Chapter 1 #2
“Mr. Prescott has decided to part ways with The Baller,” Barry says. His counterpart mumbles under her breath and shoots a subtle glare in his direction. “Which means one of you will be finishing the piece he was working on, but before we get to that, I’d like to open the floor for—”
An eruption breaks out at the table, drowning out the last part of his announcement.
One of us is about to be handed a feature article because of whatever Troy did to get his ass fired.
On a normal day, I could probably list a handful of reasons, but I’ll let Gabe have that story.
This one is mine. This is my chance to prove to Diane that I’m Pulse material.
“What was he working on?” I hear the new fantasy sports analyst ask from the other side of Daph.
“Wasn’t it something about EWE? Whoever gets it is about to have the easiest assignment ever. Troy got that thing like two months ago. All you’d have to do is go through his notes, and bam! Story done,” another beat reporter says, snapping his fingers for added effect.
“You’re an idiot. Going through his interviews would be a special circle of hell. Starting from scratch would be ten times easier.”
EWE? As in the “sport” where grown men dress in tights and pretend to hit each other? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime. I take it back. This is not the opportunity I was looking for.
“Sloane.” Barry’s voice carries over the noise, bringing the discussion to a halt.
“Sloane?” Laura hisses, and this might be the first time I agree with her.
“You’re the only one who hasn’t had anything to say. Are you not interested in—”
“No, of course.” I stutter out. “It’s just that—”
My boss smiles. “Great. Then it’s yours.
” Mine? What does he mean it’s mine? He didn’t even ask anyone else if they wanted it.
Barry writes something on the pad of paper in front of him, clicks his pen, and stuffs it back into his shirt.
Ignoring my stammered objection, he stands from his chair.
“That’s all for today. You’re dismissed. ”
Without another word, he walks out, Laura hot on his trail.
“What just happened?” I ask, looking at Daphne.
She doesn’t try to hide her smirk. “You, my friend, were just handed the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”
“I can’t—I can’t write about wrestling. I need to talk to Barry.” I push up from the table and swim through the crowd.
Barry’s corner office is on the other side of the floor, giving me exactly forty-five seconds to come up with a good enough reason to convince him to take me off this assignment.
And the only one I can think of? EWE.
“Unless you’d like to join him, I suggest you remember your place, Miss Meyer.
However, I’d keep in mind, income isn’t as disposable to you as it is to Troy.
” The typical warm voice of my boss sounds tight and controlled, threatening even.
This is not a conversation I’m supposed to be part of, but before I can retreat, Barry sees me in the doorway. “Oh, Sloane—”
“I can come back!”
He waves the thought off. “No, no, that’s okay. Laura was just leaving.” Despite his answer, no one moves. “I’ll expect to see the new calendar on my desk by the end of the day.”
I don’t have to see Laura’s face to know what it looks like. There will be a twitch in the corner of her mouth, then she will force her lips into a tight smile, the same one I can see now when she spins on her heel and walks out.
Barry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, before he beckons me into the room. “What can I help you with, Sloane?”
I sink into the leather armchair on this side of his desk and lace my hands together in my lap. How do I say this without sounding ungrateful? “Why did you give me this story?”
“Why not?”
“Wasn’t Troy working on some puff piece about how great fake wrestling is?” I ask, and his brow cocks. “Barry, I don’t even like wrestling. I stay far away from EWE. I am not the person for this article. I can’t—”
“And that’s why you’re the person I need.” He clears his throat, sitting up forward in his chair. “Did you see how everyone else was salivating at the thought of this story? You were the only one who didn’t bat an eye.”
“Because I don’t understand why anyone would want to waste their time or money watching grown men prance around in tights, pretending to hit each other. It’s asinine!”
“Why would they spend their hard-earned money to watch them prance around in tights and throw a deflated-looking sphere one hundred yards?”
Touché.
The corner of his mouth quirks when my rebuttal falls short. “Look, Sloane,” Barry says, and folds his hands on top of his desk. “You’ve been asking for a chance to write a feature—to write something different—and this is it. Take it or leave it.”
He’s not wrong. I have been asking for the opportunity to write something outside my norm. Begging might be a better word. Who cares if it’s a story about something I have absolutely no interest in? That should give me an advantage. I’ll have an unbiased outlook on things…sort of.
I sigh. “Do you have any of the research Troy had done so far?”
Barry chuckles, shaking his head. “This one is going to be all you, Sloane. Maybe if Troy had done half the work he was supposed to, he would’ve had a leg to stand on, and he’d still be here.” He clears his throat. “I’ll have Andi send over all the details.”