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I glanced through her open office door out to the adjoining cubicles, where the three other writers and I had set up our workstations yesterday after our initial meeting. The copy editors and fact-checkers, who were working in unison with us as we sent them finished pages and sent them back marked up with red ink, had their stations a few feet away from us, but they spent most of the time huddled in the conference room that we’d taken over.
“Everyone’s wide awake now, and dinner will soon be here,” I argued. “And I came in here to ask what you think. You’re the only one who has read every word we’ve written thus far.”
She sighed and leaned back in her high-backed office chair, then stretched her neck from side to side. With her short-cropped, blonde hair, serious blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and pale skin, she always made me think of a librarian who never saw the sun. Since librarians had been some of my favorite people since I’d fallen in love with libraries at the age of six, I had liked her instantly when I started working here seven years ago. Her incisive editing, supportive nature, and sailor’s vocabulary she trotted out when under stress, had made her my fast friend.
“Dinner will be here in two hours,” she said. “If you promise to lie down on one of the sofas in the break room between now and then, I’ll share my thoughts.”
She wasn’t wrong about my need for sleep, as was evident from my stiff muscles, itchy eyes, and dull headache. Besides, my three sections were nearly completed. After a quick power nap, I could turn my attention to integrating the other reporters’ finished sections into the larger article. While I waited for them to complete their remaining segments, I would begin writing the 500-word article that would be released as both a teaser and a summary. All of which would be easier after some rest.
I picked up the mug of rum. “Deal.” I took a sip of the liquid, and a trail of heat burned all the way down my throat and into my stomach. I coughed and set down the mug, waiting for Jayna to share her opinion.
“Ashlee, I know this project means a lot to you. It means a lot to your colleagues, too. They’re doing this in part for Aiden. We all are.”
“Okay.” There was a catch in her tone that concerned me. “But I asked what you think about the article.”
“And I’m telling you.” She leaned forward in her chair. “It’s a labor of love, and it shows. It’s solid reporting and smart writing.”
That was the kind of praise writers live for, especially when coming from an editor, but whatever she wasn’t saying was unsettling me. I reached behind me and pushed her office door closed. “Jayna, spill. What aren’t you telling me?”
She threaded her fingers together and propped them in front of her on her desk, then looked me in the eye. “I’m pulling Aiden’s name off the byline. He’ll get full credit as a contributor to the story, like the others here this weekend, and we’ll run a special memorial piece on Tuesday to tie into this. But the article and the byline belong to you.”
I shook my head the whole way through her speech. “Without Aiden, his research, and his idea to investigate the Carbonados in the first place, there is no story.”
“I’ve seen the notes, his and yours. I know how nascent this story idea was when he died and how far it has come since then.” She leaned back in her chair. “This isn’t up for debate. If the story runs, it’s with your byline. And by the way, I’ve never had this argument with a reporter before. Take the win, Ashlee. And the nap.” She shooed me. “Go on, go.”
I left her office in a daze. I wasn’t sure how I felt about claiming the credit for the story. Sleep might help me sort that out, as well. But what I wanted more than rest right now was to hear TJ’s voice. I stopped outside the staff room and texted him.
All is ok. Call when you can.
When I looked up, Scott Magellan was heading in my direction, carrying two mugs of tea. He stopped in front of me and held one out.
I took it. “Is this a peace offering or a poisoning attempt?”
He smiled. It made him look younger, more like his twenty-eight years than he normally looked. “Neither. It’s an herbal tea that will help with that nap Jayna’s been harassing you to take.”
“Thanks, Magellan. Don’t plan any coups while I’m asleep, though.”
This time he laughed. “I like your sense of humor. In another life, we could have been friends.”
“But not this one?” I sipped the tea. It was warm, minty, and soothing.
“In this one, we’re doomed to be cutthroat competitors. However...” He sipped his own tea, I assumed for dramatic effect because Magellan was never at a loss for words. “I do need to tell you two things. One, I was shocked and a little moved when Jayna told me that you requested I be part of this. Aiden was my friend, too, and I’m glad I can help tell the world what happened to him. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome, but you’re not here because you were Aiden’s friend. You’re here because you’re one of the best reporters on staff.” I smiled, unable to rest. “Maybe the second-best one in the building, now that Aiden’s gone. And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it until the day I die.”
“So, what, does that make you? Number three?”
“I’m surprised you put me in the single digits.”
He stared down into his teacup. “Listen, Armand, it occurs to me that I might owe you an apology for doubting your abilities. The deep fake you pulled off for the past six months will become a thing of legend. And this story, the way you hunted down leads, gathered details and on-the-record interviews, laid out the story line so clearly and logically, it’s a thing of beauty. And if you ever tell anyone I said that...”
“Understood.” I tapped my mug against his. “You might not have brought this as a peace offering, but I’m calling a truce, and not just for this weekend.”
He sighed. “Aiden would like that, wouldn’t he?” He tapped back against my mug. “Now get some sleep. By the time you wake up, I’ll have your sections rewritten.”
“Touch my section and you’ll lose your typing fingers, Magellan.”
“They’re all my typing fingers.”
