Chapter 3
Julia
“Are you sure there’s no one else who can cover this story?” I asked my editor over the phone. “I’m certain there’s someone more qualified. I don’t know the first thing about MMA or boxing or UFC or if any of those things are even the same thing!”
“Listen carefully to me, Thatcher,” Leonna growled. “You are onverythin ice; do you understand me?”
Leonna Pitch —how fitting that her name rhymed withbitch— was my immediate supervisor and editor atSalt Lake Times. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, and there was no question that I wasnother favorite reporter at the office.
If she had her way, Leonna would have me writing fluff pieces for the rest of my career.
“I understand, but—”
“I wanted you suspended without pay, but Wilson stuck his neck out for you. Keeping you shackled to this assignment is the only way I can make sure you stay out of trouble.”
“But I needed to get the truth out!” I protested. “Leo Holistic Lifestyle can’t get away with their mistreatment of its workers. It’s totally hypocritical to what they claim to stand for. I published that article because—”
“You published it behind my back. You hacked into my computer while I wasn’t looking and added your piece to the next morning’s run without my say so. Now we’re facing a libel lawsuit because of you.”
The mere mention of the lawsuit was enough to make me cringe.
Leo Holistic Lifestyle was a fitness turned wellness brand that boasted great things like body positivity, healthy eating, and inclusivity. Their ads were everywhere, on billboards and in print and in thirty second spots on TV. All of their brand models were pretty and ever-smiling, but beneath their squeaky clean outer image was something far more insidious.
“They underpay their employees,” I started, my mouth moving before my brain could kick in and tell me otherwise. “There’s proof that management mistreats their workers. They find all sorts of excuses to dock their pay or cut into their lunch breaks or force them to work overtime without proper compensation. Not to mention claims of verbal and physical harassment! My source gave me plenty of evidence to prove this wasn’t a one-off thing.”
“Your source?” Leonna snorted. “Leo Holistic Lifestyle is claiming that person is nothing more than a disgruntled ex-employee with a history of poor work performance.”
I gritted my teeth. “Of course they’d say that. They want to save face, but my witness—”
“Enough, Thatcher. I don’t want to hear another word out of you. You’re going to keep your head down, interview these meatheads, and write the damn spread.”
“You don’t have to call them meatheads. That’s just rude.”
“Whatever. I don’t have time for niceties thanks to the mess you’ve made. Get to work and don’t let me hear another peep out of you.”
Leonna ended the call abruptly, the sound of her office phone slamming against her receiver clapping loudly in my ear.
I bit back my irritation and headed to Old Marty’s.
I didn’t have anything against sports journalism, but I just didn’t find it all that interesting.
Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be an investigative journalist who got into the nitty gritty. Wartime coverage, exposing corrupt politicians through sharply worded exposés, and investigating the inner workings of powerful crime rings.
But here I was, writing about men who punched each other silly for the right to hold up a shiny gold belt. That was my understanding of the UFC, anyway.
Leonna literally couldn’t have picked a more ill-prepared journalist. I didn’t know the rules, the major players, or what was even entertaining about such brutal displays of strength to begin with.
She just wanted me to fail so she’d have an excuse to fire me. I wouldn’t give it to her.
“Keep your hands up, Cash!” Dylan shouted from the side of the ring. “Red, watch your footwork. I know you’re tired, but don’t let yourself get sloppy.”
Red and Cash were sparring, circling the ring with their wrapped fists raised. They were also very,veryshirtless. Despite all my complaints about this article assignment, there was no denying that the view was nice.
Delicious, actually, but who’s asking?
“Hey, guys!” I greeted, approaching with a little wave. “Sorry I’m late. Parking turned out to be more of a hassle than I thought it would be.”
Red, Cash, and Dylan stopped what they were doing to look at me. Almost immediately, my cheeks flushed with warmth and my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t sure why I felt this way.