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CHAPTER ONE
GREER
“My office,”George barks as he walks by my desk, forgoing all pleasantries.
With my focus still on the computer screen in front of me, I curl my lips between my teeth to keep myself from saying something I shouldn’t. But I can’t fight off the eye roll once his back is to me, because any time my boss calls me into his office, it’s never for anything good.
Greer, there’s a cat stuck in a tree in the Garden District. Head over there and see what you can find out.
A main water line busted on Canal; I need you there ASAP.
The senior citizens’ home is having a bake sale.
There’s construction on I-10 and it’s causing traffic delays.
No shit, George. There has been construction on I-10 since the day it was constructed. It’s not news, at least not the kind of news I want to cover. All he seems to believe I’m good for are bullshit public interest stories that never amount to anything. They fill dead air that no one watches.
Don’t get me wrong, I love cats and old people, but I want a story I can really sink my teeth into. I want something that will earn me a position at the City Desk, reporting on the hard news in New Orleans. And one of these days, I want to take George’s job.
“What’s up?” I ask, a few minutes later as I stand in George’s doorway.
“Have a seat.” Avoiding eye contact, he points to the chair across from his desk.
Using those few moments where he’s not looking at me, I take inventory, trying to gauge his mood. His salt and pepper hair is in disarray, the creases in his forehead are pronounced as he frowns at the document in front of him, and his shirt is untucked and loose, even on his larger frame. Unfortunately, he’s not giving much away, considering he always has a resting dick face.
Resolved to whatever fate awaits, I sit in the chair—legs crossed, back straight, hands clasped—as I wait for him to speak.
On the outside, I’m always the picture-perfect employee, ready and willing to do whatever I need to for the sake of the station. But on the inside, I’m clambering to break free from this mundane rut I feel like I’ve been in for the past couple of years.
If I didn’t love what I do so much, I would’ve quit a long time ago. But I got this position on my own merit and I’m good at it, damn it, so I’m not quitting. Regardless of how much George drives me crazy, it’s notthatbad here.
George might be an egotistical asshole, but working for him is better than the alternative, which would be working for my father. Every time I think I’ve had all I can take, I remind myself of that and immediately my life as a beat reporter doesn’t seem so bad.
“I have a new assignment for you.”
He finally makes eye contact and smirks, like whatever he’s about to say is going to make me happy.
Logically, I know he’s about to give me another mind-numbing assignment. But my heart has other ideas. It’s stupid enough to think this might be the day he takes a chance on me. The organ beats faster from the anticipation, but on the outside, I remain cool and calm—not willing to show my cards.
After living my formative years rubbing elbows with New Orleans high society, putting on a subdued façade is second nature.
What if he’s finally giving me an investigative story?
Or he might need me to fill in at the desk…
Someone could be sick or have an unexpected emergency.
Am I really wishing sickness on my fellow co-workers?
“Jeffrey quit,” he begins and I let my mask slip for a nanosecond. My head snaps back in shock. “He got an offer in Chicago and left this morning. Which means I need someone to cover the Revelers’ pregame and postgame reporting.”
Clearing my throat, I minutely shift in my seat. I want to suggest he move Clive over to that position, but I realize that would be disastrous. Clive is such a diva. He would probably quit the first time a player looked at him sideways.
And don’t even get me started on what he’d do in a room full of penises.
“What about Stan?” I ask, thinking if he’s reporting on the Revelers, I can fill his spot as an evening anchor. It would only be periodic, but it would give me a shot and that’s all I need—
“Stan has to stay at the desk. He’s the face of WDSU,” he says abruptly.
