First Comes Love - Ashlee Price Page 0,1

myself just in time. I’m not the producer for StormTV anymore, no matter how much I want to be. My place is here now, even if we all know I’m no Collin Storm.

I wander to the door, then out. I know, without thinking consciously of it, where I’m headed. Where I always go when I lack inspiration, or when I just need a break from it all. Better that than me snapping at some clueless intern, which I’ve been doing more than I’d like to admit these past few weeks.

Makes me feel like a slacker, strolling off with everyone else hard at work, but I did pull several all-nighters last week to get through all the company’s day-to-day minutiae, plus get caught up on all the press conferences and tell the reporters, “Yes, sorry, we still don’t know how it happened,” when what I really wanted to say was, “No, I don’t know how Dad died and I wouldn’t tell you if I did, you bloodsucking leeches.”

Outside, the air is fresh after a rain, although I see no signs of it. A few blocks, and I’m there.

Ulric looks up first, smiling his one-toothed smile. “Lookee who the cat dragged in.”

That’s another thing I like about being here, under the McGuinty Overpass: Ulric and the others don’t care who I am or what I do. Sure, they may tease me about my fancy suit from time to time, but at the end of the day, I’m just the same as them, another guy working on a wood project. A wood project that, once it’s finished, should provide shelter for around 20 homeless men.

“How’s it coming along, boys?” I ask.

Harry pops his head out of the tent to knock two bottles together. “Ain’t get shit done when you aren’t here, ya know.”

“Now…” Marlow protests, pausing between two cigarettes to wag an admonishing wrinkled finger. “We did adjust it, now.”

I chuckle, walking over. “No worries.”

The structure is about three quarters done, a bunch of pine boards and nails that don’t go far in their current state yet are still better than what these poor guys are living in now: old, stinking tents that are one rip away from being a pile of useless fabric.

The bag of tools is where I left it, so I get to work, hammering away at the boards, losing myself in the bliss of being actually useful.

“Imagine seeing you here,” a familiar voice purrs.

I keep on hammering away, hoping beyond hope that she’ll go away.

But Amelia Cavendish only switches which hip she has her hand on. “You going to make me stand here all day?”

“I’m busy.”

“And I told you, I can help.”

I pause, already knowing this is going nowhere. “Amelia.”

She bites her lip. “I could help with… moral support?”

I shake my head. “Not in the mood.”

“Maybe I like charity work too, ever consider? God, you’re such a conceited prick.”

I look at her, deadpan. I don’t mention how the only times she’s been here are when I have, conveniently because this area is visible from her office window. Nor do I mention how our fling a few months back is done, how we have virtually nothing else in common. I don’t need to.

“Amelia, this has to stop,” I tell her.

“Fine,” she hisses, tossing her Coke can to the side.

The boys have the decency to hold in their chuckling until she’s several feet away.

“Fuck you, Greyson Storm!” she yells over them as she storms off.

“Guys,” I say over their hooting laughter now, “can’t you…”

“We didn’t say anything,” Harry protests. “Just like you said!”

Last time, after Ulric’s innocent ‘nice skirt’ compliment had Amelia threatening to sue, I’d suggested to the guys that it might be easier to keep it down until she, inevitably, left.

My phone goes off.

It’s Madeline. “Greyson, thank God.” She sounds terrible, like she’s just finished running a 10K and has a runny nose to boot.

“You OK?” I ask.

By the sound of it, my assistant might need a vacation to recover from her vacation to Costa Rica. She was just supposed to go to Corcovado National Park’s rainforest to make sure all was running smoothly after we lost contact for a few days, but…

“No, no I’m not, actually. Everyone here has the dengue fever. I… uh… I have it too.”

“Shit. Where is everyone? Did they manage to make it to the hospital? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, don’t have it too bad, just this fever and a bit of vomiting. As for the others, they’ve booked the next flight out of