Chapter Eight
W hen it came to journalism, Pulse360was the go-to place for reporters eager to tackle the toughest stories. Once inside, I absorbed the seemingly controlled chaos—ringing phones, raised voices, and the constant clattering of keyboards—underscoring the fast-paced nature of this news station.
I’d arrived early, trying to minimize the stress I felt over meeting with the head of HR. There was no hiding behind the Cole name—this was all on me.
I’d needed a code to use the elevator—666.
I found it kind of amusing.
The realization hit me like an electric shock—this hive of activity was where I belonged.
A friendly receptionist checked my pass and pointed down the side of the cubicles.
The open hallway was stacked with framed photographs capturing significant moments that featured prominent figures. Next to them were the plaques noting the names of the journalists who had broken the stories.
I was halfway down the hallway when I saw a young guy charging in my direction. I tried to dodge him, but he bashed against my shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain through me. Any harder and I’d have been on the floor.
“Hey!” I called after him.
He didn’t slow his pace before disappearing around a corner.
Shaken, I checked to see if anyone had caught the embarrassing scene, but no one seemed interested in a stranger’s discomfort. Staff merely scurried around the room eager to share breaking stories with their colleagues.
I glanced into offices with windows that probably belonged to senior staff members. To my right, a team of journalists huddled around a television monitor. The thought that I might be able to join them was exhilarating.
Within a minute, I’d located the empty conference room, giving me time to project a sense of calm before the interview. The polished glass table was surrounded by office chairs. I sat down in one and set my purse next to me.
On the far wall, a large screen displayed the network’s logo. I took a moment to collect my thoughts as I studied Pulse360’s insignia. It featured a distressed font with jagged edges, and at the center, a tree with crooked branches, evoking a haunting atmosphere—like someone had gone for a family tree vibe but missed the mark.
I’d applied to several stations—this was the first one that had invited me in for an interview before I’d contacted them. Which, to be honest, my ego needed right now—the thought that someone like me could be professionally headhunted.
A man in a gray suit flung the door open, making a harried appearance.
I stood up to greet him.
He offered his hand and shook mine, a weathered smile hinting that he survived off caffeine and adrenaline. I saw the shadow of stubble along his pale jaw.
“I’m Joe.” He gestured to himself. “Sorry, I’ve been up all night. Breaking story.”
“Anything interesting?”
He gave me an amused look.
“I’m Willa,” I said brightly.
He glanced at his watch. “My ten A.M.”
“Great to meet you.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing about your time at Yale.”
“Brown,” I said, offering him a warm smile.
“Brown, right. That was the other girl.”
A hint I was competing for the job.
His passion for journalism came at a sacrifice. This guy needed to get more sun.
He took the seat next to mine and reached for a remote, clicking a few buttons. “Resumé short but sweet.”
There, replacing their logo on the lit screen, was my resumé. Seeing proof of my lack of experience so vibrantly displayed made me feel self-conscious.
“Any extracurricular activities?”
“I was a member of the debate club.” I followed his gaze towards the glass wall.
Joe watched as an elegantly dressed woman walked by on the other side. He jolted with surprise when she came into the room.
I guessed her age to be mid-forties. She was poised with a confident air, easily commanding attention.
Joe appeared nervous, as though trying to figure out what she might want.
He pushed to his feet. “Do you need this room?”
“I’ll take it from here.”
He looked confused. “This is an interview.”
“I know,” she said.
“Low-level,” he added, surprised at her interest.
She gave him a thin smile. “The room is mine, Joe.”
“You want her to stay?”
“I want her to stay.” She gestured towards the door.
Joe took the hint, glancing at me with a puzzled expression as he left the room.
He’d forgotten to introduce us.
But I was supposed to know who she was—that was obvious.
Striking features proved her years of experience had not affected her flawless complexion. Every line and curve of her tailored business suit accentuated her tall figure, hinting at an unstoppable ambition.
She closed the door and then tapped a wall panel that smoked the glass wall. She strolled away from me toward the head of the table, a subtle sway to her hips. Her sensuality was off the charts.
“Sit,” she demanded.
Quickly, I took my seat again.
Keeping that space between us was a power move.
“Welcome to Pulse360.” Her voice sounded smooth as silk, commanding attention with its authority.
“I’m thrilled to be here.”
“Have you come far?”
“I’m staying with…friends.”
“Where, exactly?”
“Beverly Hills.”
That seemed to pique her interest. Either way, I wanted to get this job on my own merits.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” My tone was polite.
“Yours is Willow Cole.”
“Please call me Willa.” I started to ask for her name again and then thought better of it.
She smiled. “I’m the decision maker.”
I hoped I hadn’t botched my chances already.
“Tell me, Willa,” she said smoothly, “why should I hire you?”
“I’m a graduate of Brown. I studied modern culture and media.”
She lifted the remote and turned off the screen. The logo replaced my resumé. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“I was given an outstanding dissertation award for an article I wrote on women in politics.”
“It was competent.”
“You read it?”
“I asked for something I might not know about you. We dig. That’s what we do.”
Dig. Such a crude word for her.
“In an interview, there are questions the law prevents me from asking. Therefore, we get around such restrictions by asking applicants to offer up anything of note.”
“I…relocated to California for work. I mean, in hopes of getting hired here.”
“We just interviewed a Yale grad for a position. She has recommendations out of Washington.”
“D.C.?”
“What are your thoughts on nepotism?”
I swallowed hard, questioning whether now would be a good time to mention I was the youngest daughter of Raif Cole.
No, don’t be baited.
Instead, I said, “Are you suggesting this other applicant is using her family to get ahead?”
She nodded. “I am.”
She was too elegant, too confident. Someone like her could easily have benefited from nepotism to climb the ranks. But I wouldn’t say so and risk offending her.
“I have no opinion either way.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I have a knack for storytelling. My hope is to have your viewers glued to their screens, unable to look away.”
She raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “And where did you learn to chase stories, Willa? From the comfort of your ivory tower?”
“Excuse me?”
“You were able to pay your own way at Brown. No loan or grants. Which means you come from a wealthy family.”
“I believe that’s irrelevant.”
She sat back, gesturing between us. “No part of this is irrelevant.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“How does it feel to be probed?”
“Unpleasant.”
She smiled.
“Being in the public eye makes you a target,” I said, trying not to cringe. “Sometimes our ability to investigate helps those who can’t help themselves. We expose the truth.”
“Expose is an interesting verb.” She pursed her lips. “Do you mind being exposed, Willa?”
“I do, actually.”
“Then let’s hope you don’t ever give the press reason to investigate you.”
“It was Pulse360 that reached out to me.”
“Stand up.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m guessing you want to become a news anchor?”
“Eventually. When I’ve earned it.”
“Then stand.”
I pushed to my feet, suddenly unsure as to where to place my hands.
“Come here.”
I walked over and stood in front of her, trying not to show any signs of nervousness.
“We have millions of viewers who watch our channel every night. Do you think they care about the looks of the person who delivers the news?”
“Yes.”
“Take off your Chanel jacket.” She stared at it. “That is one hell of a vintage piece.”
A gift from Aunt Rose, but that was irrelevant right now.
I shrugged out of it and draped it over the back of an office chair, then stood straight again.
“You’re very pretty, Willa.”
“So are you.”
That made her smile.
“Stay still. I want to look at you.” She got up and prowled around me like a hunter assessing its prey. “Chin up.”
I was close to telling her how weird this felt, but I resisted the urge. I’d blow this chance if I refused to play along.
“Do you have what it takes to get the story?” she asked.
“I believe I do.”
“Then tell me something about yourself that would prove it.”
“I have brothers. I know what it takes to stand out and make a difference when competing with extraordinary men.”
“And how do you stand out?”
“I’m well read, I stay current on political affairs, I am discreet and honest and hard working.”
“You exhibit a stark confidence, Willa.”
“Thank you.”
She pulled a stray hair off my shoulder. “I see myself in you when I was your age.”
I sensed in her a fusion of strength and sensuality. The embodiment of power in a woman who ruled the boardroom.
She sat back down at the table. “What drives you? The thrill of the chase?”
“I want to make a difference.”
“I like that,” she said, smiling.
“I want to give a voice to the voiceless.”
“Tell me something else that will persuade me to give the job to you and not to ‘Yale.’ Her friend works here, so she does have that advantage.”
“I take risks,” I said.
“How?”
“I’m willing to risk my safety if necessary.”
She studied my face. “I believe you.”
I gave a nod, sensing she liked my answer.
“You researched us. We researched you.”
She knows I’m a Cole.
My breath caught in my throat.
She grinned, heightening the tension.
I didn’t want to admit I was from the New York Coles, who owned a tea empire. Cameron and Henry were the ones steering the company through the twenty-first century. I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt over chasing this for myself.
“Do you know what I need?” She had the answer balancing on the tip of her tongue. “A woman willing to use her contacts.”
“Integrity is important.”
“Fuck integrity.” She gestured for me to sit. “I want the story.”
This wasn’t just an interview, it was me navigating a world where power and privilege held sway, where secrets were currency, and where the line between truth and illusion blurred like ink on paper.
I was determined to carve out my place in this world, but I’d never sacrifice pieces of myself along the way.
She stood up suddenly, startling me. “I want you to do something for me.”
“I’m interested in hearing more.”
“We’ll discuss the details later. I’m going to have your contract drawn up.”
“I got the job?” Giddiness rushed through me.
“Yes, but for now, don’t share with anyone that you work for us. Being covert is how I’ll get you into rooms where people talk. If they know you’re with the press, they’ll keep their mouths shut.”
“Not even my family?”
“Not even your family.” She headed towards the door. “Please me, and I’ll see that ambition of yours realized.”
I stood and put on my jacket. “I won’t let you down.”
She paused and looked back at me. “You’re smart enough to know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
She strolled out of the room with the same powerful aura she had entered with.
Joe reappeared in the doorway. “How did it go?”
“She offered me the job!”
He smiled and then gave me a curious look. “Wanna tell me why she gatecrashed my interview?”
She’d not introduced herself. “She’s from HR?”
He looked astonished. “Her family own Pulse360.”
My throat tightened at the knowledge that interest in me had gone that far up the chain of command.
“Jewel Delany,” he said. “She’s one of the most influential women in news. You know that, right?”
“Right.” I straightened my skirt, trying to hide the fact I had no idea.
Oh, God. When she’d asked me about nepotism, I’d thankfully not answered, considering she was born into the Delany family.
I did it!
I felt exhilarated. I’d just proven that my move to L.A. was meant to be.
We left the conference room, and he led me back along the hallway, and this time I viewed the activity on the floor with the perspective of a person who would be working here.
“How are you going to celebrate?” asked Joe, as I stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed before I could answer the question. I was left standing alone, waiting to descend.
Not sharing that I’d just gotten hired at Pulse360 was going to be a challenge considering I was heading back to the grand interrogator himself. Cameron would have a thousand questions and could read me like a book.
Then, as I left the main foyer and stepped out onto the sidewalk, I remembered his bodyguards had followed me.
Damn it.
Being related to Cameron meant my secrets were rarely hidden for long.