Page 2 of You. Me. Us.

Settling at her desk after a few steps back the way she came, Hillary pulled her laptop from her bag and opened it, seeing the same blinking cursor from the subway ride. The stupid thing mocked her, her own insecurities reflected back in the stark white of the empty document. She could have at least written the start. She didn’t need the famous Marcos DeLatore for that bit, but she hadn’t.

Grinding her teeth, Hillary began to type, her fingers moving far too slowly over the keys. She lost herself in the work, the outside world fading away as she crafted sentences and wove together paragraphs. This was where she felt most at home, most herself—in the world of words and stories.

As she wrote, she held onto a nagging feeling that this piece, like so many others, wouldn’t be enough to impress Olivia. Hillary had poured her heart into every article, desperate to prove herself, to show that she belonged here. But each time, she was met with polite nods and mild praise, never quite earning the glowing approval she craved. Never getting to be in the first twenty-pages of print or anywhere in the digital sphere.

“One day,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving the screen, “one day, I’ll write something that will blow them all away. Something that will make Olivia see me, really see me.”

I just need to get that prick photographer on the phone.Hillary leaned for the phone, ready to try for the fifteenth since yesterday, when a door on the editing floor swung open with awhooshand slammed into the wall.

The bustling room turned into a hushed, dead silence. Olivia Parker strode out, her high heels clicking against the polished floor. She radiated confidence, her hazel eyes sweeping over the sea of desks and cubicles. Everyone stopped what they weredoing. Every gaze was locked on the editor-in-chief as she made her way through the office.

Hillary was no exception.

She couldn’t help but stare, equal parts intimidated and in awe of the woman who held her career in her perfectly manicured hands. Olivia moved with a grace that seemed effortless, her sleek black hair and tailored suit a stark contrast to Hillary’s simple blouse, slacks and loose ponytail.

As Olivia approached Hillary’s desk, Hillary worried she’d puke realizing the editor was coming to her. Olivia didn’t talk to writers, not unless they were feature writers and Hillary absolutely was not.Do not panic. She’s not firing you. She’s not firing you.Straightening in her chair, Hillary flexed her fingers over the keyboard, suddenly uncertain of what to do with her boss—who had never spoken to her—suddenly very close to her desk.

“Hillary,” Olivia said, her voice smooth and commanding. “How’s the piece coming along?”

“It’s... it’s going well,” Hillary managed, cursing the slight tremor in her voice. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on it now.”Don’t worry about the lie. Don’t worry about the lie.Despite being nearly thirty, Hillary was little more than a kid waiting to be yelled at by her parents when it came to her editor.

Olivia leaned over Hillary’s shoulder, her eyes clearly scanning the words on the screen. Hillary held her breath, waiting for the inevitable critique, the subtle disapproval that always seemed to lurk beneath Olivia’s polished exterior.

But to Hillary’s surprise, Olivia smiled. “This is good,” she said, nodding. “You’ve captured the essence of the story, the heart of it. But...” She paused, and Hillary braced herself. “But there’s no quotes, nothing that makes me want to keep reading.” Olivia pulled her glasses off her face and perched them on top ofher head. “Dig into those notes. Marcos needs to be on the page, this is just an essay.”

Hillary nodded, her mind already racing with the need to spill that she hadn’t cornered the photographer yet. “I won’t let you down,” she said, her voice unnaturally steady despite the way her insides jittered like she’d had eighteen espresso shots.

“You have a gift, Hillary. One day I’d like to see you do bigger pieces, but your eye for interviewing isn’t there yet. Your voice is fantastic. Get there and big things will happen.”

Olivia turned and strode away, leaving Hillary staring after her, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest. Pride at Olivia’s praise. Fear at the thought of failing to live up to her expectations. And beneath it all, a flicker of desire to prove herself. To show the world what she was truly capable of behind her timid gaze.

Hillary turned back to her phone, her fingers poised over the receiver. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and picked up the phone. Marcos was going to answer her questions whether he wanted to or not because she was out of time and this wasn’t something she could be late for.

“I need to speak to Marcos directly.” She lowered her voice even though the normal ruckus had returned. She didn’t need anyone to know how close to deadline she was. “He agreed to an interview with Muse magazine, and it’s time to collect.”

Hillary blew out a breath and set the phone down. Marco was erratic as a cat chasing a laser light, but a glance down at her notepad proved she had everything she needed. Her stomach growled as she set her hands on the keyboard.

“Lunch after.” It was just a little past one, food would wait.

“Hillary!” Megan’s voice floated from the opposite end as she walked up. “Are you done with that piece?”

Hillary fidgeted with a paperclip on the desk. “I thought I had till the end of the day?”

“You do, but Olivia wants to give you this, too.” Megan stuck a sticky note on the front of Hillary’s computer as she approached. The handwriting was messy, but legible.

“Star Coffee?”

“Apparently it just opened and their gig is that celebs come and be barista’s. Olivia wants fifteen hundred words by Friday. Digital launch Saturday morning.”

Hillary stared at the note, her mind reeling. A new assignment? On top of the lifestyle piece she was already scrambling to finish? She swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest.

“Friday?” she repeated, her voice sounding small even to her own ears. “As in, this Friday? Four days from now?”

Megan nodded, her expression sympathetic but firm. “I know it’s tight, but Olivia wants to be the first to cover this place. You know how she is about exclusives.”

Hillary did know. Olivia was relentless in her pursuit of the next big story, always pushing her team to be faster, better, more innovative. It was both inspiring and exhausting.

“Got it,” Hillary said, forcing a smile. “I’ll make it happen.”

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