New York Billionaires Series

She nods. “We’re a big-picture paper, but I think we’ve lost sight of the customers at home over the last couple of years. The New Yorkers who are our true supporters. They care about their city and the things that happen in it.”

A quiet apprehension lands in the air. She’s criticized the leadership of the newspaper to the current and former heads, and she’d done it with an enthusiastic smile.

And that, I think, is why she deserves to be called spitfire.

“It’s a good story,” I say. “The freeze on solo reporting will be lifted. I want you to find time to work on it.”

She nods, and I can tell she’s biting the inside of her cheek to stop a smile. “Yes, sir. Excellent. I’ll… do that.”

“No sir,” I repeat.

I leave her at her desk, the terrible actress with her glittering eyes. Wesley walks beside me on our way back to the executive floor. There’s agitation in his silence.

“Just say it,” I tell him.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Several of them overstepped,” he says. “I’ll speak to Booker tomorrow. Saying they didn’t have time, sharing their unsolicited thoughts on the direction of the newspaper…”

I frown at him. Is this how he usually runs the paper? “I don’t want sycophants, I want a functioning newspaper,” I say. “You won’t tell Booker a thing.”

A brief flare-up of irritation in Wesley’s eyes, but then it’s gone, and he’s once more the helpful second-in-command. “Noted.”

As soon as I’m back in my office, I reply to Audrey’s text.

Carter: You’re a terrible actress.

Well, reply is a loose term. I’d promised her help with her dates. But I never promised to be prompt.

Audrey: You terrified everyone in this room, you know. Announcing you wanted to get to know the department. I swear two people in the back fainted.

I frown down at my phone.

Carter: You’re exaggerating.

Audrey: Only slightly. What made you want to get to know Investigative better?

She has to know it’s her. Audrey’s words and her burning enthusiasm for the topic. I still have plans for the other departments, not to mention the Globe ‘s app. But her passion is contagious.

Can great journalism really be the savior of this newspaper?

Carter: Someone told me it’s the backbone of this paper.

Audrey: Someone very smart, right?

Carter: Moderately, I’d say.

Audrey: I’ll take it. Thank you for allowing solo initiatives again. You know, we all work on it on our spare time. It’s what keeps a lot of these journalists’ flames burning.

I’d never considered that. Booker handles the story beats, but all of them want to pursue their own stories. Like Audrey’s bodega. Flames burning. Christ, she has a way with words.

I take another hour to answer her first text. It’s a dick move, because it’s already past five and she’s likely left the paper already, but I couldn’t bring myself to give her advice before. Half my text is a lie.

Carter: Glad to hear about your date. The movies is a good suggestion. If you’re wondering if he’ll think about handsiness in the cinema, the answer is yeah, he might hope for it. But he’s an asshole if he expects it.

It’s only half-an-hour before she texts me back.

Audrey: Thank you, you’re right. But he just cancelled 🙁 No movies for me!

And with that single text, I see an opportunity.

It should have bummed me out. On all accounts, Ben was great. A musician with a steady gig as a piano teacher, well-mannered, didn’t seem like a closet psychopath. He was cute in that teacher kind of way, and I’d always been a teacher’s pet. His text to cancel had consisted of no less than three different ways of apologizing. I’m sorry, forgive me, and I feel terrible.

But me? All I feel is relief.

I don’t have to go through with another nerve-wracking date, where half my brain spends the entire evening nervous about what he’s thinking. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could be like Nina, my best friend, who throws herself off metaphorical dating cliffs with reckless abandon.

I’d texted her right after I texted Carter, and she’s written me an essay in response.

Nina: You can’t let this one setback turn you off. He might have a legitimate excuse. But I want you to know I’m so proud of you. How many first dates have you been on now? Who are you, and what have you done with Audrey??

She means well, and I smile at the double question marks. But these dates aren’t leading anywhere. I’m overcoming my nerves of first dates, yes, but nothing more.

The fifteen minutes I’d spent re-doing my makeup feels like a waste now. I lift up my long hair and arrange it into a bun. Should I go out anyway? Eat at a restaurant alone, a woman empowered?

But Lord knows I’m not made of money.

So I let my hair down and sit at my kitchen table instead. I have three separate notebooks open, filled with my sprawling handwriting. With the heavy pressure at work, I spend most of my evenings on the story about the evicted bodega owners and violated zoning regulations.

I hit play on my recorder and listen to my interview with the owner. My voice is steady, if a bit nervous. His grows agitated as he describes how predatory gentrification is pushing them out of the area.

I start transcribing.

The owner has just finished describing the construction company in very colorful terms when my phone rings.

Carter Kingsley, my phone screen informs me.

We’ve never spoken on the phone before.

“Hello?” I say.

“Your date remains cancelled?”

“Uh, yes. Nothing’s changed since I texted you.”

“Come on then, I’m downstairs.”

I walk to my window. “What?”

“I heard you were in need of a white knight.”