Chapter 2
Amelia
“Amelia, do you mind coming into my office for a minute?” Luna’s voice carries across the moderately spacious newsroom of The Pulse Bulletin.
Several heads pop up from behind their computer monitors.
The newsroom is unusually full today. Hunter and Corey huddle by the coffee station, discussing the upcoming city council vote, and Olive furiously types at her desk, organized with color-coded folders and press releases.
Even Detective Lawson has wandered in from the police station across the street, wanting to discuss the weekend crime report.
Everyone’s staring as I grab my laptop and push back from my desk, my stomach churning with nerves as I walk through the office. I like the feature of cubicles in the newsroom, but not when I’m getting called to Luna’s office.
Sunlight streams through the tall windows, and the glass walls with their black frames seem to close in around me.
I smooth my cream sweater, making sure it still looks neat against my black pants. Luna rarely calls anyone into her glass-walled office unless something significant is happening… good or bad. I’ve been knee-deep in an article about the upcoming welcome party, but this feels important.
“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” Hunter whispers to Corey, just loud enough for me to hear. “Maybe City Manager Ezra finally complained about that piece on the development project.”
A few chuckles ripple through the newsroom.
“If Ezra had a problem with my reporting, he’d need to read it first.”
Hunter lifts his hands in mock surrender. Corey grins.
Violet shoots Hunter a withering look before giving me an encouraging smile. Ignore them, she mouths.
Violet’s always had my back, since most people here are disconnected from me.
My quiet way of working and my relationship with Luna outside of work has pissed off pretty much everyone over the years.
They respect my work because they have to, as my investigative pieces bring in the readers and boost our numbers, but they keep their distance.
I rarely get invited to drinks at Pulse Point Tavern, and conversations die when I walk into the room.
Olive doesn’t even bother looking up as I pass, but I notice how her typing becomes more aggressive, her fingers hitting the keyboard with unnecessary force.
As I make my way toward Luna’s office with its clean ‘EDITOR-IN-CHIEF’ lettering on the glass door, I feel the eyes of everyone in our newsroom.
I hold my head high despite the discomfort, my laptop clutched to my chest. Behind me, the whispers begin again with theories about why the boss wants to see me.
Inside Luna’s office, I settle into the chair opposite her.
As always, she looks impeccable. Long brown hair falling over a beige silk blouse, big gold hoops shining in the light.
Her pink nails are flawless, makeup bold yet tasteful.
She leans forward, hands clasped, a bright, genuine smile spreading across her face, which comforts me.
“So, I called you in to let you know I’m scaling back,” she says, her eyes focused on me. “I need someone to help lighten the load. It’s starting to feel like too much, especially now that I’m getting older.”
I’m surprised. At fifty-one, she’s not what I’d call old. But I get it, running a growing company isn’t for the faint of heart.
“I’ve decided to hire someone for my role part-time,” she continues. “I’m pulling people in individually to see if there’s leadership potential. If you’re interested, I’ll be keeping a closer eye on your work moving forward.”
The idea of being both a journalist and a part-time editor-in-chief makes my heart race in the best way. “I’d love that opportunity,” I say, barely containing the excitement in my voice.
“I’m pleased. After twelve years, Amelia, you’re practically the foundation of this place.
I remember when you covered that shop fire your first month here.
Look how far you’ve come. Your knowledge is irreplaceable, and that network of contacts you’ve built across Pulse Point to the surrounding towns takes years.
The newer staff may not realize it, but half of our scoops come from relationships you’ve made. ”
My chest swells with pride. I sit a little straighter, feeling that rush of validation. Maybe this is it… my shot at something more. I’ve earned it.
I’ve always wanted to be a journalist. Luna is my mom’s closest friend, and I’ve worked here since I was fourteen.
Luna would let me come to work with her to sort the mail, restock the breakroom, and pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping during story meetings.
Those afternoons, surrounded by the noise of printers and the smell of fresh ink, planted the seed of desire in my heart.
But this isn’t the life I imagined.
I thought I’d outgrow this town. Take what I learned and run with it.
Maybe I’d land a bigger paper, in a city where people didn’t know me as Luna’s best friend’s daughter.
And follow my dream of reporting on more lifestyle topics like fashion, beauty, and trends, but that kind of coverage isn’t exactly popular in a town like this.
But then Mom got sick, and running wasn’t an option anymore.
So I stayed. And that meant working my way up here, in the same building where it all started.
“And congratulations on your latest article,” she adds. “It was sharp, engaging, and stirred up just the right amount of buzz.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiles.
I wrote about the new doctor in town. The one who broke protocol by administering unauthorized medication and was dismissed from a major New York City hospital.
I still don’t understand why someone like that thinks they can just waltz in here, setting up shop as if nothing happened.
Exposing him felt like doing the town a favor.
“Are you working on another piece about him?” she asks.
Ever since the article ran, locals have been calling and emailing the paper or stopping Luna in the street, asking for more.
“Yes, and one on the welcome party.” The words feel bitter on my tongue.
“It’ll be sensational,” Luna says. “I want you covering it. Photos, articles, the works.”
“Of course. I think it’s great to welcome him,” I manage, though I’m not convinced he deserves it.
But I keep my opinions to myself. No way am I jeopardizing this promotion.
Because this isn’t just a title; it’s a raise that means I can pay medical and daily bills with ease, and have more control over the stories I pitch, and finally get some respect in the newsroom.
Sure, the town’s heard the rumors, people talk, but that’s never stopped them from showing up with pie and chairs.
That’s just how they are. They’d rather be seen as warm and neighborly than risk looking judgmental or divided.
Hosting a welcome party doesn’t mean they’re taking sides; it just means they’re being polite.
Still, I can’t help but wonder why he’d agree to come. Surely he knows someone will be there covering it. Then again, who knows… he might not even show up.
“I’m opening the position externally too,” she adds casually, as if it’s no big deal.
The words hit like a punch. My stomach sinks.
I thought it would stay within the team.
Most of us have been here for years, staying in this town, covering the usual local stories…
Minor fires, car accidents, the mayor’s latest drama about ducks, or more recently the Mercedes-Benz driver’s turkey takeover.
I remember how a few days ago, I saved Adrian when his car got overtaken by turkeys.
And I’m not talking about a few birds. No, I’m talking about an entire flock, led by King Russell himself.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when I pulled up.
I knew food would work. As soon as Russell started pecking, I warned Adrian to get in his car before the turkeys figured out they’d been tricked.
Then I took off, heading home after picking up medication for Mom from the nearby town, Prescott Valley.
I force a smile. “Let me know if you need anything else for the weekend.”
“I know you’ll do great,” she says warmly. “Better let you get back to it.”
As I leave her office, determination flares within me. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I head back to my desk, my heart still racing from the meeting. My butt barely touches the chair before Violet leans over her laptop, whispering across the white desk.
“What was that about?”
I know she hasn’t had her talk with Luna yet, but she will.
Violet and I are similar in style… Black pants, a camel coat draped over her chair, a sleek black top, and her straightened, glossy black hair falling perfectly into place. She only started here a couple of years ago when her family moved to town.
I’m about to tell Violet about the meeting, just as Luna calls her name.
Violet stands, smoothing her pants, and heads into Luna’s office.
When she returns, she drops into her chair.
“Are you excited?” I ask, leaning forward.
“No,” she replies flatly.
“You don’t want it? You’re not even going to apply?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m happy where I am. You go for it.”
I sit with that, the simplicity of her answer both shocking and enviable. Wouldn’t it be easier if I could be content?
A flicker of dedication lights me up again. I dive back into my follow-up story, determined to impress Luna.
A new email from Luna hits my inbox. Subject line: New Restaurant Opening. Pulse & Co, Soft Launch Tonight.
Of course. Another food feature. My fourth this month.
It’s not that the food isn’t good. It’s just… how many ways can I describe a tasting plate before I start to sound like a menu myself?
I close the email without reading the rest.
The office clears out at five, but I stay until five-thirty, as usual. That extra half-hour feels like a quiet promise to myself. A reminder that I’m willing to go the extra mile.