Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
EMMA
Amelia continues to read my article. While I wait for her to finish, I sit and twirl a piece of my hair that I made extra voluminous in the morning, inspired by pictures I’d found of a young Pamela Anderson, feeling nervous as all hell.
I finished the article on Saturday around eight in the morning and dragged myself to bed after backing it up.
It was a surefire way to help me sleep, and I went to bed with a smile, relieved at knowing how I managed to feel so much lighter about Grayson.
Somehow, writing that article was therapeutic, but writing has always been that for me; hence, my major.
Still, this was different. It wasn’t only the first assignment I’ve gotten that interested me, but I’ve never researched more for an article and enjoyed writing one so much.
It still needs editing, but I hope Amelia thinks it’s as special as I believe it is.
“Hey.”
The one word makes me jump, and I take my attention off Amelia to meet a pair of light brown eyes framed by wavy red hair, all belonging to our head photographer, Ben.
“You’ve been staring at our editor for the past five minutes. Is she reading the article you did on that professor?”
He makes me sound like a creep.
I cringe. “Yeah.”
He gives me a boyish grin, which in turn makes me smile. He’s cute and a bit cocky, but he seems harmless.
“I’m sure you did great.” He shrugs. “You took a big leap last week. I admire your spunk.”
I tip my head to the side in surprise. “Thanks. Some people say I have too much spunk.”
He throws his head back with a laugh. “But you seemed so calm last week.” His tone is completely and utterly sarcastic, reminding me of my friends.
I slap his arm. “All right, Ben. I see how it is.”
He smirks. “No, but seriously, Emma. Everyone here is all talk, no walk. They do the pettiest things to get ahead, but never put in the hard work.”
Ben’s been here for two years while finishing his bachelor’s degree, and when he started his master’s, he got promoted. So, I believe him.
He motions his chin toward Amelia, and I quickly turn to look at her again.
She’s sitting back, with my article in her hands. She appears to be deep in thought about something. Whether it’s good or bad, I haven’t the faintest damn clue.
My heart pounds in my ears. Boom, boom, boom. It only gets louder and faster until I hear, “Emma.”
Amelia snaps me out of my momentary anxiety and wiggles her index finger, silently signaling me to come over to her desk. I glance at Ben, who gives me a nod and a confident smile.
“Straighten your shoulders, Emma, and breathe. You look worse than Oliver did last week.” He chuckles, and I smile a little.
I can’t tell whether he’s flirting with me or just being friendly.
Whatever he’s doing took my mind off my article for a second, and for that, I’m grateful.
I take a deep breath as instructed and walk over to Amelia.
“Yeah, boss?”
She crosses her arms and looks up at me. At first, her expression is stern, and I think about how she said this was my only chance.
What if she hated the article, and I get kicked off the paper?
But then she smiles.
“Congratulations.” My body sags in relief as she continues.
“Although there are grammar mistakes that need fixing, you managed to turn a simple interview into a short, in-depth profile of one of the most important professors on campus. I only wish he had given you more time for questions. This could have been a great feature story.”
I nod in agreement with her and manage to keep my composure by biting the inside of my cheek so hard that I almost draw blood. I can’t wait to tell Kamila and Luna about this later. Heck, I can’t wait to go outside and shriek with pure excitement.
“I shouldn’t have kept handing you small stories. You’re a strong writer, Haywood.”
Smiling, I say, “Thanks, boss. That means a lot.”
“And that’s why I’m letting you write a feature-length profile.”
“W-what?” I stammer. I really hope she means I’ll be doing it about someone else.
“There’s more here.” Oh boy. “The soup kitchen hasn’t opened yet, his parents’ story has been buried deep in old print newspapers, there are no pictures of him online, and he seems to love his students, but we haven’t seen him in action.
And from what I’ve heard, he’s quite the looker.
” I keep my mouth shut, and Amelia smirks knowingly at my quietness.
“He might be a professor, but we’re journalists, and there’s a story here. ”
My face must betray my nerves and confusion. Of course, there’s more, but is it appropriate to dig so deep into his personal life?
“We’re not printing this,” she tells me as if it’s no big deal.
Tears gather behind my eyes as I swallow hard and cough to hide the emotion on my face.
I’m not going to cry at work.
As I’m about to ask her why, she says, “You’re going to convince Professor Hayes to allow you to write an in-depth feature story about him, his professional life, and off-campus activities—such as the soup kitchen, get some professional pictures taken, and find out in detail what happened to his family. ”
My stomach and heart sink.
Is she insane? She has to be—there’s no other explanation. I can’t force him to do this. An article like this could take me weeks or even months. Oh God, the university’s deans are going to be down the newspaper’s throat. And I need an angle, but what would that be?
“You’re probably wondering what your angle should be and whether the administration might have an issue with this, or something along those lines.
” At least she’s perceptive. Amelia points at me.
“What did his parents’ death have to do with moving to Europe?
Why Europe? Did his personal tragedy lead him to choose to become a chef?
And what personal reasons made him leave it?
But let’s keep it tasteful and not crowd him.
We’re a newspaper, not a gossip blog.” She shrugs.
“Then there’s the divorce, of course. That could’ve been an unconventional way and the last straw to get him to move back to the States.
” Amelia snaps her fingers. “That’s our angle! ”
“The Unconventional Cook,” I whisper, and my editor’s eyebrows shoot up. “A Look at the Person Behind the Professorship.”
Amelia slams a hand down on her desk, making me flinch.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” She laughs and grabs her iPad as I stand there, stunned that I just gave her a title for an article I’m unsure I even want to write or know how to approach.
“You have one week to persuade him to let you write the article, without revealing the title and only providing him with the general idea of the piece. It’s an in-depth profile about him, his life, and his work.
Clarify the on- and off-record rules again.
You don’t need to explain your angle in detail, but the overall concept should be clear so he can’t sue the school or us.
He needs to be comfortable with you visiting the soup kitchen and possibly sitting in on a couple of his classes.
He’ll likely set a lot of boundaries at first, but you’re smart enough to negotiate. ”
“What?”
“Don’t try to dig up any unnecessary dirt unless you really suspect there’s something there. If that’s the case, we’ll talk about it and decide next steps.”
“Boss—”
“After he says yes, you have two months to gather everything you need. We’ll have a scheduled biweekly meeting to see whether we’re making progress or need to step back. I’ll take care of the board. This is a student-run paper, and they can’t censor us—”
“Amelia!”
Her head shoots up, and the room goes silent. I didn’t yell, but I apparently spoke loudly enough for others to hear.
Shit, I let my outside personality take over.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’ll say yes to this, or at least say yes to me.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Why not with you? You’ve already interviewed him, and it went better than we expected.”
I bite my lip and contemplate what to tell her. There’s a conflict of interest, but I can’t tell my editor or anyone at school that I kissed and was fingered by a professor…even if it was before he started working here.
That could ruin him.
Maybe not get him fired, but if word gets around, who knows if he’ll be taken seriously as a professor again? He just started this career.
“He seemed reserved and said no comment when it came to his divorce. He also preferred not to talk about his parents,” I say instead.
Amelia leans forward. “Listen, Emma. I understand your hesitation, but I’m going to do this piece with or without you. However, I would much rather it be you since he already knows you, and you did a crazy amount of research with the little bit of information there was online.”
Closing my eyes, I think about what she just said.
It would be crazy for me to do this. Then again, it would be crazy not to.
It’s the kind of article I’ve been searching for.
I could be the first journalist to get a glimpse into his life, and his passion for his career, and convince him to get his picture taken.
Knowing Amelia, if I don’t do this now, I won’t get another opportunity like it.
It’s a big university, but a small town.
Chances like this don’t come around often.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
She grins. “Perfect. We’ll make a schedule of updates and reports this week after you talk to him.”
“You got it, boss.”
Giving her a fake smile, I turn to my desk, where Ben is no longer standing, grab my purse, and book it out of there.
“Crap on a stick,” I say to myself once I’m outside.
How am I supposed to convince him to do this when he can barely stand being alone with me?
No, I’ve got this. We’ll set boundaries, and everything will be okay.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I walk to my room for a quick nap to relieve this headache that’s building before meeting Kamila, Luna, and Stevie at the movies.
A good girls’ night out will help.