Andrew’s expression was completely blank. I wasn’t fazed. I’d rehearsed this presentation fifty times before today. I was confident in my subject and my decisions, and I couldn’t wait to get Andrew excited about my plans. Even if he didn’t show it.
I talked them through the research I’d found, some of the market measures and relevant statistics, and a few of the branding ideas I’d been working on.
“So an entirely new team?” Andrew asked.
“I’ve read in three key creative people about our plans. They’re enthusiastic and talented. I want to keep them. Some of the back office can stay if they’re on board, but unless people have the skills and experience we need for the future, keeping them on is just prolonging the agony.”
Still no reaction.
“Moving on, I’ve put October first in the diary as the launch day. Key for launch is getting free advertising from other media. We want to go out and talk about your grandmother and her legacy. We’ll need to have tight communications on why we’re switching from celebrity gossip back to real news. So that’s also what we’re going to be talking about in the first issue—the rise of celebrity gossip and its impact on politics, power, and the real news media. Hopefully we can get people talking.”
Andrew didn’t so much as nod throughout my hour-long presentation. Douglas spent most of the meeting with his head down, scribbling notes.
Had I expected anything else?
As I wrapped up my presentation, Andrew checked his watch. He asked a couple of questions on the financial model and then stood.
“I’d like a sensitivity analysis on the cost exposure. Work with Douglas.”
He swept out, and Douglas pulled his papers together and scurried after him. Before he closed the door, he turned. “Great job.”
I’d take that from Douglas, especially since it was more than I’d ever get from Andrew. I’d have Andrew’s verdict based on whether or not I had a job next week. At least I knew how he operated. Still, I couldn’t help but focus on the rush of air from my deflating heart as I stared at the back of the door.
Thirty-Eight
Andrew
My new assistant, Trudy, knocked on my office door at exactly ten thirty-three. She’d asked me three times yesterday whether or not this meeting was a mistake because of the time. Other than that, Trudy was shaping up quite nicely. She was almost as irritable as I was and clearly had no desire to discuss anything but work. She was efficient and didn’t seem to be offended by my monosyllabic responses to her questions.
She wasn’t Sofia, but she’d do.
“Come in,” I said, standing and rounding my desk.
“Aryia Chowdhury,” Trudy announced as the writer followed her inside and then appeared from behind her, holding out her hand.
I took it, careful not to crush her tiny fingers. “Aryia.”
“Thank you for making time to see me. From what I’ve read about you, I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“Verity Blake was important.” I guided her to one of my guest chairs as I took one opposite her.
“We have a real plot twist now you’ve gone and invested in Verity, Inc.” She pulled out her tape recorder and pad. “Do you mind?” she said, placing the recorder on the desk beside us.
I shook my head.
“I think this is the first interview you’ve ever done, isn’t it?”
I pretended not to know, but she was right. “I’m not a celebrity.”
“But you’re kind of famous in your world.”
I pulled my mouth into an almost-smile. “We’re all kind of famous in our own worlds.”
“Good point. Was your grandmother a star of your family as well as the publishing industry?”
“Absolutely,” I said, my body starting to relax. I could talk about how amazing my grandmother was until the cows came home. “She was the matriarch of our family until right up to her death.”
“And as a child, did you have a sense of how important she’d been as a journalist and as an example to women?”
I thought back to the woman I’d loved. “Not as a young child. I just saw her as a warm, fun woman who I loved. As I got older, I was drawn to her because she was one of the rare people in my life who talked to me about complicated, difficult things. We’d often discuss the articles in Verity, Inc. around the family table.
“What did she pass down the generations?”
“A fire in my belly. Her work ethic was incredible. She stayed contributing editor right up until we sold the magazine, and her passion for what she did showed me what work should be. If you have to work—not for the money or the status or the power, but because you feel you are on a mission—that’s purpose. We all have a purpose in life, but many of us never find it. My grandmother made sure I knew that whatever I did, I should feel passionate about it. I should feel like it was my destiny.”
The journalist paused and looked at me. “And your purpose is to help companies become more efficient?”
“Among other things.” I wasn’t here to talk about me. I wanted to talk about my grandmother. “My grandmother’s purpose was journalism. To find buried truths and bring them into the light.”
“I like that,” she said. “Truth into the light.”
“But she was also passionate about her family. Yes, there was truth and light—it was simply her nature to illuminate the dark spaces in life—but there was also warmth and happiness and laughter. Everything was brighter and more exciting when she was around.”
“And her husband, did he feel outshone by her?”
I smiled. “Absolutely not. He was lit up by her. We all were.” I thought about it for a minute. The running of Verity, Inc. had been passed to my mother when my grandfather died. “He wanted to see her shine.”
“For a man of his generation, though . . .” She stopped herself. “Even for a man of your generation, it’s sometimes difficult to be near powerful women.”
“I can’t speak for men of any generation,” I said. “But my grandfather’s shine wasn’t dimmed by my grandmother’s light. He basked in it. And my father encouraged my mother’s ambitions as if they were his own. I’m built the same way.”
It was one of the reasons I had to end things with Sofia. She should know she got the Verity job based on her talent and ability. Not because she was fucking the boss. I wanted her to be incandescent.
“Andrew?”
“Sorry, what did you say?” I never zoned out in a meeting, but the personal nature of Aryia’s questions made it too easy for Sofia to interrupt my thoughts. I wondered what life would be like with her. She had the same passion as my grandmother. I saw it in Sofia’s mother when I met her, too. I could imagine us around a kitchen table debating the issues of the day, teaching our children what was important in life. Living. Loving. Basking.
I’d expected to end things with Sofia and move on with a clean slate, just like I had done with every woman I’d ever been involved with. But the less I saw of Sofia, the more I thought about her. Had I been stupid to offer her the job at Verity? I could have just fired her. She would have found something else. And then what? Would we be together, spending our nights around the kitchen table, talking about current events over big glasses of Barolo?