Chapter Two
Maggie
“Cooper!”
Janowicz’s voice booms through the office, jolting me as I take the last sip of my coffee.
Grabbing my notebook, I brace myself. Janowicz has been a shouter from day one.
At first, I chalked it up to nerves or some kind of eccentric, Editor-in-Chief intensity.
Turns out, he’s just half-deaf, with zero filter to match.
“Coming!” I yell back, weaving through a maze of desks until I reach his office.
“Faster!” he snaps.
I slide into the chair opposite him, trying to catch my breath without making it obvious.
Janowicz—a wiry, bald-headed guy with cheeks as round as the clock on the wall—leans back, studying me.
Between his chain-smoking with Marnie, our mailroom clerk, and his blunt honesty, he’s as rough as they come. But he's also the best in the business.
“I’m out of town for a little bit,” he announces, his voice gravelly. “You’re in charge.”
“Me?” I blink, caught off guard.
He waves a hand as if I should know better. “Don’t look so surprised, Cooper. We both know you run circles around these amateurs.”
“They’re journalists,” I say, hiding a smile.
“Right, right.” He waves me off again, then tosses a folder in my direction. “You’re also covering the snowboarding competition in Windwood next weekend.”
“Where?” I frown, reaching for the folder.
“Some mountain town east of Boulder,” he grumbles. “Or maybe north? Hell if I know.”
I flip open the folder, catching sight of a press badge. “Why are we covering a snowboarding event in a town you can’t even point out on a map?”
“The Pine Cone Chronicle covers everything, Cooper. Especially when there’s a juicy story attached.” He raises his brows meaningfully. “Doping allegations.”
Now he has my attention. “Doping?” I lean forward, intrigued. “There’s a real story here, isn’t there?”
“I got us a press badge,” he says, unfazed. “You’ll need to cover the cost of gas and your hotel, but we’ll reimburse you once it runs.”
“Or you could just hand over your company card,” I counter smoothly, “and I’ll turn in the receipts whether the story breaks or not.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nice try, Cooper. No.”
“Had to ask.” I shrug, slipping out the press badge and a photo. I study the face in the picture—golden-brown hair, dark eyes like melted chocolate, and an easy grin that looks practiced but genuine.
“Liam Thompson,” Janowicz says, watching my reaction. “Got a couple of Olympic medals.”
I tilt my head. “How many?”
“One gold, two silver,” he replies.
I glance up at him. “I don’t know the first thing about snowboarding.”
“Better get researching then,” he says, raising a brow.
I slip the picture back into the folder, rising from my seat. “Where are you going anyway?”
His gaze shifts for a moment, something softening in his normally sharp expression. “Family emergency. My sister’s husband passed. She needs help getting things in order.”
For a second, I’m at a loss. Janowicz doesn’t do “soft” or “helpful.” “That’s... really nice of you.”
He narrows his eyes. “I have my moments, Cooper.”
“Few and far between.” I grin.
“Get back to work,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile.
I return to my desk, only to find Odie perched on the edge, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes. He pushes it back, his expression curious. “What did Janowicz want?”
I wave the folder in front of him. “A story.”
“Of course he did,” he sighs. “Why do you always get the best ones?”
I smirk. “Because I’m the best.”
Odie huffs. “Can’t argue with that. More of your stories get printed than anyone else’s.” He glances at the folder. “So, what’s it about?”
“An Olympian with doping allegations. I’m heading to Windwood to check it out.”
His eyes light up. “Mind if I tag along?”
“No.” I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t have time to babysit.”
“One time,” he groans. “One time I get drunk, and suddenly I’m untrustworthy.”
“You were trying to make out with a plant, Odie.”
“Once!” he protests, as Trinity, our tall, no-nonsense copy editor, joins the conversation.
“It was enough to scar us all,” she quips, casting him an unimpressed glance.
Odie’s expression shifts to his usual smirk. “Good to know I’ve made a lasting impression, Trin.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, crossing her arms.
“Why not?” he challenges.
Trinity sighs. “Because my college boyfriend used to call me Trin, and I’d rather not be reminded of him every time you open your mouth.”
“Sucks to be that guy,” Odie mutters, wounded.
My phone rings, interrupting the banter. “Hello?”
“Hey, Maggie.” The voice on the other end sounds hesitant.
“Louise?” I frown, sensing something’s off. “Is everything okay?”
There’s a long sigh. “Ryan and Melissa need a place to stay. I hate to do this to you, but…”
My throat tightens. “Got it. I’ll clear out of the granny flat.”
“I’m so sorry, dear,” she says, her tone strained with guilt.
“It’s fine, Louise,” I reply, though it’s a lie. “I’ll head over now.”
I hang up, pressing a hand over my chest as the news sinks in. Six months ago, my ex—Ryan—left me after getting a coworker pregnant. His grandmother, Louise, let me stay in the flat and told Ryan to find a new place. Now, it looks like I’ll be the one looking for somewhere else to live.
“What’s going on?” Odie asks.
I force a smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
But that’s another lie. I can barely manage the rent for my shoebox of a studio, and my credit cards are maxed out. Now I have to find a new place, and the idea of scraping together another security deposit feels impossible.
“What did Louise want?” Odie presses.
I hesitate, my throat tightening. “Ryan needs the granny flat back, so I have to move my stuff out.”
“Of course he does.” Odie’s face darkens. “Screw that guy.”
I hold up a hand to calm him. “Thanks, Odie, but it’s done. Now I just have to figure out where I’m supposed to live.”
“You could call your dad,” he suggests.
I shake my head, pushing down the memories that flare up. “That’s not an option. Trust me.”
He hesitates before offering, “Well, the guys and I have a spare room. You’d be sharing a house with three dudes, but the rent is cheap.”
“How cheap?” I ask, a glimmer of hope igniting.
Odie shrugs, thinking. “I could probably talk them into $350 a month, if—”
“I’ll take it!” I grab my purse, my heart racing. “Text me the address?”
“I have to ask them first, Maggie!” he calls after me as I head for the door. “Maggie!”
But I don’t look back. I know I’m out of options, at least for now.
Even if it’s cramped, even if it’s temporary, it buys me time.
Time to figure out this story on Liam Thompson, time to push myself out of this rut.
If I can get something concrete on him, a break like this could be my ticket out of here.
A byline big enough to catch the eye of an editor in a real city—a place with opportunities, somewhere that doesn’t feel like a trap with no escape.
Janowicz has been good to me. He took a chance on me straight out of college, no credentials, no connections, and taught me more than any newsroom class ever could.
But if I want my career to go somewhere, I can’t stay under his wing forever.
This story could open doors to the kind of work that doesn’t just pay the bills but lets me breathe.
I can’t keep circling this town, haunted by memories that refuse to let me move on.
As I reach my car, I hear Janowicz’s bellow out behind me. “Cooper!”
I turn, barely concealing my frustration, and he’s standing there, arms thrown up in exasperation. “Where do you think you’re going? There are still three hours left in the workday!”
“It’s Louise,” I explain, gripping the car door. “She’s kicking me out.”
He huffs, crossing his arms. “You can crash in the break room if you need to, kid.”
I give him a half-smile. “I’ll think about it.”
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I reach for the flathead screwdriver in the glove box, the familiar ritual of starting my stubborn, ancient car. It roars to life with a satisfying rumble as I throw it into drive and peel out of the parking lot.