C8 Carter

Ah. We’re on tricky ground, here. I could explain my decision, but I won’t do it if there’s a chance it will be blasted to a company where the employees number in the hundreds. “Tough decisions have been made,” I say. “More will have to be in the future. Acture isn’t here to decimate the Globe, though. We’re not picking it apart. We have no plans to sell it for parts. The end goal is to make the Globe slimmer, more efficient, and equipped to handle the ever-changing media landscape. That’s something I want you to put in the interview.” Dutifully, she notes it down. “Is that something Acture does a lot? When you acquire companies?” “Make them better? Yes.” The look she shoots me isn’t impressed. “Layoffs.” “If necessary, yes,” I say honestly. “It’s not a part of the process we enjoy, but organizations often have vestiges of previous takeovers, projects, re-organizations. Often times those can be a drain on a company’s potential growth.” Audrey cocks her head. “Did you know? When we met at that bar?” “Know what?” “That I’d just been at the Globe for an interview that very day?” This time, I can’t hide my smile. “Do you think I personally vet every person this company hires? Because I can assure you, I don’t have that kind of time.” It echoes the text I’d jokingly sent her earlier, after I’d tried coffee the way she’d pestered me to, saying it was the best. It wasn’t. Like so many things, we disagreed. She must hear it too, because her cheeks flush with color. “Right. Of course you don’t.” “Go on,” I say. “Ask me anything else for the newsletter.” Her eyes meet mine. Flustered, challenged, annoyed. And intrigued. Try as she may to act aloof, she’s interested, just as she’d been standing next to me at the bar. I know what she says next will surprise me. She always does. “What’s your exit strategy?” she asks. Both my eyebrows rise. “We’ve just bought the company. We’re not thinking of selling it anytime soon.” “But you will, one day,” she says. “That’s the strategy of venture“We should be professional,” she says. “We should,” I agree. “I will lodge a formal complaint with HR about your atrocious taste in coffee.” Her eyes flare. “You should have used one and a half pumps. But don’t deflect. What’s your exit strategy?” “Is that really a question on that little sheet of yours?” “Mr. Kingsley,” she warns. “You’ve got the stamina to be a journalist,” I mutter, but I lean back in my chair and consider her question. It’s a fair one. Perhaps not something I want to have announced to the world yet, though. “There is one,” I say. “Suffice it to say that Acture is committed to seeing the Globe as a booming, one-stop source for news, a place that has as solid a future as it has a renowned past, before we consider letting go of the reins.” “Cashing in on your profits,” she translates. “Right?” I smile at her. She knows I can’t answer that. Reluctantly, she sighs, looking down at her notepad. “This interview doesn’t contain much substance.” “That’s okay,” I say. “That’s not what your co-workers are looking for right now.” She taps her pen against the notepad. “They want reassurance, and information, and I don’t have either of those things yet.” “Yes, you do,” I correct her. “Not in the way you want it, perhaps. But you can tell them that there is someone at the top who has a vision and a plan. They’re bound to be nervous after hearing about people getting fired.” Audrey pauses in her writing, eyes meeting mine. I can’t decipher what’s in hers. “Wow,” she says. “You really mean that, don’t you?” “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” She shakes her head and keeps writing, and my fingers tap annoyedly at the glass desk. It had been a standard answer for me. “You’re young to be this successful,” she says, head still bowed. “Only thirty-two and CEO of this company.” “You remembered?” “Unless it was a lie,” she says. “You can’t keep track of them all.” The reference to our earlier text conversation doesn’t make me smile. I don’t want to lose that. Being ridiculous with her, sending her texts designed

to make her laugh… “Wasn’t a lie,” I say. “And you’re twenty-six.” “In four months’ time,” she adds. “But that’s not relevant for this interview.” “Is my age?” “Of course. I’m introducing Carter Kingsley, thirty-two-year-old partner of Acture Capital and newly appointed CEO of the Globe, to all of your employees. Very few of whom, I should say, have ever seen your face.” “I haven’t called an all-hands meeting yet,” I admit, running a hand over my jaw. “But I will.” Audrey purses her lips. They’re without lip gloss today, I see, a warm, dusky pink that looks natural and soft. “Will you be accessible to your employees?” “Accessible?” “If any should have questions, concerns or… complaints about the way the changes are being implemented. Where should they go?” “Ah. Well, they’re always free to email me or Wesley, and we will do our best to answer their questions.” Audrey looks down at her notepad again. Probably surveying what she has, but judging from the faint crease in her brow, she’s not happy. “What are the odds of me getting an actual response from you about any future plans? What you’re going to implement next?” “Zero,” I say. “Like I suspected.” She rises from her seat and smooths a hand over her slacks. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Kingsley.” “Anytime, Audrey.” She pauses, hand on the back of the chair. “Miss Ford.” “Miss Ford,” I repeat. “I will send the interview to you, with your assistant in copy, as soon as it’s done,” she says. Her eyes aren’t on me, but on the emblazoned name plate on my desk. Carter Kingsley, CEO, The New York Globe. Wesley had it made for me when I arrived. It had been an over-the-top gift from a suck-up, and I’d known it. Now I wish I hadn’t put it here on display. Somehow, it didn’t seem quite so ironic when she was looking at it. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll be pleased with it.” Audrey is halfway to the door before she turns around. Her eyes aren’t challenging this time. They’re hesitant.

“Yes?” “This won’t affect my job in any way,” she says. “Will it?” Something inside me sinks at the question. Of course she’d wonder. And with that, the most normal interaction I’d had with someone, the most casual, no strings-attached conversation, is gone for good. Nail in the coffin. She might not expect the same things my exes did, but she sure expects something. It’s just not flattering. “No,” I say. “It won’t. You never have to worry about that.” She breathes out a sigh. “Right. Okay, well… thank you, then. Mr. Kingsley.” “No, thank you… Miss Ford.” Kid had been on the tip of my tongue. Not that it suits her, but because it harkens back to the first time I’d called her that in teasing. She’d hated it. I’d used it liberally in texting since. Audrey gives me a last nod and closes the door behind her. Leaving me alone in the too-big, too-bright office. I reach for the gold plaque with my name on it and shove it in the bottom drawer of my desk. The phone on my desk blinks and I press it down. “Yes?” “Colt Whittaker is here for you, sir. Should I send him in?” I close my eyes. That’s another person I need to fire, and I hate it every single time. But I’ll be damned if I’ll make the decision and then send in someone else to make the kill for me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business, it’s that integrity matters. My father taught me that, by having absolutely none at all himself. “Send him in,” I say.