C11 Audrey

I frown. “I’d noticed a lot of ads. But most print media has that now.” “Yes, because all of print media is struggling. You haven’t seen the numbers, Audrey, but if you had…” He shakes his head. “This place is a week, a month, from ruination. People don’t read the news anymore. They certainly don’t open their local newspaper to see which albums the music expert has reviewed when debating whether or not to buy a CD. Because they don’t. We have to adapt.” “By firing some of our greatest people?” “Not all have been fired,” he corrects me. “Some will work as independent contractors. Phil, for example, who you seemed so concerned about in my office last week. He will continue to write monthly op-eds for the newspaper. He doesn’t need to have a full-time office space and be on the payroll for that.” “That’s job security,” I say. “Only if the job continues to exist,” he says. There’s a seriousness to his expression now, like he wants me to get this. To believe him. “The Globe is a great paper, Audrey. I know it and you know it. But it will be a hard few months before this place finds a way to right itself from the nosedive it’s in.” I sigh. “I didn’t know it was that bad.” “It is,” he says. “What’s worse, I don’t like how much power the advertisers have. It compromises the kind of stories your department gets to tell.” I lean back in my seat. His words strike me like a thunderbolt. I’d never thought of that before, not deeply, even if it had come up now and again during my classes in J-school. If we’re really in such dire straits… “It’s hard to take in, that’s all. That these drastic changes are necessary.” “I’m not trying to butcher the newspaper,” Carter says, and there’s a quiet, passionate note in his voice I haven’t heard before. “In time, I hope the others will realize that too.” “But more people will have to go?” “It’s either that,” he says, “or the newspaper goes bankrupt.” I sigh, looking down at my menu without reading a single word. The letters might as well be in a different alphabet. “I want to believe you,” I say. He has no reason to lie to me, no reason to get me on his side… but he’severy bit the moneyed, privileged, too-rich businessman I’ve read about a thousand times, in a thousand articles, slaughtering companies for parts and not caring about the employees. “You should,” he says. “Have I ever steered you wrong?” “You have spectacularly bad judgement sometimes,” I say, unable to stop myself. “Like when you suggested I go on a date at Cake.” “It’s a nice place,” he says. “I’ve been on plenty of dates there. The guy you went out with last week, the insurance agent, he would’ve liked it, I’m sure.” “Yes, but Cake has a two month waiting list. You live in an ivory tower.” He frowns at me. “It does?” “Yes. How do you usually book a table?” “I call them, or my assistant does.” “And you say your name?” “Of course,” he says. “You have to, for them to hold a reservation, you know.” “Right. Well, that’s why you can get a reservation at Cake.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t mean I have bad judgement.” “No, you’re just out of touch,” I say. “At least I don’t need sweeteners and creamers to drink a normal cup of java.” “Low blow,” I say. “One-and-a-half pumps.” He opens his menu, a smile on his lips. It transforms him into the man I’d met at the bar all those weeks ago. The one who’d teased me out of my nervous breakdown. “Order something, kid,” he says. “You only have an hour-long lunch break.” “Are you pulling the boss card?” “Boss’s boss’s boss, I believe it was,” he says. “They have decent burgers here.” We order by the bar, and the food arrives a suspiciously short amount of time later. It should stop me in my tracks, but I’m too hungry to hold back, biting into the burger. “Oh,” I murmur. “This is decent. Delicious, even.” “Told you,” he says, looking at me over his bun. His eyes glitter. “You moan when you eat, you know. When it’s tasty.” “I do not.”

“You do.” I reach for my glass of water, self-conscious. “You’re being mean.” His eyebrows rise. “Not the response I was expecting.” “Why did you bring me here, really?” I ask. “Just to tell me why the paper is doing so bad? That doesn’t feel like information a junior employee is entitled to.” Carter takes another bite of his burger, his sharp jaw working. He doesn’t seem in a rush to give me an answer. So I put my food down and wait. He looks out at the empty dive bar. “Couple of reasons,” he says finally. “You see a different side of the Globe than I do. You’re right there, talking to others as a colleague. You’re in the newsroom.” “I won’t spy,” I say. His mouth quirks. “Wouldn’t expect you to. But if you’re so concerned about this paper, then… help me set it to rights, Audrey. You’ll see what departments do the most work. You’ll see what departments barely do anything at all.” I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t be the reason people lose their jobs.” “But can you be the reason dozens, if not hundreds of others, maintain their jobs?” he says. There’s enthusiasm in his tawny eyes. “You don’t have to give me any information that makes you uncomfortable. But you clearly have opinions. I want to hear them.” “Is this just because…” I trail off, unable to find the words I’m looking for. Him and me, in a crowded bar, arguing over trivial things with dancing eyes. “Because of what?” he asks. I shake my head. “Never mind. I’ll help you, if I… if my opinions really can help.” “They can,” he says. “I need as many perspectives as possible into the Globe, the organization, the way it works.” “Not happy with just Wesley?” I say dryly. “He’s good, but he doesn’t know everything,” Carter says. Then he gets a gleam in his eyes. “You know, I’ll help you in return.” “With what?” “Men. Just like I did before.” I roll my eyes. “By suggesting Cake for one of my dates. You have torealize the men I go out with aren’t like you.” “They’re men,” he says, “and I am one. How hard can it be?” “Dating is nerve-wracking enough for me without having your bad advice in my head,” I say, smiling now too. “You’ve seen just how worked up I get.” “You have no trouble telling me what you think,” he says. “You’re not nervous now.” “Well, no. But you’re my boss, we’re working. It’s not like you’re serious about… me, you know? It’s not like that.” “Right,” he says. “Because you and I would never go on a date.” “Of course not,” I say. Is he joking? A frisson of nerves bursts through my stomach, there and gone. He has to be. He’s the CEO of the Globe, and he’s also… him, handsome as sin and charming and someone who dates models. Carter raises his glass to mine. It’s ice water to ice water, nothing special, but the smile on his face says something else. “To friendship,” he says. I touch my glass to his. “To friendship,” I say, and think that this must be the weirdest, most unexpected one I’ve ever had.