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She looked up as Willis walked into the newsroom and stood surveying the cramped, cluttered space. His green gaze met hers. Something in his eyes made her muscles tense.
Willis raised his deep graveled voice to be heard above the typing, talking, and telephones. “Can I have everyone’s attention? I have an announcement to make.” He had to repeat himself before the cub reporters heard him. “Let’s step into the conference room.”
Andrea and her fellow reporters exchanged concerned looks before two of the five followed their publisher and the administrative assistant, Vella, into the large meeting room. From the anxious expressions on the faces of the three reporters on the telephone, they would be ending their calls quickly to join the group.
Peter Story, who covered New York’s hockey teams—the Islanders and Rangers—leaned his hips against the room’s far wall. “What’s going on, Will?”
Willis waited until the staff had filed into the room, circling the large, battered rectangular conference table. No one opted to sit.
Henry Chin, the baseball reporter, rushed into the room. He must have hung up on the person with whom he’d been speaking. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” Willis shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded brown pants. “Where are John and Alice?”
Henry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re still on the phone. Sounds like Alice’s talking to one of the Red Bulls’ coaches and John’s interviewing Eli Manning.”
“I’ll speak with them later, then.” Willis scanned the room, which was teaming with boxes, dust, and edgy reporters. “There’s no easy way to say this. Sports has been struggling for several years now. I’d hoped we would make it to the end of this year, but I don’t know if we’ll make it to the summer.”
The air sucked out of the office. A couple of Andrea’s colleagues seemed to check their balance. Andrea’s shoulders slumped under the weight of another uncertain future.
Henry’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“The paper’s folding?” John Adai, the football reporter, had just joined them.
“How long have you known?”
Andrea winced at the accusation in Peter’s tone. “The signs have been here for a while.” She just hadn’t been brave enough to see them. The message was carved on Willis’s face. His hollowed green eyes and grayish pallor told the story of the strain he bore.
Peter turned on her. “He told you?”
Andrea shook her head. “He didn’t have to. Why do you think the freelance budget went away?”
Vella nodded. “The holiday party was cancelled, too.”
“How long do we have?” Alice Ramirez’s question came from the conference room doorway. The soccer reporter looked resigned.
Willis pulled his fingers through what remained of his lank, gray hair. “I’m not sure yet.”
Peter heaved a frustrated sigh. “At least give us an idea.”
“A few months. June or July.” Willis shared his gaze with the rest of his staff. “I’ll give everyone here a letter of recommendation. You’ve all earned it.”
Peter snorted. “A fat lot of good that’ll do us. We don’t need your
letter of recommendation. We need jobs.”
Willis nodded. “And I’ll do everything I can to help you find jobs as soon as possible.”
Vella wrung her hands. “Maybe we could take pay cuts, at least until the paper’s finances are stable again.”
Peter turned his scowl on the assistant. “Are you kidding me? He’s barely paying us anything now. I’ve got bills to cover.”
Andrea clenched her teeth. “Everyone in this room is going to be devastated if this paper folds, including Will. Vella is trying to come up with a solution.”
Willis held up one hand, palm out. “Cutting the payroll isn’t an option. I realize I don’t pay you what you deserve. But I pay you as much as I can.”
John frowned. “Will there be any cutbacks? Training camp’s going to start soon. Will our expenses be covered?”
Willis lowered his hand. “Yes, just try to keep expenses down.” He looked at Andrea. “You can travel for the play-off away games, too.” His gaze took in the rest of the room. “As soon as I work out more of the details, I’ll let everyone know what’s going to happen when. I’m sorry. More sorry than I can tell you.”
