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Bottom line was, there were a million moments since my run in with Ben Oviatt last week where I could have just quit on the spot, but, somehow, I persevered. After all, no one could get anywhere in life without a little hard work. But I just wished it was actuallyhard work I had to hurdle through and not horse-donkeys and grapes stuck in my toes. I also knew that being the "new girl", as I had come to being known, I had to bide my time and pay my dues before getting better jobs.
I was back at the office and completely exhausted. I threw myself at my office chair and rested my eyes. But too soon, I heard footsteps coming, jolting me awake. Damn, there wasn’t even a few seconds to rest around here.
Through bleary eyes, I saw Lucy wince as she gave me an apologetic smile and a small wave.
“Sorry to bug you, Olivia.”
I quickly waved her sentiments off.
“No, no. It’s fine,” I reassured. I’d honestly make time for whatever Lucy needed. Admittedly, she gave me the freedom to discover how the job worked by myself, but she was always more than willing to answer my questions when I didn’t understand something in the office.
“How can I help?” I plastered on a smile and straightened myself in my chair. I went to swipe the tiredness from my eyes before I remembered my mascara.
“We have another pitching session in a few minutes. Are you ready to go?” Lucy asked.
I couldn’t help the frustration that had me dropping my head back to stare at the ceiling. The fluorescent light kind of blinded my eyes, but I needed some time to muster up the energy of the universe or something like that because my own personal energy was drained.
“Definitely,” I finally said to Lucy, lolling my head just enough to see the pity in her eyes. “I’ll be there in just a minute. I’m going to freshen up real quick.”
Lucy nodded and left me to collect myself.
I dug out my small makeup bag and did a quick touch up and fluffed out my hair, fully stalling going to this meeting.
The other thing that kind of made me not want to go to this pitch was the memory of the argument I overheard from Ben. It kept coming back to me over and over. There was a lot of emotion in his voice, almost like he was struggling to get his words out as calmly as he could. It was haunting. And while my curious side wanted to know every single thing about that conversation, I still knew it wasn’t my place to ask. But my brain didn’t like that answer.
Gathering up every morsel of my energy, I stood up and walked to the conference room. Thankfully, I wasn’t the last one to get there. I didn’t need everyone’s attention on me again—at least, not in a negative way. I sat as far away from Ben as I could possibly manage.
I hadn’t seen him since that evening in his office and I wasn’t trying to get close to him. The charge in the room that night had been almost too much for me to handle.
But I’m not ashamed to admit that, in my dreams, a few times that visit to his office had ended very differently. It had ended with his mouth on me and my hands in his thick hair—
Someone in the room cleared their throat, zipping me back to the present. I took a deep breath and on a long exhale, forced the thoughts of Ben from my head.
The senior staff—who covered the political campaigns—went through their pitches and answered a million questions, admittedly thoughtful questions, from Ben.
Lucy, as usual, nailed it.
“You really made the ballot story thoughtful and comprehensive. Well done.”
Lucy simply nodded and took her seat again as a few other staff members clapped for her. From Ben, that praise was positively effusive. It was always refreshing to see Ben actually give positive feedback. Usually, he was very critical. He wasn’t nitpicky or mean. In fact, his standards were very concrete, but it just took a lot of hard work to meet those standards. Someday, I hoped the positive feedback would be directed toward me. But I wasn’t holding my breath.
I tried hard to listen, but honestly, I was just trying my best to stay awake and dreaming of a gallon size jug of iced coffee. But I caught a glimpse of Ben during another pitch and saw his strong eyebrows pinch together, the corners of his eyes creasing. His full lips—why was I noticing his lips?—dipped into a small frown.
Minutes, or hours, passed. God, I was so tired. All my brain heard were the questions that Ben fired at each pitch.
“Was this really all the quotes we got from the mayor?”
“Are we sure this isn’t a misquote again? Wedohave a history of posting stories with false statements, after all.”
“Why did your data not show any voters’ projections in the eighteen to thirty-five year old demographic? How can we present this story if we’re incomplete?”
“Is this really all the footage we have of the senator of New York?”
They were excellent questions. He was insightful and wanted stories to be as thorough as possible. It made me realize that his hands-on approach propelled OVT’s reputation as a nationally respected news outlet. It was just that his voice was really, likereally, smooth. And deep. It kind of rolled over me like the waves in the deepest part of the ocean. It was way more relaxing than it had any right to be. Even though he was giving criticism and shooting holes in people’s work, it was as calming as if he’d been reading a poem.
I was unable to stifle a yawn that escaped. Something I deeply regretted when his eyes snapped to mine. Green like the clouds in a severe thunderstorm before a tornado.
“Am I boring you, Olivia?” His voice was calm. Deceptively calm. His raised eyebrow was the only thing on his impassive face that revealed his annoyance.
