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“It has to be done in the next month,” said Madden.
“You’re only doing this because of what happened yesterday.”
Madden slapped his hand over his heart and rearranged his meathead into an expression of hurt. “I’m shocked you’d think I’d be steamed you challenged my authority in public. You’re my star reporter, a living legend. Our readers will want to watch a hard-bitten champion of the fourth estate find true love in a questionnaire with a woman who thought he was gay. Who wouldn’t? It’s genius.”
“Chan is more interesting than me.”
“Afraid of a little multiple choice are we, Haley?” said Spin. Dickhead.
“It’s a little more than a check in a box,” said Potter.
Madden tapped the tabletop. “And because you’re a good guy, Haley, you get that this paper is struggling, and what makes our owner happy is lots and lots of readers.”
Jack closed his eyes and blew out an irritated breath. He was caught against the ropes and his opponent was bigger, meaner and paid his wages.
“And you also get that our lifestyle stories bring us lots of lovely readers, and our advertisers like that. And, Jack, if you fuck with Shona or me on this, I’ll spike your next juicy exposé so fast and replace it with, oh, I don’t know, some junior school kid’s discovery of an ancient civilization using only Google and a crushed Oreo. You got me, Haley?”
“Loud and clear.” Bastard.
He suffered consecutive back slaps as the room emptied, yeah, yeah, very funny, but he focused on Potter. “Give me this questionnaire. I’ll get it done today.” No time like the present to bury this idea where the sun and a snappy URL would never shine. He’d be so boring they’d spike the story.
Potter gathered her folder of stuff. “It’s not that kind of a questionnaire.”
“It’s online?” That made sense. “Okay, email me the link.”
“It’s not that kind of questionnaire either.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a discussion based on a set of questions.”
Shit. “I can’t do this now?”
“No, it’ll take a couple of sessions, each addressing ten questions.”
He did a quick calc. Not multiple choice. A minute a question and that was generous, ten minutes a session. He could knock this out in thirty minutes. No sweat. His phone was going crazy buzzing in his pocket and he had a deadline to meet. He held his hand out. “I got it.”
“No, Haley, you haven’t got it.”
“Right, right. Derelie-rhymes-with-merrily has to do it too.” She could come get her own questionnaire.
“You have to do it with Derelie.”
Oh hell.
“You and Derelie have to sit together, face to face, and discuss the questions, all of them, and record your responses and how they make you feel about each other. You need to meet a couple of times, over drinks or dinner. You can expense it.”
No freaking way. He didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense. “You’re jerking me around.”
“I’m not.” Potter’s phone rang and she silenced it. “That’s how the experiment works. Plus there’s the eye contact exercise.”
Fuck that. Thirty minutes, an hour tops, in a bar with a beer and Derelie and he’d have it done. Fact that it’d be next to useless in terms of the happy ending wasn’t his problem. Artie “Heartthrob” Chan was on standby.
Potter went for the door. “I’ve gotta run. Derelie will fill you in.” She left Jack standing in the empty room.
He called after her, “Who’s Derelie?” but Potter put her phone to her ear and didn’t respond.
“I’m Derelie.”
