Ryan runs to block my door. “Wait, wait, Ms. Pierson. Hold that booty for a second. What do you mean it’s not finished? Deadline for print was last night. We’re all waiting on you.”
That article he’s asking about… I haven’t even started it.
I try to buy some extra time. “How about Thursday?” I ask. “We can layer the paper with a fluff piece. You know, something fun and light-hearted.”
His eyes are reprimanding. Even
if he appears jolly and secure, I know he is fuming. “No can do.”
I get the most clicks, the most reads, and I have tons of engaged commenters. Procrastination is not my middle name. The Avalon story should be right up my alley.
Recently, NASA found a distant planet that could serve as another vessel for human life. That’s big, right? However, the information is riddled with holes I can’t piece together.
Every time I try to dive into the data, I can’t help but wonder if we’re being misled. But if that’s true, then my theory was incorrect.
It would mean aliens do exist. It would mean the government hid that fact from the public.
I shouldn’t care so much about the facts. This is a tabloid paper. But if I’m going to be moving on to those bigger and better things, I need to prove I can do the job.
None of that fake news crap.
I need to do it right. Unfortunately, that takes time.
I wrestle past his arm, noticing a few of the female employees look up from their work holograms.
“Ryan, cut me some slack. We have no proof extraterrestrial life exists. If people have extra information on Avalon, we sure as hell don’t know where they are. There’s no paper trail. No leftover data imprints. There’s nothing,” I say.
Now, everyone is looking at me.
I turn flush, dragging my molars together.
Ryan glares. His eyes are light green, but they glimmer in a way that has never made me feel too comfortable.
It was a mistake to date him, but probably an even bigger mistake to dump him. Now, the entire office has a thing around it.
Ryan edges against me. I close my mouth, but I feel ready to explode. “Emma, if you want to talk about what happened with us, we can. I mean, it’s been seven months, but we can do that if you really need to get it off your chest.”
Get it off my chest? Does staying up at night messaging cam-girls count as getting stuff off your chest, because he sure as hell did a lot of that behind my back.
Everyone stares and focuses in on our conversation.
I put on my best face. “I’m not here to hold grudges,” I say. “I just want to make sure I get the story right. I’m still grabbing quotes. There’s this NASA guy I want to focus on, but he’s out of town until… tomorrow.”
None of that is true, but it sounds decent enough. Ryan will believe it. I just need to hold my ground.
Ryan steps away, adjusting his tie. Before turning to address the staring minions, he whispers, “I have my own work to do. If you don’t get the article to me in two days, it’s my ass that’s on the line. Not yours.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “Then let me work.”
“Get. It. Done.”
When I shut the door, I collapse against the cheap wood. It isn’t like me to hide. I rarely allow my exes to give me so much grief. But he’s also my editor. As long as I work for the Daily Star, I answer to him.
Closing my eyes, I snap my fingers, alerting my stereo it’s time for my half hour of Zen.
The calm music drifts around the room, soothing my soul. Soon, I feel my body relax. A deep resonance develops within, and I reach a higher level…
Oh, who am I kidding? The Zen music doesn’t do a damn thing.