Chapter 2
Laine
My cell phone dings, and I look at the text message.
John: Come by the newsroom at eleven this morning.
I groan. John Goldsmith is my editor at the Vancouver Herald, and we’ve been crossing horns lately. He’s usually a powerhouse supporter of my reporting, but his patience is long gone on this particular story—fraud with government funds. He’s been pushing me toward a deadline, but I have a meeting with the dean of the business school at the University of British Columbia. If it goes the way I think it will, I’ll finally be able to get the article finished.
Me: I’m meeting Paul Morgan at UBC at 11. I’m already on the way. Can I come by after? This will allow me to finish the fraud article.
John: Cancel Paul and come in.
My stomach drops. He’s always put news over meetings and personal life. There are rumors that they’re cutting back headcount in the newsroom, but when I asked him if that was true, he assured me it wasn’t.
Me: Are you laying me off?
I wait anxiously for his text assuring me that isn’t the case, but it doesn’t come. It only says the message was delivered. Maybe he hasn’t read it yet.
I get off the bus that was taking me out to the university and cross the street to catch the next bus back downtown to our newsroom.
Once I’m settled on the bus again, I pull up my banking app and study my balance. It’s not fantastic. I’ve been with the paper for three years, which means I’ll get a month’s severance, so that will cover me for a minute. But I have a balance on my credit card. Why did I let Trish talk me into those shoes?
And what am I going to do for work if I get laid off?
I love unraveling the mystery of fraud and corruption. I love telling the stories of people who overcome the odds to survive. But finding that kind of work around here will be hard if the paper is letting people go. The Vancouver Sun has already reduced their staff and uses freelancers to cut costs. I’m sure I could get some freelance work, but that’s not how I want to live my life.
Maybe I can work at Steaming Mugs coffee shop in my neighborhood. I could work mornings, and that would free me up to chase stories in the afternoon.
I look out the window of the bus. Hopefully, I’m overreacting and John’s just going to bitch at us for whatever management is upset about today.
None of the people I went to journalism school with are writing anymore, and that scares me most. I live to write. I love being a problem solver, and my words bring power to people who don’t have a voice. Reporters are becoming an endangered species, and that’s bad for democracy.
I know if I call Trish, she’ll jump in and help me. She’s running her grandfather’s chocolate business, and I always love the dopamine hit that comes with good chocolate. But I don’t want a pity job. I drop her a note for encouragement.
Me: Happy Valentine’s Day! I’ve been summoned to the newsroom. They had me cancel a big meeting. I’m not feeling good about this.
Trish: Happy Valentine’s Day to you! You deserve better than the Vancouver Herald. Keep me posted. I’m free for lunch today. You can be my Valentine. You’re better company than any of the men I date.
Chances are I’m going to need her regardless of the reason I’m being summoned, but she likes expensive lunches. If I’m unemployed, I can’t afford that. I can hardly afford them when I’m working.
I call Paul at the university and let him know I’ve been pulled into a meeting at the paper. We reschedule for Friday.
God, I hope this is just a rah-rah meeting—a meeting to celebrate a big get. We haven’t had one of those for a while. I get off at my stop and walk down the block toward our building. Morgan Roxbury almost runs me over as we enter. She does the society page for the Herald .
“Were you summoned too?” I pull the door wide for her. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
She pats her perfectly coiffed hair as if there’s something out of place. There isn’t. “I’ve been ready for this for a while. It gets me out of my contract and noncompete if we’re let go. I’m doing a happy dance.”
“Really? I feel like my options are limited.”
“You can always do technical writing or write a book.”
I snort. Technical writing is boring, and I’ve tried to write a book. It’s a lot harder than it looks.
We walk into the newsroom, and there’s a stack of banker’s boxes in the corner. I think I’m going to throw up. Walking to my desk, I tuck the picture of my parents with me and my old boyfriend in my purse. I grab my favorite pen and a few reporter’s notepads, and I quickly email my phone list to my personal account. I’m not taking any chances. We could be locked out as soon as it’s official.
As the newsroom fills, things get noisy with everyone’s chatter, but when John walks out of his office with the head of HR, Ben Belmont, at his side, we all stop and listen.
“The newspaper is a hard business,” John begins. “Our owners have sold us to an investment group, and they plan on taking the paper in a different direction with a smaller staff. I’m proud of all the work we’ve done.” He then says something nice about all of us, including me. “Laine, you’re a talented writer, and your passion is evident in everything you do. Readers love what you write. Don’t ever stop.”
I feel myself blush as I dip my head. “Thank you.”
“Let’s meet at the Back and Forth Bar for drinks this afternoon,” he says in conclusion. “I have permission to take you all out for a final drink on the paper.”
Ben waves a stack of envelopes. “And I have your checks.”
People crowd forward.
“I know you don’t get rich working as a reporter, but we tried to add a little extra.” Ben hands me my envelope. “I hope to see you this afternoon.”
I peek inside the envelope, and it’s two hundred dollars extra beyond my severance. At least I can buy lunch today.
Morgan places a banker’s box on my desk. “It was great working with you.”
I nod. “Thanks. You too.”
I have everything I want, so I don’t even need the box. I start for the door.
“Laine? Wait up.” John comes after me. “The article you’re working on? Finish it up and send it to this guy.” He hands me a business card. “They’ll pay you for it as a freelancer. If it has the traction I think it will, they may offer you a job.”
The card is for the senior editor of the Vancouver Sun. I nod. “Thank you.”
“You have my number. I’m happy to be a reference or whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” This is awkward. I feel like I should hug him goodbye, but he’s my boss. I just want to get out of here.
“Will you be at the Back and Forth for drinks?”
I slip the card he gave me in my purse pocket. “I don’t know. I’m going to work on my story this afternoon and see what I need to do to get it finished.”
“It would be great if you could make it.”
I nod again and wave without committing. I walk back to my apartment, my mind going in a thousand different directions. Then, just as I’ve unlocked my door, my cell phone toots.
Trish: What’s the word?
Me: I’m now unemployed, but John has someone at the Sun ready to buy my fraud article.
Trish: I know the family who owns the Sun. So do you. Davis and Henry Martin’s family.
I know them, but that’s not exactly a relationship I can draw on right now. They’re buddies with the guy who dumped me six months ago.
Me: I’m not sure how that’s going to help me.
Trish: I have a plan. Let’s meet at Dockside for lunch, and we’ll celebrate Valentine’s together. My treat.
Me: Okay. I can be there in twenty.
Trish: Perfect. I’ll see you.
I head back out of my apartment and start the trek across town to Dockside restaurant. It’s shorter to take the Aqua Bus, but that’s a private ferry from downtown to Granville Island, so my bus pass doesn’t work. I need to save every penny I can, so I take the bus the long way.
When I arrive, Trish is half done with her drink. She stands to give me a hug and hands me a five-pound box of Sweet Georgia Browns—my absolute favorite from her company. They’re pecans with a heavy dollop of caramel, covered in milk chocolate. I could eat this entire box in one sitting.
“You didn’t have to do this.” I resist the urge to dig in immediately.
“Of course I did. You’re getting this for being the best friend ever. And now, you’ll be well fueled to plot your next move.”
“Thank you.”
I slide into my seat and eye the box. Who needs lunch when you have chocolate?
“How are you doing?” she asks.
“It hasn’t fully hit me.” I put my napkin on my lap. “I have the fraud article and maybe a follow up to work on, but the idea of working freelance scares me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have much savings. I did get a month’s severance, though.”
Trish waves me away. “I’ll lend you money, which you never have to pay back.”
I roll my eyes. “That will never happen. I would never do that to our friendship. But I am considering picking up a side job at my local coffee shop, so I have some regular income coming in.”
Trish’s face contorts. “Why would you do that?”
“You don’t remember the last time I worked freelance?”
She shakes her head and motions to the server.
“It took them months to pay me. It got me in a serious hole.”
“I told you. I’ve got you.”
“I won’t depend on you to get by.”
“You can if you need to.”
I reach for her. I’m lucky to have such a generous friend. “Thank you.”
“You were there for me when my parents died. I owe you.” Trish’s parents were killed in a boating accident several years ago, just as we finished university. She needed a shoulder to cry on as she took over her family’s enormous chocolate business about two decades sooner than she’d expected.
“You don’t owe me.”
The server arrives to take our order, and I go with the cheeseburger and truffle fries. At least if I have a big lunch, I can have a small dinner. Maybe just chocolate…
“What do you have going on this weekend?”
I shake my head. “Probably finishing my article.”
“I have two tickets to the library gala on Saturday. Will you be my plus one?”
I shrug. “Who am I going to be your wingman for?”
Her lips turn up. “I don’t know. I love men in tuxedos, but I’m not sure who’s going to get my attention.”
“Steve McCormick got married.”
“I know. If I didn’t already love Eliza Rourke, I’d hate her.”
Our meals arrive, and we dive in.
“I saw the news about Jack Drake being emergency evacuated out of Sudan by the government,” Trish says. “I can’t believe he was there.”
Hearing Jack’s name stings. Things were so good between us, until they weren’t. We kind of imploded like a dying star. I think. It happened so fast; I still can’t quite make sense of it. But whenever he sees me, I can tell he’s thinking of all the ways he could kill me that would go undetected in an autopsy. “I can’t believe he was there either. Sudan is a big no-no on the international travel list.”
“He’s a badass. That’s for sure.”
I nod. “He isn’t afraid of anything.”
Trish smiles. “Yes, he is. He’s afraid of you.”
“No.” I snort. “That’s not fear. He just flat-out hates me.”
“Well, on Saturday night we’re going to meet at my house. I have the perfect dress for you to borrow. You’re going to get your mind off your work and find a man to get under, over, and in front of.”
My face heats. “I don’t have time to date anyone.”
“Who said anything about dating? And you just lost your job. All you have is time.”
We spend the rest of lunch talking about friends we have in common and what they’re up to. When we’re done, I wave goodbye to Trish, and she heads back to Divine Delight Chocolates. While I’m here, I wander the market on Granville Island. I walk past the gallery I went to for Paisley Davis’ art opening. Trish and I had so much fun that night.
I wonder if Paisley’s working today. Her studio is right upstairs. There’s a slim chance she might be there, so I’m going to try. Maybe she’ll put in a good word with her in-laws for me about a job at the Vancouver Sun. All of them are nice people, but I feel less awkward with her these days than I do the guys. They’re Jack’s friends.
As I walk upstairs, I hear Coldplay in the hallway and my heart sings. Sounds like she might be in. I knock, and it takes a minute before she opens the door.
“Oh my God!” she yells. “What are you doing here?” She gives me a hug.
“I met Trish Standing for lunch at Dockside and thought I’d stop by.”
“I’m so glad you did. I’m working on a new piece, and you can give me your opinion.”
Paisley is a fabulous artist. When she was in art school, she found a piece of driftwood on a Vancouver-area beach and dipped it in silver, which gave the illusion it was floating in the water. She’s done a whole series since then, and now that she’s married Davis Martin, her mother-in-law has helped get her art in front of some of the biggest buyers in the world. She even did a piece in Saudi Arabia for some prince. Everything she does is incredible and sells for zillions of dollars.
I follow Paisley over to her easel, where there’s a beautiful watercolor landscape. I’m floored. It’s a huge departure from what she’s done in the past.
“I figure everyone knows me for my silver sculptures, but I love watercolors, and I’m ready to try something new.”
“It’s fantastic. I would buy it if I were a gazillionaire.”
She laughs. “I’m waiting for the day my star goes out. But I’m enjoying it for now.”
“I don’t believe that will happen,” I assure her. “You’re way too talented.”
“You’re so generous. Thank you. What are your fancy plans for Valentines?”
“Oh, I have big, fancy plans all right. I got a giant box of chocolate from Trish, and tonight, I’ll be working on an article I need to finish. My paper laid off all the news staff today, so I’m hoping to get it published as a freelancer in the Sun .”
She nods. “As you know, my in-laws own the Sun . Let me know if you need any connections there.”
“Thanks. I may take you up on that. What about you? What are you and Davis doing for Valentines?”
She smiles. “He likes to pretend that Valentines is just for amateurs, but my guess is he’ll come home with flowers and a box of Divine Delights chocolates. This painting will be my gift to him. He’s always complaining that we have none of my work around.”
I laugh. “It’s like the cobbler’s children who never have shoes.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve offered him pieces before, and he always insists that I sell them as long as there’s a waiting list.”
“That’s incredible. It’s great that he’s so supportive.”
She nods. “You’ve met Julia. She trained all her boys well.”
“I do love Julia. She was always very good to me when I was dating Jack. I’m going to the library gala this weekend. I’m all about literacy.”
Paisley’s eyes sparkle. “Me too. We have a table. If there’s an opening, I’ll seat you with us.”
“That sounds great. I’m going with Trish—Patricia Standing.”
“I’ll see if we have enough room for two, then. This is probably my favorite event of all Julia’s volunteering. Allison and I are slowly taking over her charitable commitments so she can join her husband in retirement. He has all sorts of plans.”
That makes me smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fantastic.”
“Thankfully, it’s right up Allison’s alley. Her wedding to Henry is in three months, and then we can really get into it.”
I nod. Allison Pate is an actress who’s given it all up for love—at least for now. Henry is Julia’s oldest son and will be taking over their family business after their wedding. I’ve met her several times, and she’s always been very kind.
Paisley and I talk a bit longer, and then I head out.
“See you on Saturday night,” she says as I go.