Chapter 1 #3
For a moment, I froze, unsure of what was coming next. Was she going to tell me I’d gone too far? Had she changed her mind after sharing it and thought the article wasn’t to Sophisticate standards, after all?
I had to brace myself for whatever came next.
She was the picture of composure, like she had all the time in the world.
“And it obviously resonated with a lot of people. So, I was thinking …” She trailed off for a moment, as if letting the words hang in the air, before continuing.
“This whole ‘finance guy’ thing. It has some legs to it. I want you to take it further. Let’s call it ‘Love on Wall Street’, where you write a series of articles trying to find a date with the most eligible bachelors on Wall Street. ”
My mouth went dry, and I blinked a few times, trying to process what she’d just said. Was she serious?
“Wait, sorry—dating? Finance guys?” I stammered, completely thrown off.
Anthea’s gaze was sharp as ever, unwavering as she observed me. “Yes, that’s what I just said.”
I couldn’t breathe. My mind short-circuited as I processed the idea. Dating for a column? This was a whole new level of personal exposure. I was supposed to go on dates, to share my life, my privacy, for the sake of a story? I hadn’t signed up for this.
But I couldn’t help but wonder if I was overthinking it. I had been scrambling for something, anything, to make an impact—something more than just my “Overheard in NYC” fluff. And this idea? This could blow up. It could make me.
“I … I don’t know …” My voice was small, unsure.
My gut tightened at the thought of dating guys I already found distasteful.
Wall Street types? They were everything I despised: arrogant, superficial, heartless.
And women like me, just a little too smart, a little too ambitious? We were nothing but objects to them.
But then I remembered the application. Being a food critic had always felt out of reach, just a glimmer in the distance. If I said no to this, I could kiss any chances of getting that position goodbye.
My first instinct was to figure out a way to backtrack out of this conversation and pretend it never happened. Anthea must have seen the look on my face because she narrowed in on the challenge I was presenting her.
“You know, I saw a notification come across my inbox earlier today.” Anthea pushed off her desk and circled to drop into her chair. Not a single piece of silky black hair moved as she leaned back in her office chair. “I didn’t realize that you were interested in our food critic position.”
“Wait—hold on,” I said, frowning, confusion clouding my thoughts. “I thought we were talking about a dating column. What does this have to do with the food critic position?”
Anthea didn’t even flinch. She simply leaned back in her chair, her posture smooth and commanding, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips.
“You’re right to be confused. I wasn’t planning on explaining it just yet.
” Her eyes narrowed, piercing through me.
“But I’ll make it clear. If you can pull this off, write a series that resonates and brings in even more traffic than your last piece, I’ll consider you for the food critic role.
It’s yours for the taking. But first, you must prove you can write a story that captivates. ”
If I had been speechless before, my brain had simply forgotten the function of speech at this point.
I blinked at her, trying to wrap my head around her proposition. A dating column for a chance at my dream job?
“You’d let me go from writing about finance bros to covering Michelin-star restaurants?” I asked incredulously. Even I thought that was a bit of a stretch, despite my own delusions in hoping for the position.
Anthea didn’t seem phased by my surprise.
She simply leveled me with her piercing gaze.
“You have talent, Hallie Woods. Even if it may be raw and could use some refinement. And Sophisticate didn’t get to where it is without putting talented people in positions to succeed.
If you feel you’d succeed the most in our restaurant critic spot, then I might just put you there.
But first you must prove it.” Anthea lifted one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me.
The compliment, however backhanded, nearly made me miss the rest of what Anthea had offered. I had always dreamed of working with Anthea and would have done almost anything for a compliment from her, as would anyone else here, but could I do this ?
Was I going to take the offer? Or was I going to walk away?
My mind raced through the possibilities.
Pros: This could be my chance to prove myself, to elevate my career to something bigger than the “Overheard” column. Anthea herself had said she’d consider me for the food critic role if I succeeded.
Cons: I’d be using my own life as content. Could I really put my personal dating life on display for thousands of readers? It felt … exploitative. And what if my dates actually turned out to be not half bad? How was I supposed to throw them into the fishbowl too?
I tried to picture it, sitting across from some Wall Street bro in a posh bar, pretending to enjoy his stories about IPOs and mergers while inside I was cringing. I could already feel the mockery of it. And even worse the judgment from my peers.
Would they think I was selling out?
I glanced back at Anthea, whose green eyes were locked onto me, expectantly waiting for a response. She had probably seen the wheels turning in my head.
“Are you still with me, Hallie?” she asked, her voice colder now, a slight edge creeping in.
I hesitated for just a second longer, my mind running in circles, filled with uncertainty, but I couldn’t deny the thrill that pulsed through me.
This was my chance to step up and prove that I belonged here.
That I wasn’t just some girl who wrote about nonsense but someone with real potential.
Someone who could write about the most delicious food this city had to offer.
“Okay,” I finally said. “I’ll do it. But just so we’re clear—what exactly are you expecting here? Dates with actual Wall Street guys?” I couldn’t help but add the last part with a bit of sarcasm.
Anthea’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Exactly. One a week. But the key, Hallie? You need to make it compelling. We’re not looking for a dating column , we’re looking for a story —your story, your journey into the world of finance guys. We want details. Make them feel real.”
A mix of excitement and dread surged through me, but I nodded.
“Alright, I’ll write the first one. But—” I hesitated again. “What if they’re all … not great? What if it’s a disaster?”
Anthea leaned forward, her smile tightening. “That’s not an option.”
I felt a flutter of unease. Would it be worth it? What was I willing to sacrifice for success? I was about to find out.
“When do you want the first article by?”
Anthea’s eyes glinted as she checked her watch. “Two weeks. Don’t disappoint me.”
As I turned to leave, the weight of her words hit me again. The pressure, the challenge. My stomach was a storm of nerves, but the truth was, I had never felt more alive. This could make or break me. And I was choosing to make it.