bad he has a terrible personality.

My handshakes and reaches for the door handle. The metal is cold against the tips, and I fight against the wind to push it open. A weather warning was sent out this morning for an incoming storm, the biggest we have had in a while, if the temperature continues to drop then it might start snowing. Abraham holds the door open, his arm just inches away from my head. It looks like he works out.

"Like what you see?" He is enjoying this too much.

"Oh please, don't flatter yourself. Although I guess this is the first time a women other than your mother has looked at your muscles."

"So, you where gawking."

"Shut up."

I walk into the stair way, the cold wind hitting my skin and pressing my damp shirt against my body. Why didn't I bring my jacket, I always leave it in the car. Abraham shivers too but tries to hide it.

The stairs lead to the roof. The strong winds howl around us. Being on the roof seems to be dangerous especially at this time.

"Let's go back." I turn around but see Abraham already pinned against the wall by someone who looks a little too familiar. Strong build, abnormally large, terrifying.

"Go." His voice deep and uncanny. Like he could kill me. "Go onto the roof. Now."

I walk out onto the roof, by legs crumbling in fear as the wind pushes me to close to the edge. Abraham follows and the door shuts behind us. He gets up and tries to ply the door open. It doesn't move.

The clouds circle us, like vultures circling prey. Threatening to shower us with bullets of rain. The droplets begin to pour; the wind turns icy. The clothes on my body wrap around me dancing in the wind. My hair covers my eyes and blocks my vision. I stand up, struggling against the wind and forcing myself against the small wall while the wind tries to rip me off of it. Abraham does the same.

"I would have never ended up in this position if you didn't assign me Seal out of spite!"

"Oh, sure blame me."

"Yeah, I will. Cause I got the story YOU wanted, and daddy couldn't change things in time to give it to you, so you tried to screw me over."

"I never wanted this story. I was just trying to help."

"Damn you, Abraham. You know for a fact that you don't want to help me. You've been trying to get me fired since I got here."

"Are you so self-obsessed that you think I was against you?"

"You know damn well you were."

The rain begins to pour down, harder than before. The cold seeps into my bones. The wall is only about 30cm wide on each side of the door. There is no space between me and Abraham anymore. My heart is racing.

"Damn you, Abraham."

With the storm coming in we would be lucky enough to last at least an hour before we freeze to death. My eyes catch his. Damn him. I grab the collar of his shirt, which is always creased. His lips meet mine, almost too fast, but he doesn't pull away, in fact, he pulls in closer. The wind seems to die down, the cold stops, my heart races. He pisses me off. I pull away.

"Damn you." I mumble under my breath.

He grins. His evil, sly grin. He is going to hold this against me to the day that I die. Which might be today.

"It's still my story though."

The handle above us jiggles, and someone bashes it open, leaving wood pieces lying on the roof, quickly being swept away by the wind that has picked up. Standing in the stair well is Abraham's father, looking worried and relieved that he found his son. I stand up and the wind pushes me forward. We both stumble into the stair well and I am grateful to be sheltered from the wind.

"This story better have been worth it Jenna. Otherwise, your fired."

Abraham's father's words where like bullets on my skin. I nearly died, and for what. He walks ahead and through the room where my notes still lie on the floor. Once his father and the police officer who was with him walk out of the room it is just me and Abraham. The rain has us soaked, our shirts sticking to our skin. I'm not complaining though, his is white and underneath it I can faintly see his muscular build. I knew he worked out but damn, he's done a good job.

He notices me staring and puts his arm around my shoulders. I push him away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me in closer leaving no space in-between us. He leans in, he towers over me. His mouth reaches my ear.

"It's still my story." His breath is warm and chuckles softly as he walks out of the room.

I stand there. Cold, wet, confused, and annoyed. Nepotism runs in the company. I was and will never be able to beat Abraham. But I have the upper hand. He didn't pull away. And if his friends knew, his reputation would be over.