Chapter 15 The Invitation
Chapter fifteen
The Invitation
Jameson Sinclair
I balance two cardboard cup holders of lattes on one arm while opening the newsroom door with the other.
Before heading this way, I sent a message in the paper’s group chat asking if anyone wanted anything from the campus café.
I got a flood of replies, but there was only one that I cared about.
The entire reason for the message in the first place.
As I wind my way through the series of desks and filing cabinets, I drop off drinks to those who placed an order.
My bank account might be a little lighter after buying all of these, but it’s worth it if Marigold’s day gets brighter.
I approach our little section of desks in time to hear Marigold and Paisley talking.
“Are you going?” Paisley asks from where she’s sitting crisscross on her desk.
“I don’t know, a Valentine’s Day party in a frat house sounds about as pleasant as a root canal with no lidocaine,” Marigold replies, and I hold in a laugh.
“It’s better than sitting home alone.”
“Is it?” Marigold laughs.
“Think of all the people watching you’ll get to do. It’ll make for great inspiration.” Paisley tries to convince her.
I decide to make my presence known. If I lurk much longer, they’re liable to think I’m eavesdropping. And they’d be right.
“What will make for great inspiration?” I ask as I deposit Paisley’s iced matcha on her desk, then give Marigold her maple cream latte. She asked for a triple shot, but I got her a double. Hopefully she doesn’t notice. There’s no way that much caffeine is good for a person.
“Alpha Pi’s President, Carson, is throwing a Valentine’s Day Extravaganza,” Paisley says while waving her fingers for extra-dramatic pizzazz. “He's practically invited the whole school. I found a flyer stuck to my door this morning.”
“Correction: he’s invited all of the women. Jasmine said Shepherd didn’t see any flyers on his floor,” Marigold says with a shake of her head.
“Carson lives in a frat house—he knows he doesn’t need to bother inviting guys,” Paisley says as if it’s obvious, and not creepy.
“Sounds like a terrible time.” I give my opinion as I set my English Breakfast tea on my desk.
“That’s because you’re allergic to fun, James,” Paisley says, and I catch Marigold smiling behind her coffee cup.
“What part of my shoes sticking to a beer-stained floor surrounded by creepy guys trying to flirt with women is fun?”
Marigold tips her cup toward me. “He’s got a point.”
“Since when are you two on the same side?” Paisley asks, exasperated.
“He brought coffee,” Marigold explains with a shrug.
I smile. My plan worked! If only I could afford to bring everyone coffee every day. I’d bring it for just Marigold, but she’d probably get suspicious and pull back.
“Belmore, Sinclair.” Charlie’s voice cuts into our conversation.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway of his office. He waves us over. I share an uneasy look with Marigold. We turned in our article yesterday. Paisley combed over it before we did and said she thought it was fantastic, but there’s no telling what Charlie will think.
We walk side by side to his office, then I let her go in first. She takes the seat across from Charlie, and I stay standing.
Charlie leans back in his oversized office chair.
He probably thinks he looks like the editor in chief of The Washington Post or a mafia boss.
Instead, he looks like a little man in a big chair.
“I read over your article last night, and I have to say, I was surprised.”
His words do nothing to relieve the tension in the air. I glance at Marigold, who’s got a plastic smile frozen on her face.
“I didn’t expect the direction you went in,” he continues. A grin spreads across his face. “It was fantastic! I should have known two of my best rookie reporters would pull something together like that.”
My brows shoot up in surprise. I watch Marigold soften, her smile turning more genuine.
“I’m glad you liked it,” she says.
“I loved it,” Charlie replies. “And I want more. I think this could get recognition beyond the university, even beyond the city. The Thrashers are likely to win the championship. If they do, these articles could end up in big publications.”
Marigold brightens. I smile at the sight of her excitement.
“That would be amazing,” she breathes out. I nod my agreement.
“I’ll be talking to the contacts I have. In the meantime, keep up the good work. I want an article every week. The more material we have to pitch, the better.”
My head rears back. Every week? That’s more than I expected for a series on the hockey team. Though I guess this is a slower season for Thrasher sports. Our basketball team isn’t the best performing, and football is over. It makes sense to fill the sports column with something like this.
“What about other projects?” Marigold asks him.
Charlie dismisses the question with a wave.
“I want you two to focus on this. Don’t worry about anything else until the season is over.”
Marigold frowns for a second but quickly smoothes her expression when Charlie looks at her.
“You got it, Chief,” she says brightly, in a voice that doesn’t sound like her at all.
I know Marigold developed a passion for sports from being around my family, but it’s never been something she wanted to focus on. Neither was journalism, though, and here she is. I wonder when she’ll stop settling for what she’s good at and reach for what she’s passionate about.
“Great. Now get to work. I’ve got things to do.”
Marigold stands at Charlie’s words. We both head out of his office. I close the door behind us.
“I can’t believe he loved it that much,” she breathes out, her hazel eyes sparkling.
“I can. It was a great idea,” I tell her.
She gives me a small smile. “It was great writing, too. An idea is only as good as its execution.”
“Without you, the writing would have been terrible,” I retort.
She lets out an exasperated laugh and shoves my shoulder lightly.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but take a little credit. You worked hard.”
I smile down at her. She touched me.
“Fine, but only a little. If we get some kind of award, I’m giving it to you.”
Her soft giggle makes the entire room brighter.
“That’s fair.”
“Well, how did it go?” Paisley asks, peeking her head around a stack of papers on a filing cabinet.
Marigold laughs at her spying friend.
“He loved it!”
Paisley’s eyes light up. “I told you he would! We should celebrate.”
Marigold gives her a flat look. “You’re going to say we should go to the party, aren’t you?”
“You know me well.” Her lips turn up in a mischievous grin. “What do you say?”
“Fine,” Marigold groans. “I’ll go, but only if my roommates aren’t planning something. Well, besides Jasmine, who I’m sure will be spending the evening making out with Shepherd somewhere.”
“Yay! I’m going to break out my pink cowgirl boots.” Paisley walks back toward our desks, and Marigold follows her.
Looks like I’m going to a Valentine’s Day party.