Chapter 16
Caroline
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I take full responsibility.”
Eddie leaned back in his chair behind his desk, a heavy scowl painted across his face. I’d only seen him this upset once, two years ago. The journalist that had pissed him off was fired right after.
I wouldn’t lose my job over this, though.
At least, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t.
“You said you had it handled,” he said in a flat tone.
“I know.”
“You said it would help take your mind off the attack in Paris. You said it would be calming for you.”
“I was wrong. I’m sorry, Eddie.”
His jaw tightened.
“I promise this won’t happen again,” I went on. “If there’s another knife attack, God forbid, I’ll voluntarily take a few days off and pass any journalistic work off to Callie or Frank.”
Eddie’s next question caught me off guard: “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do what? Write his biography?”
He nodded.
“Of course I do,” I said a little too defensively.
“Even though it’s dangerous?”
“Dangerous?” I scoffed. “Tell that to Genavieve in Syria. I think she took some shrapnel in the arm last week, then finished her piece before her deadline.”
“Just because Genavieve’s job is dangerous,” he said, “doesn’t mean yours isn’t. If you can’t make your deadlines, then I have to put you on sabbatical until you finish the biography.”
I stood up and fixed him with a stare. “I won’t miss any more deadlines. If I do, you can put me on sabbatical and I won’t raise a fuss about it.”
It was his turn to scoff. “Somehow I doubt that.”
I returned to my office, closed the door, and put my headphones on.
I worked best when I had someone to prove wrong, and I quickly got into a groove.
I finished one of my pieces, and reviewed the edits for another.
Once those were done, I went out into the pit where all the junior journalists had cubicles.
I quickly found two colleagues who needed some help, then returned to my office and wrote seven more pages on two different topics.
It was dark outside when Eddie poked his head into my office. “It’s ten o’clock, Caroline.”
“Oh, is it?”
“You’ve proved your point. I trust you to get the work done. Stop self-flagellating and go home.”
I worked another ten minutes before leaving, making sure to copy Eddie on a final email. By the time I crawled into bed, it was pushing midnight.
A text popped up on my phone while I was setting my alarm.
Rafael: Hey, you up?
Me: I’m normally in bed by now, but you caught me right before I turned off my phone.
Me: Is this a booty call? Because this feels like a booty call.
Rafael: Sorry, it’s been a mess of a day and we’re on West Coast time. What are your plans tomorrow?
Me: West Coast? You guys are flying all over. We were in Paris yesterday.
Rafael: Harrison never stops working. What are your plans tomorrow?
Me: I kind of want to avoid the question, to make you ask me a third time.
Rafael: Fine. If it will speed this up: what are your plans tomorrow?
Me: Tomorrow’s a Thursday. I’m working.
Rafael: Can you work remotely? Harrison is meeting with the head of the Screen Actors Guild and a few movie stars. You should be there.
Me: Why didn’t Harrison ask me himself?
Rafael: Because he’s swamped putting out fires related to Lucien’s AI acquisition. Are you in or not?
Me: I could work remotely. But I’m still pretty jetlagged from France.
Rafael: Lean into it. We’ll send the jet for you. Be at the airport first thing tomorrow morning.
Me: First thing? Putting aside the fact that I haven’t said yes yet, can you be a little more specific about when my flight leaves?
Rafael: It’s a private jet. It can leave whenever you get there ;-)
Rafael: See you tomorrow.
I wanted to argue, to insist that I couldn’t just drop everything on Harrison’s whim. But I couldn’t resist the thought of seeing them again. Harrison and Rafael.
I stared at the winky face emoji Rafael had sent, then set my alarm.