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“Foster kids. Our stories could be better, but they could be a whole lot worse, too. When I opened B’s, it was with a leap of faith. I plastered a smile on my face, mustered every ounce of determination I had and went with it. At first, I worked private side jobs until I had the cash to lease a place. I never once stopped to doubt. I just . . .” He shrugged. “Went with it. I ignored the voice in the back of my head that had the power to scare me into failing, and I did what I needed to.”
“That’s amazing—that you were able to start a business from nothing like that and succeed, especially in this city.”
Blake shrugged. “I did what I needed to survive. Just like you’re doing what you need to for you and your kids.”
Mel glanced away, and her throat bobbed. Was it the same thing? What Blake described? He sounded strong, self-assured, courageous even, for taking on his venture. But her? She felt like she fell into this promotion.
“Mel,” he said, and she tried to ignore the soft caress of her name on his lips.
Was she that desperate for affection and assurance that she was finding it in this man she only knew for a week?
When she met his gaze, he continued, “You can do this. You’ve got the position. It’s only yours to lose. All you need to do is go in there like you’ve earned it because you have. Plaster a smile on your face, push your shoulders back, and do that job. One task at a time. One day at a time. And all the while, keep your eye on the prize.”
“My eye on the prize?”
He nodded, and the newspaper clipping with the pretty white house flashed in her head. An image of the children chasing fireflies during the summer at night. Raking leaves in the fall and jumping in the piles. A dog dancing at their feet as they ran. Snowmen in the yard.
She met his eyes once more and nodded, her mouth set in a grim line of determination. Just do the job.
A wave of relief washed through her, and something eased off her shoulders—some invisible weight she hadn’t known was there.
She reached out, and this time, she was the one to squeeze his arm. Even through the leather jacket, she felt the curve of his bicep, the firm muscle, and she swallowed. “Thanks,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MEL
As the new executive editor, Mel was just below Hillary as chief operating officer. She would run the entire editorial department for the digital column, while Hillary oversaw all departments—the print magazine, digital, and everything in between.
Being an executive editor meant a good deal of the weekly meetings were now under her reign. Though their old boss, Blue, was a control freak and managed the bulk of meetings and editorial assignments herself, the new owner of PopNewz, the infamous Jayce McConnell was not a fan of matriarchies apparently; hence the new restructuring and Mel’s promotion, which meant a lot of the old tasks Blue used to control, were now her responsibility. To say it was surreal was an understatement.
She sat in the conference room, waiting as the PopNewz editorial team filed in and took their seats. Below the expansive boardroom table, her knee jiggled. The hand gripping her pen was slick with sweat, and her pulse raced.
What if no one took her seriously? What if she vomited all over the boardroom table and made a spectacle of herself? She could see it now. The new headline in her own magazine would read, New Executive Editor at PopNewz Fired After Spewing Cheerios all Over Her Editorial Staff.
Her usually Zen nature had vanished in the last couple weeks. Work used to be her safe place. A place where she could chill and unwind from responsibilities at home. Now it was another place where she’d be challenged mentally. With that thought, dawning struck as she realized the root of her problem. Taking this promotion meant she’d no longer have that same refuge from the selflessness that was motherhood. Before, she got to lunch with her friends, have coffee, and catch up, all while doing something she enjoyed for a living. Writing her column had been low stress, easy work because it came naturally. But now . . . Work was new and scary with a ton of new responsibilities—good, yes, but the fear she might screw up trumped any previous enjoyment. She no longer had an escape in her work. She’d be challenged and pushed. Everything was shiny and new, and she was quickly filling with self-doubt because of it. It was screwing with her head.
She watched Dave, their new hire as of last week (the only male on the editorial staff), settle into his chair, coughing to hide the fact that he passed wind on his way down. The door closed with an ominous thud, which is when Mel glanced around and realized with a jolt, the room had filled during her fretting. Everyone was accounted for. They stared over at her with a multitude of expressions. Some bored, some with the twinkling eyes of a predator eyeing its prey. They spotted the weak, and it was their time to pounce.
Beneath the table, she felt a firm hand come down over her jostling leg and glanced to her right to see Marti. Marti raised her brows, giving her a fierce look, as if to say, you got this. When Mel looked to her left, she knew what she would find, and sure enough, Caroline sat there, poised, as gorgeous as ever with her shampoo-commercial blond hair and flawless makeup. Two best friends, flanking her like support beams. And when Caroline grinned and mouthed, “So proud of you,” all of Mel’s doubts dissolved into a cloud of dust.
She had sat in on a million of these meetings with Blue. She knew what she was doing.
Just do the job, she remembered Blake say.
Steeling her spine and squeezing her pencil tight to squelch her remaining nerves, she tipped her chin. Hillary had announced her tentative promotion to the entire crew last week, so there was no need for pleasantries or introductions. They all already knew her. But she had been their coworker for four years and on equal playing ground. Now, she had to be their boss.
“Okay, let’s start with the Community section, shall we?” She shifted her attention toward Beth, a slight brunette with a sunny disposition. “I know you might have something for me, but Hillary came by my office first thing this morning. Word is, two women just filed sexual assault suits against the infamous Jimmy Frank.”
Beth’s eyes widened. “The actor?” To say she was a huge supporter of the Me Too movement was an understatement, which is why Mel picked her for this piece.
Mel nodded. “We want you to take it. Supposedly, they attended one of his acting retreats for up and coming talent and say he exploited them. Can you handle it?”
The light in Beth’s eyes brightened. “Absolutely.”
“Great.” Mel made a note in her binder of Beth’s assignment, then glanced beside her. “Caroline.” Mel forced down her smile. She had to be impartial, no playing favorites. “What have you got for me?”
Caroline folded her hands in front of her, her lips quirking. “Well, when I was walking into work today, I passed this woman. She was dressed all in black. Black lipstick, eyeliner, everything. I was thinking maybe something along the lines of what it’s like to be goth as an adult in the workplace. I mean, we’ve all seen those kids wh
