Chapter 2
two
Ainsley
~Present~
“ D oes anyone else have any stories they’d like to pitch?” my boss, Mr. Krispen, asks.
I’ve learned if I’m the first one, I’m always shot down, so I bide my time, waiting for the sacrificial lamb to go forth.
I wait.
I wait some more.
I glance around, waiting to see if any of my coworkers are going to say anything, but they don’t.
It’s like a game of chicken. They’re waiting for me, and I’m going to wait them out.
“No one here has a single idea?” he asks again, his eyes finding mine. “I find that hard to believe.”
Of course he does, because Mr. Krispen knows me. I mean, he knows I’m a little eager beaver who just wants to do well. However, for the last six months I’ve been relegated to writing absolutely horrible pieces.
Well, horrible to a girl who is ready to tackle the world.
First, I was assigned a story about whether white really is a faux pas after Labor Day. Spoiler alert, it’s not. Then I got to write a piece about the proper steps for skin care in your early thirties. Which might sound great, but I’m twenty-six. Last month I wrote about hats. Yes, hats.
Therefore, this time, I’m going to keep my big mouth shut and wait for the perfect opening.
I give him a tight-lipped smile, hoping he’ll move on to Tori, his golden child reporter who does not have to write the crap I do.
The difference between Tori and me is that I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut and she does.
It might also be that Tori has been here for five years and has contacts at the Pentagon, but ... we’ll go with option one.
He continues to surf the room and then lands back on me. Shit.
Stay quiet. Stay quiet. Stay . . . quiet . . .
“I have two ideas,” I say before I’m able to stop myself.
One day I’ll learn. It’s not today, though.
He grins like he knew this was exactly what would happen. “All right, let’s hear it, Ainsley.”
“I’d like to do a story about Senator Erickson and the allegations of his family ties to the terror ring overseas.”
That was my second-choice story, and since he always shoots me down, my hope is that he’ll follow his usual process, and then I can write what I really want to write about, which is the tension around the newly proposed bill to add term limits to judges and all public officials.
It’s not getting a lot of attention, and if we could get it into the public eye, it could gain traction, which is exactly what the politicians do not want.
“No,” Mr. Krispen says immediately.
My plan is working.
“I see, and why not?”
He leans back. “Because we are a small-press paper that doesn’t have the resources to go overseas. When Carson Knight bought us out, we were lucky we didn’t get completely shut down. Not to mention, you’ve been here six months, and that would be a major piece that would go to someone more senior than you. Instead, I’d like you to take the story about the new dating app.”
I would rather shove bamboo splints up my nails. “Mr. Krispen, while I think that story probably is just ... amazing, I was thinking a little something different this time. You know, freshen things up a bit.”
He nods slowly. “Like politics and senators who you want to make a connection to a terrorist ring?”
“I don’t want to make a connection that isn’t there,” I defend. “I just want to make sure he’s not already tied to it.”
Aiden, the golden journalist who has been here for two months longer than me, snorts. “I’d like to take a crack at it.”
I fight back the urge to poke him with a pencil. Not the pointy end, the eraser side, right in his ear.
My boss looks as though he’d like to poke me with his pencil—the pointy side, though. “No.”
I need to refocus him on the point that writing about shoes, dating apps, and hats is just not what we should be focusing on. It’s been months of the worst stories, and I need to break into the upper leagues. No more playing in the lowers—or minors? I can’t remember.
I clear my throat. “If Senator Erickson is out, what about a story regarding the bill that was proposed regarding term limits? That would require no budgetary constraints.”
Mr. Krispen leans back, steepling his hands in front of him. “That story could be good for our circulation. There are a lot of discussions going around since it was brought forth. A lot of the bigger publications are covering it.”
I fight back my excitement, not letting my emotions show. “I agree,” I say calmly. Inside, though, I’m doing a freaking jig.
Finally.
I’m going to get to write something other than gossip shit and dumb stories that no one gives a shit about. Last week I had to write about school lunches and whether they are really healthy .
Guess how many people that probably attracted?
One. And it was my dad.
He turns to Aiden. “You’ll take the story. I want the first draft on my desk by next Thursday.”
My jaw falls open. “But, Mr. Krispen, it was my idea.”
“Yes, and I’m giving it to the strongest writer on the team.”
The tightness in my chest is making it hard to breathe. “Sir, it was my pitch.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m aware of that, Ainsley. My job is to make sure the best stories are written by the most qualified reporters. You’ve never handled a story of that magnitude.”
Because he won’t let me.
Ugh. I could scream.
Instead, I think about the Admiral’s advice to always be the consummate professional. No one likes a complainer, as he says.
“I understand that, but it’s not for lack of trying. How about Aiden and I both write the story, and you can choose the better version?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I need an array of options for circulation, and I can’t sacrifice two writers on one story.”
It’s not like my stories are worth a damn, but now that my two ideas were shot down, I’m going to need to come up with something that isn’t ... ChapStick versus lipstick or some other crap.
Tori speaks up. “Ainsley can take my story, Mr. Krispen.”
Oh, hell no. I’m sure it’s terrible if she’s offering it to me. I share a pointed look with my best friend, Caroline.
“I’m sure you don’t want to do that, Tori.”
She shakes her head. “I truly don’t mind. I have several options that were approved already.”
Of course she does.
“Which one, Tori?”
“Well, I know that Ainsley is working so hard to really diversify her portfolio. I think the story I could part with is about the Heisman Trophy winner who became a fireman and saved a little girl in that small town.”
Seriously, I will die.
Because that Heisman Trophy–winning fireman is none other than Lachlan West.
For the last two weeks his face has been plastered on the news for his heroic rescue. I’ve done my best not to drool at the television—and failed.
Four years and zero contact since that disastrous kiss and you’d think my heart would be immune, but no, it’s worse.
“I don’t think that would be a story I’d be good at,” I say with a shake of my head.
Aiden speaks next. “He was amazing. I thought he’d go in the first round of the draft.”
Mr. Krispen nods slowly. “I remember him. When his team played in the national championship, I thought for sure he’d go into the draft.”
“Isn’t he from your hometown, Ainsley?” Tori asks.
“Hmm?” I try to play stupid.
“He’s from Virginia Beach. I swear I saw your name in the yearbook when I was doing my research.”
I shrug, not saying a word.
“I still can’t believe he gave it all up,” Aiden adds in. “I wonder why.”
Under my breath I whisper, “I know why.”
For the first time Mr. Krispen hears something I say. Of course it’s when I don’t want him to. “You know him, Ainsley?”
I have two choices: I can lie and be caught, or I can just fess up and find a way out of any possibility of writing this story.
“I do. I mean, I know of him.”
Caroline’s eyes narrow, and I pray she keeps her big mouth shut.
I didn’t have to worry about that because Tori’s big mouth speaks first. “Really? I saw in there that your brother was next to him in, like, every picture. ”
I sigh. “Yes, I know. My brother is friends with him.”
Mr. Krispen clears his throat. “Then you’ll write the article, Ainsley. If you know him, that’ll make things easy.”
My jaw drops and I sputter. “Mr. Krispen, I really can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m in love with him and he kissed me four years ago, after which I ran and haven’t seen him since.
“Because ...” I pause, trying to come up with something plausible. “Because ... I’m sure many other journalists have already written something. We need something fresh and new. He’s been on the news all week, so, you know, we’ll look behind on our coverage.”
None of that is untrue.
“Find a different angle then. You have a Heisman Trophy winner who is now a fireman? I want the story on my desk by the end of the month. Wow me, Ainsley.”
Wow him? Right. “I just don’t think I ...”
Caroline cuts me off. “I think Ainsley was worried you would want it to be focused on the fire, but I think she’s going to absolutely find the right angle.”
He nods once. “Yes, focus on the sports angle.”
Aiden scoffs. “Wait, you want Ainsley to write about sports?”
My pride takes a hit, and when I see Tori’s grin, I know that no matter what, I’m going to write this damn story.
“I know all about the sportsball, Aiden.”
“Sure you do, since you just called it sportsball.”
“Whatever. I can totally do it. It’ll be the best story you’ve ever read.”
It’ll be something, that’s for sure. Yeah, I know. I’m not the most likely of journalists for the job, but I will be so good. I’ll learn everything, find a new, fresh angle, and I’ll slay this story.
I hope.
Tori sighs dramatically. “You know, I’ll do it. I don’t know that Ainsley can handle it.”
I can feel the stinging in the back of my eyes, but I won’t let the tears come. No way will I cry in front of the entire team. Not. A. Fucking. Chance.
I get to my feet, once again my mouth running away before my brain can catch up. “Absolutely not. I know that I can write an amazing story. One that this paper will be proud of.”
Mr. Krispen brings his hands to his mouth and purses his lips. “You’re sure you can do this?”
“I know I can.”
“You want to write about sports?”
No, but it’s all I have. “Yes, and I’ll show you that I can cover a multitude of topics, and hopefully, next time I pitch an idea, you’ll consider me for that.”
“If I give this to you and you don’t deliver, you know you’re writing about shoes and scarfs from now on?” Mr. Krispen asks.
If I screw this up, he can fire me. Although I have enough self-preservation to keep that to myself.
“All right, Ainsley. You have the article. Good luck.”
I’m going to need it when I show up on Lachlan West’s doorstep after four years.
Everyone filters out except for Caroline, who leans against the table, laughter in her eyes. “You’re going to write about sports?”
“Apparently. I mean, it can’t be that hard to learn about football or whatever.”
It’s better than having to write about Lachlan the child-saving hero.
“Oh, honey, you thought the baseball team in New York was a football team and that there were innings in the hockey game.”
“How was I supposed to know it was quarters?” I ask, confused.
She slaps her forehead. “Periods. They have periods, not quarters.”
Right. I swear they explained that at the game the other night. I went because it was free. The paper has tickets or something, and they gave them to Aiden, who gave them to Caroline.
I had no idea how freaking cold it was going to be in the arena. That was an unpleasant surprise. Although it is ice hockey. Still, one would think the part where fans are would be comfortable and I wouldn’t need a damn coat.
“At least I learned all about icing.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, every penalty called you just yelled ... icing.”
I shrug. “Well, they called it a lot.”
“And do you even know what it is now?”
She thinks she’s so smug. I totally know what it is. “It’s when the ball?—”
“Puck.”
“Goes past that line back by the guy in the cage?—”
“Net,” Caroline says with a sigh. “For fuck’s sake this conversation is painful.”
“Right. And the other players are too slow to get to the other line. Was it red? Or blue? Anyway, it’s a line and they weren’t there.”
Caroline lifts her head to the ceiling before looking back at me. “You are the absolute last person in the entire world who should write about sports.”
“Not the point. I wanted this assignment. It’s finally my chance to prove that I’m a capable and intelligent journalist who can handle any type of story that hits my desk. I graduated summa cum laude from NYU, and I’m going to go to Ember Falls, get what I need, and write a killer article.”
When I got this job, I had a plan to get some bylines and then work for a much more reputable publication. It’s not that this place is bad, per se, just not exactly respected as a newspaper.
Still, I had bills, and my father refused to give me any assistance after school. So here I am, making a living.
Caroline smiles. “I know you will.”
I let out a long sigh and lean against the cubicle wall. “I’m going to do amazing, right?”
“You’re going to do better than that. What’s your plan?”
“First, I need to research his football career, because all I know about him is as my brother’s best friend. Is there, like, a football for dummies? ”
“Yes, but even that might be too advanced for you.”
I stick my tongue out at her. “Shut up.”
“Well, have fun in Ember Falls.”
“Yeah, I will have the most fun ever.”
And isn’t that the understatement of the year?