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She smiled tightly. “You just leave Stuart to me.”
That afternoon, she called an impromptu meeting. The rest of the team slowly congregated, clutching their second cups of coffee and exchanging wary glances at Tanya’s unusually forceful tone. Mduduzi winced in empathy and Jin came to my side in a silent show of support.
Tanya leaned against the wall and smiled like a madman. “As some of you may know, Tamar’s been working on a story about the Leopards and Loft Athletics—mainly that the Leopards are burying Loft’s negative ratings in order to make sure Loft’s sponsorship of the new training facility goes through. We’re breaking the story, people, so get excited.”
It took another hour to get everything ready—the accompanying photos, the copyediting, the formatting—but soon enough we were all gathered around Wyatt’s computer, getting ready to send it into the world. Tanya nodded briskly. “Let’s go, then.”
“We’re sure?” Mduduzi glanced at me. “Last chance for us to back out.”
It warmed me that he said “us” instead of “you.” I smiled grimly at him. “It’s the truth.”
And Wyatt hit publish.
* * *
Shit hit the fan immediately.
We huddled around Tanya’s wi
descreen computer, a window open showing the article page and another tracking mentions on Twitter.
Which blew up in seconds.
Our tweet to the link got re-tweeted over a hundred times in less than a minute. Then the other news sources started chiming in—CNN, Gawker, the AP, SI, Reuters—Sports Today Claims Leopards Deal with Loft Is Unethical. And: Helmetgate?
The NFL was deadly silent.
Eight minutes after we hit publish, Today Media’s CEO Stuart Kingsley stormed into the office, closely followed by the editor-in-chief of the normal news blog and the vice president of PR. Tanya stepped out of her office to meet them as they marched through the near empty newsroom, and we poured out behind her, a show of force that struck me as not unlike a rebel army.
The editor came within spitting distance of Tanya and pointed a stubby finger at her. “The fuck is this? I told you we didn’t want to rile Loft. And the Leopards? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“It’s called news,” Tanya said steadily. “Have you forgotten that’s what we report on?”
“Fuck that, Tanya.” For a man who made his living through words, he didn’t use a particularly large vocabulary. “Have you forgotten that Loft’s ads are what keeps your precious magazine afloat?” His angry, mottled gaze swept all of us. “Which one of you wrote this?”
I could feel the tension of the room, thick as the summer fog, but no one looked my way. No one spoke.
I stepped up. “I did.”
The guys groaned softly behind me.
Stuart Kingsley’s displeasure narrowed in on me. “And who the fuck are you?”
I folded my hands into balls to keep them steady. “Tamar Rosenfeld, sir. I started four months ago.”
“Oh?” His expression purpled. “Four months, is that it? And after four months you think you know enough about this business to undermine everything?”
I couldn’t come up with anything to say.
He closed in on me. “At least most reporters sleeping with their subjects have the good manners not to write about it!”
I raised my chin. “It wasn’t safe.”
“Then write it in your diary! You know what else isn’t safe? Losing the money that keeps us in business and putting your whole team out of a job!”
My eyes widened. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“I don’t care what your fucking intention was, I care about results. And you...” He ran a hand through his hair, and then jabbed a finger at me. “You’re fired.”
