Kit Castille didn't want to be one of the girls who worshiped Matthew Rondillo in college. She doesn't want to be one of the girls in his little black book now. But she gave her heart to Matthew all those years ago. Driven by revenge, she's on a mis...
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It's been a week since the Tagaytay escape. I'm not even sure if I should call it an escape. It seems, at least to me, that I walked right back into a trap.
I am back at the office. Today, I'm wearing tasteful work dress on a Friday night. For someone who wears black jeans and leather boots on a daily basis, my boss Joey finds me making ginger tea at the office pantry and immediately panics.
He places his coffee mug on the counter, makes a face and asks the one question he fears the most.
"Where is your interview? Do you want an increase? Name your price."
I laugh. Then I immediately regret my first reaction. I could really use a raise now to afford my own apartment in the city. Joey and I share the same passion for writing and creative arts. I interned for him back in college when he was still an assistant creative editor at a news daily based in Makati. When he found out I wanted to focus on design rather than journalism, he immediately offered me a junior level position at the new creative company he transferred to.
We are good buddies. So over ginger tea, I tell my boss that I have a date tonight with Matthew.
"Ex editor-in-chief cum asshole Mathew?" he clarifies.
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Photo by Scott Baracquel Jr.
I nod and I immediately see his face bear the recognition I have feared. He probably knows more about the 'editor who got fired' more than I do. He probably wants to give me a play-by-play of how the 'ex editor-in-chief cum asshole Mathew' put the entire project at risk when he, one day just decided not to get to work nor call, at the very least. Maybe, Joey wants to give me a lecture on irresponsible guys like that, how assholes ruin strong women.
But when he realizes that I am drinking ginger tea instead of my usual black coffee from the local java joint downstairs, he backs off. He knows that I have gone completely cuckoo and that no type of intervention can ruin my sex high.
He gives me a knowing look before leaving the pantry. "Practice safe sex," he says and leaves me alone.
I sip my tea slowly, allowing the hot steam to make me flush as I recall what had happened in Tagaytay last week.
