Chapter 4 #2
And how would Freya feel about it? Never, in all the many long hours he’d spent with Freya—or the numerous challenging, frustrating, and sometimes downright infuriating situations they’d been through together—had he ever seen her act the way she did that night.
He’d only caught a glimpse at the end, but it had been a nuclear blast—and Abby was ground zero.
There had to be more to the story. But that was one interview Will was never going to get.
Freya would seal off those emotions like a reactor in lockdown—impenetrable, untouchable, and off-limits to everyone.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, he had spent a significant portion of his weekend mulling over what, if anything, he should tell Freya about his date.
Now, as he sat at his desk, watching the appointment reminder on his computer countdown the minutes until he had to go meet Freya, he decided that he would wait to tell her until he knew if there was anything worth telling her.
Freya wasn’t into making a big deal about personal lives, so there was no reason to make a one about his. For now.
His appointment reminder was replaced with an alert for a new email.
From: [email protected]
Re: Interview confirmation details
Mr. Quinn,
Due to a change in the Prime Minister’s schedule, your interview has now been rescheduled for 1930 hours on Tuesday. Please confirm receipt.
JorgenHead of the Press Department Prime Minister’s Office
Sitting in his office, door closed, he googled to make sure 1930 was 7:30 p.m. and then let a series of expletives skate off his tongue.
He had been trying to secure this interview for months, in preparation for the Prime Minister of Sweden’s visit to Chicago to celebrate the anniversary of the sister city agreement between Chicago and Gothenburg.
The Swedish press department had made no effort to accommodate him up until now, so he should have known it would be inevitable that they were once again changing things.
As he fired off his confirmation to Jorgen, he tried to decide what to do. He didn’t want to cancel with Naomi. And maybe he wouldn’t have to. Their date was at six o’clock, so a 7:30 interview still left him with some time to see her.
The appointment reminder on his computer flashed at him. Now: Costa Rica Promos
He closed his laptop with one hand, grabbed a printout of some copy he’d put together for Freya to record with the other, then walked out of his office and down the hall.
Nightly Global News was a labyrinth of hallways on the twelfth floor of the World News Organization Tower.
WNO, which had its humble beginnings as a radio station in the 1920’s was now a global entertainment conglomerate headquartered in a forty-two-story building in downtown Chicago.
Although much of the WNO Tower was now used as office space, it still housed a few studios for a handful of their television programs, including a couple of sitcoms, some of their longest-running soap operas, and Nightly Global News.
He headed to the makeup room where they usually met for promos, but Freya was nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes of waiting, he strode over to her office at the other end of the studio. Her office was big enough that he had to walk in and check several areas before turning back around.
“Hey,” he said to a colleague who was passing by her door as he was coming out. “Have you seen Freya?”
“Yeah,” they told him. “She kicked me out of Editing Room B like an hour ago. Something last minute came up, I guess.”
Everything in this business was last-minute, so he couldn’t even begin to take a stab at what had sent her to the editing room. When he arrived at Editing Room B, he gave a quick knock before opening the door slightly.
“You in here?” The room was dark, save for several large screens illuminating a pair of silhouettes. He leaned in further to try to make out who he was talking to.
“Under duress,” came Freya’s reply. Her shadowy figure put a hand on the person next to her. “No offense.”
“None taken.” It sounded like Janet, one of the newer editors on staff.
He glanced up at the screens where Janet was splicing a video and removing sections with the urgency of a doctor in the ER.
He only needed to see one frame to identify that the editorial surgery was taking place on an upcoming piece they were doing about Governor Hadley.
A finished piece—or so he’d thought. “I definitely want more on that, but first you’re late to record promos for the Costa Rica segment,” he said.
“Damn, really? Okay. We’re almost done here. Give me just two minutes.”
It took one more reminder but eventually she burst out of the editing room. “I know. I’m sorry. Let’s move,” she said, the speed of her steps mirroring that of her speech.
Will hustled alongside her. “What was that all about?”
“Ugh, Brian stopped by my office an hour ago.” She shook her head. “He’d seen the interview with Governor Hadley, and he said I couldn’t include anything about the Amerilife Gas Pipeline on Native lands.”
Will’s muscles tensed in protest and he slowed down.
Brian, one of the Executive Producers of Nightly Global News, was notorious for tweaking their stories.
This change, however, was more than micromanaging.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That was fifty percent of the interview.
And it was important. People need to know that he’s going to—”
Freya motioned for him to pump the brakes.
“You don’t have to tell me. Or him. Because I definitely did.
But he said Amerilife is a part owner in WNO, which I appreciate him failing to mention to me before we went ahead with this story.
So essentially, that means that we can dig up whatever dirt we want on Hadley, but not about that. ”
He had a few choice words for Brian, but none that he would say out loud.
He couldn’t understand how Freya was so calm about this.
Dozens of hours of work wasted because of carelessness, red tape, and greed.
But he took his cue from her and tried to match her demeanor.
“I’m feeling very,” he clenched his jaw as he looked for a workplace-friendly word to describe his feelings, “conflicted right now.”
She shot him a look that was sharp but contained a modicum of understanding around the edges.
“Nothing makes you feel better about your job than learning it’s partially owned by a company that has a well-documented history of violating human rights around the world, and then being forced into protecting a civil servant who is doing the same thing, does it?
The good news is, it’s over and done with.
I’ve taken care of it. Bye-bye, Amerilife.
Hello, Mimi.” They had arrived at the makeup room, and she waved at Mimi, their resident makeup artist, who was resting on a chair, looking at her phone.
Mimi, tall, slight, and eternally exuberant, leapt up. “Jonsson, you are late, late, late.” She guided Freya to the makeup chair.
Will glanced at the clock. “I could have done the edits. You’ve got a full day.”
Freya waved him off. “I’ve been doing the ‘Playcate the Old White Cis Men Upstairs’ tap dance for years. I knew exactly what Brian wanted, so I figured it would be faster to do it myself and get it over with. And we’ll live to fight another day. Just not about this.”
Mimi was brushing something onto Freya’s face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I can confirm that the tap dance is real and sometimes a necessary survival skill.”
Will dropped into a nearby seat, feeling like gravity had doubled in the last few minutes. A wave of heat washed over him, a mix of indignation and confusion. Freya and Mimi’s words stung, but they also confused him.
He had grown up surrounded by strong women.
Not only his mother, but his grandmother, who had managed the farm before his parents took over.
And his aunt, who was their closest neighbor and had raised two girls on her own after his uncle died.
It was probably one of the reasons he’d been drawn to Freya, why he felt comfortable in her orbit.
If there was one thing he knew how to do well, it was work beside a powerful woman.
And he thought he did it pretty well. But was he really that oblivious to the power dynamics at play right in front of him?
He’d never heard his family talk like this, but it made him wonder if he’d been missing something all along.
Shame gnawed at him, battling with a defensiveness he knew didn’t belong in the conversation.
But Freya had already moved on. “Speaking of a full day. Talk me through tomorrow. Are we good to go with the prime minister?”
If she was moving on, then so was he. Gladly. “Security checks are complete, and I confirmed with her team this afternoon. We’re set to arrive at 1930 hours, which I pretended to know and then looked up later.”
“7:30.”
“Correctomundo,” he confirmed with a finger gun, immediately regretting both his word and hand choice when Mimi's eyes widened in mock horror and she mouthed “Correctomundo?” back at him, her lips twitching with amusement.
“So, we’ll leave from here at 6:45?”
Today was not turning out to be one of his favorite days.
He’d decided not to tell Freya about his date with Naomi until later.
But he wasn’t going to lie about it either.
His plan had been to simply omit that piece of information until it became relevant.
If it became relevant. Which, of course, it did the first time he saw her.
“You think a little earlier?” Freya said, misreading his silence. “You’re probably right, we need to give ourselves some wiggle room with traffic.”
He had no poker face. Even a lie of omission was a challenge for him. He leaned forward, uncomfortably. “I was thinking we would go separately and meet there.”