Page 30 of The Business Trip

“Dorothy… Alan… Stephanie.” I took a moment to point at each and look them in the eye. “In Atlanta, I run a tight ship. I’ve learned over the years that if you give an inch, most will take a mile. It’s also important for the boss to be decisive, so I choose what we’re covering each day and stick to it. Crime is rampant, and we’re known as the breaking news station. People turn to us for that, and we have to live up to it. It bleeds, it leads. Youknow what I mean, right, Al? How about you, how do you run things up there in the Zoo?”

I was proud of myself for coming up with a nickname for Alan’s home city so quickly and grinned at him. Alan pushed his glasses up on his nose and gave me a long look.

“Well, we actually take the opposite approach from your style,” he said in a voice that I could only describe as wimpy. “We try to hear all viewpoints in the newsroom about what we should cover. I think that makes for the best newsroom atmosphere. It should be a democracy, not a dictatorship.”

I tried to suppress my disgust. That tactic would never work or get him to a larger market. No wonder he was stuck there in Podunkville. Next Dorothy chimed in.

“We’re trying community journalism in Boston. We have assigned reporters to specific neighborhoods and they are embedded there. Some even live in those neighborhoods. We do what we call ‘hometown stories’ and profile restaurants and people in addition to breaking news, politics, and, yes, crime. But crime is not our focus. I think people want solutions-based journalism, not just an amplification of problems. We’re actually tryingnotto run out breathlessly to every breaking news scene. Just because crime happens and is the low-hanging fruit doesn’t mean it automatically gets anointed to the top spot.”

A second pussy station, I thought, and turned to fully face Stephanie. Her cleavage was peeking out of the black dress, and I tried not to be obvious, but I thought I saw a hint of a lacy bra. Damn. It had been too long, an escort for a few hours in my room in Vegas six months ago notwithstanding.

“So what about you, Steph? How do you do it in Mad-town?”

“Umm,” she said. “We kind of do a little bit of everythingyou all said. You know, we just do our best to cover the news every single day.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied. “But like, what is your style?” I wouldn’t let her get away with an answer like that. I was a journalist, damn it. I would dig deeper.

“My style?”

“Yeah, as a news director,” I added, taking a swig of water from my glass and staring her down. She would give me a decent answer if I had to wait all day. “Are you someone who likes to… punish others? Or do you prefer, you know, a softer touch?”

I winked at her, wondering if she would get my subtle hints, if she’d flirt back. After all, she clearly had to think I was the hottest thing in this room too.

“Oh, ummm.” She shifted in her seat. “Well, my style is to be nice to everyone—but tough when I need to. I can do it all.”

We all just kind of looked at her. She didn’t have much of a way with words, that was for sure, but she was definitely cute in a room filled with dudes, Dorothy, Willow, and a bunch of other aging or pudgy women.

“Excuse me,” Stephanie said. “I have to run to the restroom.”

Grabbing her light blue purse from the chair, she strode across the room and out the door by the name tag table. I watched her go. Long legs, tight rear. She really was sexy. If I could just get her to loosen up a bit. Maybe at lunch.

CHAPTER 27Trent

After Lunch

Ninety minutes later we were back in the ballroom.

I looked around as people began finding their seats. This conference was at least 70 percent men, and I nodded to myself in approval. I mean, come on, could you blame the GMs out there for hiring male news directors? We all knew men made better leaders. I would never say that out loud, of course, or the woke mafia would come after me, but everyone knew it was the damn truth. Men got shit done and didn’t let emotions come into play. Women were too wishy-washy. I had seen them cry in front of their own employees. You could burn my condo down and I still wouldn’t cry in front of coworkers. I couldn’t think of a single scenario in which I would. I hadn’t cried since third grade when I got pushed on the playground by Tommy Reece. My teacher had called Mom, and when she didn’t answer, she called my dad. He came to get me and chided me in the car for crying and being a pussy and, above all, not shoving Tommy back. That about ended my public crying.

Settling into my seat at the conference, I glanced at the program for the afternoon. More bullshit. A slew of speakerstalking fluff, including a panel who was supposed to speak to us about mental health in the newsroom. I hated buzzwords like that. “Mental health”? What did that even mean? You’re in a good mood some days; you’re in a bad mood others. Period, the end. Why was it so fucking hard?

This conference was a snoozefest. I started to plan my escape. Maybe I could cut out early, grab an Uber to some hip part of San Diego, and start cocktail hour. Convince Stephanie to come with me. Speaking of Stephanie, where was she? I looked around for that pink blazer, but it was nowhere to be found.

Dorothy and Alan were headed my way, though, walking together and talking, Dorothy’s hands gesturing about something while Alan nodded. I had seen them sit next to each other at lunch too. Luckily I had avoided their table and had just outfoxed someone else to slide into the seat next to Stephanie. It was almost like musical chairs when you had to pounce on the available spot. It was a good move, and I thought I had made some headway with Steph at lunch. She answered my questions when I asked her where she went to college (DePaul), where she was from (Indiana), and if she had any kids (a son named Evan). I didn’t ask about a hubby or a boyfriend, but she didn’t have a ring on her finger, which meant she was open for business, as far as I was concerned.

She asked me some questions back, and I told her about my divorce and how my ex was bilking me for money. I had sidled up to her as we took a group picture, and I pushed against her behind, just to give her a hint of the fun we could have together. I think she loved it. It was a start. Get some cocktails in her and see where we might go.

“Hi, Trent, did you enjoy your lunch? What did you have?”Dorothy asked as she reached our table and sat down. Alan said nothing and simply took his seat.

“Stephanie and I both had chicken. Delicious,” I responded, and then did the polite thing by asking them the same question back. Truly, I didn’t care what they thought of their lunches but figured I needed to have proper etiquette.

“We both chose the fish. It was divine, really straight out of the ocean,” Dorothy responded, then added, “I’m looking forward to the speakers this afternoon, aren’t you? Particularly the therapists talking on mental health. Such a crucial topic for any newsroom. In fact, I can’t think of a more important one.”

I grunted a response and looked around for Stephanie again. She had lingered back in the courtyard while the rest of us were headed into the ballroom. Maybe she had to check in with her assistant or something. But still no sign of her, and now the emcee was climbing the stairs to the stage again and welcoming us to the second part of day one.

Seventy-five minutes into one excruciatingly long session about how to better cover crime, and not one sign of Stephanie. What the hell? I had spent most of this session ignoring the speaker and trying to imagine what could have happened to Steph. Did she ask to be moved to another table? That would piss me off. More than once, I swiveled my head around the room to see if that had been the case, but there was no sign of her.

Did she get sick? We both had chicken and I felt fine, so I didn’t think it was food poisoning; plus, it doesn’t hit that quickly, does it? Did she call her assistant and find out there was an emergency back in Madison? Or… and this was the thought that both annoyed and titillated me… did she bail on this conference just because she was as bored as I was?

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