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“Yes I have.”
“Tell me about this freelance work you’ve been doing.”
“Sure. I’ve been working for a community newspaper in the town where I grew up since–”
“Where?”
She realised she was wringing her hands. “Just on the outskirts of New York City, sir. It’s a weekly edition, and we report on matters that… um… matter to the local people. Then we recruit the local homeless to sell it and they get to keep a portion of the money. It’s a registered charity.”
His hard expression didn’t flicker. “Sounds socialist.”
“It’s for a good cause, sir. And I’ve contributed an article every week since I was fifteen.”
“I see. And if I contacted this paper, they’d confirm this?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Well, okay. I’m a busy man so I’ll keep this brief. Anyone who wants to work for my newspaper needs to prove themselves to me as worthy.”
“Of course – and I thrive on a challenge.”
He steepled his fingers. “Good, listen up. Your challenge is to write and research an exclusive front-page scoop for my tabloid newspaper The New York Spin – if you can do that, the job’s yours. Obviously you’ll need to impress the editor – he’s almost as ruthless as I am.” Robertson chuckled sinisterly.
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sp; The vast room closed in on Eleanor, squeezing her lungs. She steeled herself. “I don’t mean to contradict you, sir, but I want to work for your broadsheet, not your tabloid. I want to be an investigative journalist. It’s my dream.”
He shrugged. “I don’t give a hoot about what you want, young lady. Every reporter I recruit is required to get a scoop for the tabloid before they can work for me. You included. It’s company policy. And – as this is my company – it’s my policy.”
Eleanor was baffled into silence. She didn’t want to write for a gossip rag. But perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad if it was only one story. “And if I can find a story for the front page of the tabloid, I can work for the broadsheet?”
“Sure. This game is called ‘proving yourself’. I need to know you’re serious about this position.”
“Oh, I am.”
He smiled like a hungry alligator. “Good.” He glanced down at his gleaming desk and produced a contract, which he held out for Eleanor. “Now, just sign this freelance contract, and – if you prove yourself worthy – we’ll get you’re a proper contract at a later date. Okay?”
Eleanor took the contract with trembling hands. Matthew handed her a pen. She read it through blurry eyes, unable to focus on the words – suddenly terrified. But it couldn’t be that hard, could it? Writing a story worthy of a tabloid front cover? She bit her lip as worry churned in her mind… The writing of it should be simple enough… but where the hell was she going to find a sensationalist scandal? She’d been taught at college to investigate political strategies and scientific data – not how to dig the dirt on cheating celebrities and botox bodge-ups. She shoved her worry from her mind – praying she’d be able to figure it out – then she handed the signed contract to Robertson with sweat-drenched fingers, unsure whether to celebrate or burst into tears.
Robertson dropped the contract to his desk. “Thank you. Now we own your words, huh?”
Eleanor stared at him aghast. “My words?”
He laughed nasally. “Just my little joke. Welcome aboard, Eleanor. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for that story.”
“Me too… thank you for this opportunity.”
He snorted. “Sure. Now if you’d like to wait outside my office, my assistant will arrange security clearance for you for Press HQ over in East Village. You’ll be assigned to a team and the editor-in-charge will brief you.”
Robertson looked down and started to write something in an expensive notebook.
Eleanor glanced at Matthew. He shrugged.
Robertson looked up. “Still here? Don’t you want the job?”
Eleanor stared at him. Her instincts were yelling at her to say no. But it was one story. No one was going to get hurt, were they? Were they? She felt as if she was at the top of a slippery slope: she could walk out of this office now and go back to being a freelance journalist scratching out a living for an insignificant community paper. Or she could take this chance – jump through this hoop – and obtain the lucrative and fulfilling career that she’d always wanted. Surely it was worth taking the chance? This was her dream after all.
“Yes I do want the job,” she said.
