He’s not helping the situation. As I’m talking, his expression is inscrutable.
Finally, I get a grip on the verbal carnage and shut up. I wait for whatever’s coming next.
“Goddammit, Linden,” he says, voice caustic. Being murdered with a ballpoint pen might be more pleasant than his quiet wrath.
“I know.”
Do I? I’m not sure I know anything.
“No, I’m pretty sure you don’t. This was a massive fuck-up on your part. You never should have taken that meeting.”
I’ve been slowly figuring that out on my own, but hearing him say it only makes me feel like the neophyte reporter he knows I am. And I’m a little pissed that I can never do anything right where he’s concerned. I’m also mad at myself for giving him proof.
“I get that. I’m trying to do the right thing now,” I say.
“The right thing? I don’t think you can possibly know what that looks like, based on today.”
“Fine! Tell me. I’d like to learn from this. You can’t possibly think I enjoy being constantly beaten down by you.”
I see a minuscule softening in his face, just a muscle twitch in his cheek, but it doesn’t do enough to disrupt the tight set of his jaw. Finally, he blinks his eyes for a long moment and shakes his head. “I need to talk to Stuart.” He gets up and starts walking quickly to Stuart’s office.
“Should I stay? Go?” I ask. I have no idea what he’s thinking or whether I should be following him.
“Don’t go anywhere!” he shouts, still striding away.
I look at the piles that are stacked and spread across every inch of my desk. I need to organize the Zumalife files and check the wires again. This job never ends. News never ends. That used to excite me, the never-ending parade of events and information. I loved being at the center of it, knowing what was happening in the world first, even if I wasn’t the one who was writing the big stories.
Now it just feels like I’m racing a bullet train with no chance of keeping up. I’m exhausted from this day that has already stretched past the twelve-hour mark. Is this what he does every single day? Is this what it takes to be at the top of a person’s game around here? If so, I’m not sure I want it.
Oh, I’m lying. Of course I want it. Knowing the peak is so far out of my reach makes me want it even more.
Over in Stuart’s glass-walled office, I can see Jack pacing around, gesturing with his hands while Stuart swivels in his desk chair to follow the conversation. It’s horrible to know they’re talking about me in there. I can only imagine the awful things Jack is saying. All the things he’s been wanting to get off his chest since I stepped into my reporting job. I’ve just given him the ammunition he’s needed to convince Stuart to demote me back to the news assistant dungeon.
I try to tune them out by organizing my piles and checking my twitter feed, but I’m aware of every ten-second interval that ticks by on the analog clock on the wall.
Finally, I hear a violent twist of Stuart’s door handle and his voice calling to me from across the quiet news bureau. “Sandoval, could I have a word?”
I get up and cross through the cubicles to his corner office, hoping he’ll let me explain my thinking before ripping my job out from under me. “Stuart, I want to apologize. If I had thought—”
“Yes. It was the wrong call. You always contact the beat reporter as soon as you get a lead on a story.”
“I understand that and I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not just a policy at the paper; it’s a matter of respect. Jack has been working his sources and his companies for years and he knows them better than anyone. You should have gone to him immediately.”
I can’t see Jack because he’s still lurking behind me, but I can hear him exhale in frustration. Even his non-verbal’s are irritating. “I realize that. And truly, I’m sorry.”
He waves a hand, dismissing me. “No time for that. We need a plan of attack. Come, sit.” He motions me to one of the chairs opposite his desk. Jack still paces behind me, but Stuart gestures for him to sit as well. “All three of us.”
I don’t dare look at Jack. I know he doesn’t want to be a part of any plan which involves me. When he drops into the chair next to mine, I’m too aware of his scent, the combination of earthy cologne and laundry soap. I wish that sitting this close to him didn’t send a thrill of longing through my entire body.
It’s just chemistry. Basic biology. Ignore it.
He’s hard to ignore.
“It’s not just the phone call. I’m working on getting Ken to do the profile and it’s a very delicate balancing act. This isn’t helping. Does she understand that?” Jack asks Stuart like I’m not even there.
“Okay. You’ll meet with this whistleblower and get specifics: who she told, what she told them, who she interacted with at Worldvision. If there’s a story there, your profile of the CEO just got a helluva lot more interesting. Now it’s not a puff piece on a reclusive billionaire; it’s a scandal at the company’s most popular show,” Stuart says. He looks elated. I’m starting to understand what Jeremy meant about him liking stories better than people.
But there’s a problem.
I don’t see the story happening with Jack at the helm. Call it instinct, but I can’t imagine the magical seduction of womankind that’s Jack’s stock in trade working on Megan. She’s a scared rabbit. His magnetism will work to his disadvantage and she’ll crumple into a ball of insecurity. I know women like her. Lots of them. I’m not wrong about this.
On the other hand, I’d like to keep my job and Jack can figure this out for himself. He’s the star reporter. It’s not my problem.
“I’m completely fine handing everything over, of course,” I say, making a hand gesture like I’m dumping my files on Jack’s lap. “But the whistleblower… no offense, but she’s not going to talk to you.”
And there it goes again, my unstoppable mouth.
“I’m sorry?” Jack asks, actually seeming incredulous. So now I have to explain.
“I met her. This woman is a meek camera assistant, and this is her one Norma Rae moment. She wants to talk, but she’s terrified of getting in trouble. I could barely get her comfortable enough to talk to me and I’m a non-threatening junior reporter. You’re intimidating. She won’t talk to someone who isn’t an empath.”
“I am not intimidating.” Jack looks at me like he can’t believe I have the nerve to talk to him like this. I meet his gaze, wanting him to know that unlike Megan, I don’t find him intimidating.
“Um, okay.” But it’s all I can do not to blink before he does. His mouth bends into a small smile and he nods.
“And what do you suggest?” he asks in a calm, slightly amused voice.
“I mean… I could meet with her again and see what else she has to and then I’ll go from there…”
“You’re saying you want to write the story,” Jack says, incredulous again. He looks at Stuart for confirmation of how ludicrous I sound. And I know it’s crazy, but I feel like I rose to the occasion today and got Megan to tell me things she wasn’t planning to say. So maybe I’m actually a little bit good at my job and maybe I deserve to write this story.