2. Harper #2
“You’re twenty-seven,” he reminds me. “That metabolism isn’t going to last forever, kid.”
“I think it’s already starting to fail me,” I say, patting my stomach.
He huffs out a laugh and then pats his much larger stomach. “We’ll continue that conversation when you’ve caught up with me. I’ll even buy you a set of suspenders to mark the occasion.”
I laugh at the image he’s put in my head.
“So how was the city council meeting this morning? Anything good?”
I groan and shake my head. “You know it was boring and uneventful. I’m still not sure why you sent me. Just a bunch of people making promises they have no intention of keeping and getting paid way too much money to do it.”
He makes a noncommittal noise while I stay quiet. After a few seconds, I say, “Ev Nikitin won another case today.”
“I heard. It’s all over the news.”
“So, I was thinking,” I start to say, but he cuts me off with the creak of his chair as he sits up straighter to get a better look at me.
I meet his eyes, the brown a few shades darker than Watson’s, and know I’m going to hate whatever it is he’s about to say.
“You have assignments, Harper. Ev Nikitin is not a story. He’s a damn good lawyer, and I’m sure he’s an even bigger asshole, but he’s not your story. You need to let it go.”
“Let what go?” I ask, aiming for innocence and, judging by the look on his face, falling short.
Okay, so maybe I’ve brought up the fact that I think there’s more to this guy, that maybe it’s a little odd that he never loses and refuses to speak to the press.
The truth is I feel like Ev is my ticket to a better position.
“If I could just get an interview with him,” I try again, but Arthur waves my words away with a swat of his hand.
“He’ll never agree to it. You work your way up like you’ve been doing.
Maybe you’ll catch a break, maybe you won’t, but every article you write is honing your craft.
You’re still finding your voice, Harper.
Give it time, but the last thing you need to be doing is wasting your energy trying to land an interview with a man who’s never going to give it. You need to let it go.”
“My gut is telling me there’s a story here, Arthur.”
“Your gut is wrong, probably confused because all you feed it is sugar and caffeine. Maybe it’s just begging you for fiber and you’re confusing it with a hunch.”
“I really don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”
There’s an amused glint in his eyes when he says, “Maybe, but either way, drop the Nikitin obsession. No good is going to come of it, and I need your brilliant mind on other stories.”
“Like dog adoption and city council meetings?”
He points his pen at me. “You got a great dog out of that story.”
I can’t argue with that, so I mutter a quick, “I did, yeah, but I’d like a story with more substance to it. Something that would make the front page of our site instead of being a clickable link at the bottom of the page.”
“Hey,” he says, “I put you mid-page. Jace gets the bottom row with his recipe section and foodie articles.”
The corner of my mouth quirks a bit at that, because no matter how low on the site Jace is, he never gets mad.
He loves cooking and considers covering the Autumn chili contest one of the highlights of his year.
I’m envious, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t muster up any sort of enthusiasm for the stuff I’m currently writing.
Arthur picks up on my darkening mood and leans forward, the ancient chair groaning in protest when he shifts his weight. “Patience, Grasshopper.”
I lift my eyes so I can properly glare at him. It’s one of the first things he said to me after he’d hired me and I’d immediately asked to cover a murder that had just taken place. He’d said no then, just like he’s saying no to me now.
“If I didn’t love and respect you so much, I’d be really pissed right now,” I tell him.
He gives me a big smile, making every wrinkle stand out on his face.
There’s no way I can’t return it, but I duck my head to at least try and tamp down some of his excitement.
The guy already knows how much I love him, and he uses it against me every chance he gets.
It’s infuriating, but my anger is always short lived.
Arthur took a chance on me and hired me when no one else would.
Fresh out of college, I lacked the experience and the connections to get hired at any of the big papers.
With zero references and a pitiful resume, I hadn’t stood a chance in hell.
When I’d met with Arthur, I hadn’t been expecting a miracle.
He’d taken one look at my resume and tossed it aside before handing me a pad of paper and a pen.
“Write me a compelling piece on the rising cost of fruit,” he’d said and then set a timer for forty-five minutes and walked out of the office, leaving me stunned and clueless where to begin.
I put everything I had into it, and then I’d spent the last fifteen minutes paring it down to a word count that would allow for people’s dwindling attention spans.
I’d been nervous as hell when he’d walked back in and grabbed the pad of paper.
Without a word, he’d sat and read the whole thing, even going back and reading the original before I’d pared it down.
He’d tossed it aside, given me an appraising sort of look that I’d refused to squirm under, and then said, “You’re hired, kid. When can you start?”
It’s one of my favorite memories, that and all the late-night talks we’ve had over the years.
One of our favorite things to do is pull up articles from some of the more popular sites and debate the pros and cons of them.
I feel like I’m constantly learning when I’m around him, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s made me a better writer and journalist. It’s why I suffer through the boring articles.
It’ll be my time to shine soon. I can’t help but cling to the niggling suspicion I have about Ev.
If I can get him to talk, then I’m set. He might just be my ticket to the big stories and away from the local community pieces I’ve been stuck with.
“Let it go, Harper,” he says again, snapping my mind back to the present.
He gives me a knowing look. “I see those wheels turning inside that brilliant head of yours, but you need to let it go. Ev Nikitin is not a story. He’s just an overpaid guy whose ego is probably bigger than the state we’re living in. ”
I give a small nod, because I’d certainly gotten a glimpse of that today. “Fine,” I say, ignoring the scrutinizing look he continues to give me. “I’ll try to let it go.”
He sighs because he knows that’s the extent of what I’m capable of giving. I don’t want to lie to him, but I will at least try to let the idea go. I really doubt it’s going to take, but for Arthur, I’ll give it a shot.
“I’m going to go start on the city council article while it’s fresh in my mind.
” I give him a shit-eating grin while I stand.
“I’d hate to forget all those riveting details, like the fact Councilman Rogers fell asleep and nearly face-planted into his microphone, or the fact that I saw Councilwoman Shelly dig the underwear out of her ass when she thought no one was watching. ”
Arthur laughs. “See, that’s why you’re one of my best. You don’t miss a thing.”
“Yeah, that’s why you pay me the big bucks,” I tell him with a smirk.
“I pay you more than I pay any other staff reporter.”
“You know I appreciate it. I just wish you’d let me prove myself a bit more. Give me something with more of an edge, something I can get excited about.” When he hesitates, I add, “It would help take my mind off Ev Nikitin.”
He raises a bushy brow at me. “Subtle, Harper, very subtle.”
“Reporters are never subtle. We’re always going after blood, some just hide it better than others.”
He can’t argue with me on that one, so he just sits back and lets his chair squeak in response. I can tell he’s mulling over something, so I lean my hip against his desk and wait it out. I have a lot of flaws, but I can be patient when I need to be.
Finally, he sighs and says, “Sonny DeMarco was arrested. He’s being held for second-degree murder.”
I straighten at that. Not because of the info.
I already knew that. Sonny’s name has been all over the news today.
It’s because Arthur is actually mentioning it right now in front of me.
I try not to look like an eager puppy when he says, “Dave is busy on another lead, and Steph is upstate doing an interview.”
I perk up even more at the mention of our two lead reporters being busy.
“I could let you cover it until Steph gets back,” he says, but then quickly adds, “but I need your word that your head will be where it needs to be and not focused on things that have nothing to do with DeMarco.”
My grin falters and turns into a scowl. “My head is always where it needs to be.” He is right in a way, though. I am like a dog in a field of squirrels sometimes. “Do I have to give it back when Steph gets back?”
“Yes, but your name will be on anything you write, of course.”
It’s better than what he’s offered before, so I’m not about to turn it down. Ev keeps bugging me, though, so I say, “But I will have to be focused on Ev. If I’m covering DeMarco, then I’ll also be covering his attorney, right?”
Arthur shakes his head. “Ev’s not his lawyer.”
“What?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise. “This is going to be the biggest case of the year if it goes to trial. Why isn’t he defending him?”
Arthur shrugs. “Maybe DeMarco wanted someone else.”
He can already see my mind start to wander, so he says, “Is this going to be a problem? The story isn’t who DeMarco chose to represent him in court. The story is that he was found next to a guy who’d been stabbed seventeen times. You want it or not?”
“I want it,” I quickly say, not even attempting to hide my smile.
“Fine, but write the city council story first,” he reminds me. “Show me what you’ve got, Harper, and please don’t make me regret this.”