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“What?” Hand on the door, Jack looked at Madden. “Got a lead.”
“Don’t leave this room.”
“No, whatever this is. No.” Jack made a throat cut gesture to go with his response.
“The great Jackson Haley is scared of a lurve experiment.” Madden said love as if he was a 1970s porn star. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. His Marvin Gaye impression was better.
“It’s a cute feature.” As well as a crass setup, because the couple who got press-ganged into this would have to pretend they liked each other or come across as entitled assholes. “Pick someone else to be cute in it.”
“I’m picking you.”
Christ, this was payback for pulling Madden up in yesterday’s staff meeting. Jack was about to say so when Potter cut in.
“It’s, um, it would be better if the couple actually had potential.”
Madden wagged a fat finger at Potter. “Enemies to friends, you said.”
Potter scrunched her eyes. “That might’ve been a tiny exaggeration. I was thinking Derelie and Artie Chan.”
Jack knew Chan, the guy worked the health beat, got halfway to being a doctor before he turned to reporting. Derelie was no doubt one of the newbies specializing in clickbait, with a freshly minted degree and a huge collection of shoes. Regardless, he had no time for fluff pieces. “Sounds about right to me...” What was Potter’s first name again? Why couldn’t it just be Harry? “Potter.”
“Not to me,” said Madden. He wore the same evil grin he sported when he was forced to account for himself with the Courier’s owner, and it was directed at Jack. Not good. “You want the feature, Shona, you make it work with Delia and Haley.”
“Derelie,” Potter corrected.
“No,” Jack said, sliding his phone into his pocket and folding his arms across his chest.
“Rhymes with merrily,” said Potter.
It rhymed with zero fucking way.
“Touchdown,” said Madden. No surprise he’d go for this, it was a score-settler. “Here’s the pitch. The Courier’s own Jackson Haley, Heartbeat of the City, takes part in a love experiment and we all live happily ever after. It’s adorable.” The word adorable simply didn’t belong in the man’s mouth. “Readers will eat it up. What do you think, Shona?”
Fuck the love experiment. Jack cracked his knuckles, readying to box his way out of this. He was nobody’s happy ending.
“It’s only, um, isn’t he...” Potter turned from Madden to Jack. “Don’t you prefer, aren’t you—?”
“What?” Madden barked.
“Gay?” she said.
“What?” said Jack. “No.” Where did that come from? A man takes pride in his appearance and he’s gay. Did gay men have a monopoly on a decent haircut and suit-wearing now? If that was the case, then yes, he was gay, the gayest of them all.
“No?” asked Potter. Could she possibly sound any less convinced?
“No.” Fuck, he should’ve said yes, that would’ve ended this since they seemed fixed on the idea of a traditional couple for this shit-show.
“Derelie thought, so I thought. But are you sure, because we could still have you and—”
“Not that it’s any of your business.” Christ, they’d have him doing this with Artie in a minute. Jesus, he needed a smoke. He’d have to detour by the alley before he hit up his contact about the fraud story.
Madden clapped his paws. “That’s it then, you have your story, Shona. Samson—I mean, Haley—and Delilah do the love experiment and we’ll make a big splash of it online, lead story, promoted, and it will be good for the clicks. We throw advertising dollars at it too.”
Jack sighed. He’d get around this by being unavailable. “My investigation and daily deadlines come first.”
“You’re being a pussy, Haley,” said Spinoza, with undisguised glee.
He hated that phrase. Jack’s pussy would give Spin a run for his money.
