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“Jesus, Gerry! I’ve done my apprenticeship.”
The words were bouncing around the room before Darcy realised she’d said them. She looked at Mark. There was a fight going on at the corner of his mouth, one side ticked up with the vague promise of a smile. He wasn’t going to shut her down.
“I’ve been reporting for ten years. I’ve covered business, sure not at your level, Gerry. But I know the drill. I’ve worked crime, education, science and public companies. I’ve done bloody awful death knocks, and bat shit boring budget lockups. I’m damn sure I can interview a CEO and come away with a decent story.”
“A reclusive superstar CEO about whom not a word’s been written that’s not pure speculation or conjecture.”
Gerry had a point. Gerry always did, that’s why he was the country’s leading business commentator and Darcy was rattled by this whole thing.
One minute she was writing about particle physics, the next Mark wanted her on a plane to Shanghai to write the definitive piece on Australia’s most enigmatic businessman.
This was the ‘Oh my God’ particle right here.
But if she showed any sign of weakness, any twitch of confidence, Gerry would elbow her sideways so hard she’d be writing the racing guide. And if Mark, for all his apparent consideration and support, smelled a whiff of fear, he’d have no qualms reversing his decision.
“I’ve got this, Gerry,” she said, looking at Mark. Mark who’d sign her expenses and ultimately approve her copy. And bounce her so hard if she fucked up, a job in a suburban paper writing about the need for more school safety zones would start looking good.
Gerry’s head whipped around. “Sounded like your old man there for a minute, Darce.”
Trust Gerry to bring Brian up. He’d never gotten over losing out to her father on the managing editor job at the Financial Record. Every chance he got he’d made a dig about it. The inference was always that Darcy only had a job because Brian pulled strings.
Gerry glared at Mark. “I get copy approval.” He hauled himself upright. “I’m still business pages editor.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” said Mark. Now the shouting had stopped, he was doing his imitation of the earth cooling, brows going it back to their habitual position above watery grey eyes that’d seen too many pissing competitions like this. “Get out. And if I have to break up a racket like what just went down between the two of you again, I’ll find a way to bloody well dock your pay.”
He would too. And there’d be nothing they could do about it. Mark was wily. If he needed to walk on water to run the paper he’d come up with special moves to keep his feet from getting wet. You didn’t survive as managing editor of the Herald without knowing how to out-manoeuvre, out-bully and outsmart a mob specialising in manoeuvring, bullying and being near criminally intelligent.
Darcy let Gerry quit the office first. She wanted a word with Mark. He let her hover uncertainly while he read an email. He had a way of making you feel like you were taking up too much space on the planet.
“What, Campbell?”
“They asked for Gerry. You’re taking a risk on me and I want to know why.”
“I’d better not be taking a risk on you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Mark sighed. ‘You’re the investigative reporter, take a stab.”
“Parker won’t be able to pick where I’m going with the story because my current resume isn’t on point. It’ll be harder to manipulate the interview because I’m an unknown quantity.”
Darcy watched Mark for a nod or a meaningful blink. She got nothing. “You’re sending me because my tits are more impressive than Gerry’s.”
He picked up his phone and thumbed it. “That’s my good little investigative reporter.”
“I can’t believe...”
Mark dropped his phone and zeroed in. Mean glare at two paces. “Will Parker is a thirty-something year old ghost. He’s never done an interview. The only reason Parker’s people initiated this is because he suddenly needs to build a local profile. The guy wants something and we don’t know what. We’re not his bloody PR agency, but that’s how he’s treating us. If we want the real story on why Parker wants to expand his interest here instead of China where he’s been based for the last ten years, we’re going to need to fight for it. And your tits are better than Gerry’s.”
“You want me to seduce him?”
“Come on, Campbell. Every interview is a seduction; you know that. You learned that as a cadet. Hell, you probably learned it at Brian’s knee. Yeah, I want you to fucking seduce Will Parker. Seduce him so he flashes his soul and all his grubby business interests at you, so you can stick ‘em on page one, and wreck any chance he has of ripping off the Australian public in his quest to make another billion.” Mark took a lungful and expelled it impatiently. “Is that clear?”
“As glass.”
“And you get I’m not actually telling you to flash your tits, or sleep with the guy?”
“I do. Anyway he might be gay and my tits are not that good.”
