Page 12 of Ticket to You

I can feel the heat rising in my face as my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. Without thinking, I grab the band of my grandfather’s watch with my opposite hand, grateful I wore it today. It always brings a sense of comfort. “The data shows those expenditures are well worth it. The travel section opens up a world of variety and content and, of course, advertisers.”

What feels like a lifetime of silence passes with my eyes locked on Jane’s. When she speaks again, she starts with a blithe sigh. “You’ve seen the stories, Ophelia. The country is in a recession. People aren’t buying high-end makeup or designer clothes right now.”

Jane stands, now leaning on the table against her fingertips. Her hair shifts with the movement, but not a single strand moves out of place. “Hoffman Publishing needs to go back to the basics.”

“So we do domestic travel for now,” I say, gritting my teeth. Traveling and staying on the move has always been my dream as a journalist. If I’m not traveling, I may as well be a pencil-pushing editor.

“You’re our highest-paid writer,” Jane continues.

“And your best writer,” I correct her. “I have the nomination to prove it.” It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Jane called me a “talented visionary,” but now I feel like I’m back in my first scathing performance review.

“You have been an excellent writer. But we can’t afford you anymore.” Jane walks across the room to her corkboard. She speaks with no emotion, like she’s reading the laundering instructions on a clothing tag, not firing her most “excellent” journalist.

“I don’t understand.” My voice quavers, and I hate myself for it.

“The entire company is downsizing. Hoffman Publishing is cutting two entire publications. Every department in every office is losing people.”

“You can’t fire me.” I laugh humorlessly. “I’ve been proving myself to you for six years, and I just started the travel section.”

Jane doesn’t bother looking my way before responding. “Certainly, most people in a recession aren’t going on vacations.”

“Jane, you need to give me one shot, one more trip. I’ll make it worthAtelier’s while. I can assure you of that.” My words sound muffled in my ears, and I fight through the pounding that bangs around in my head. Everything in me threatens to unravel.

“We don’t have the budget to send a team out.”

Suddenly, the fluorescents in the room feel brighter than before. I squeeze my eyes shut. “So don’t send a team. Just send me,” I insist, grasping at straws. “I started here as an intern and worked in writingandphotography. I’ll do it all. I’ll plan, style, interview, write, photograph—all myself.”

She wastes no time before responding. “Sending you on a trip of that magnitude alone would be a death sentence.”

“Then I better get my final affairs in order,” I say, standing up and walking to Jane.

Jane adds another photo to her corkboard. “It’s not possible.”

My chest feels empty as if Jane stepped right through it with one of her red bottom heels.No. I won’t lose my dream job over a budgeting issue. If there was anything I learned growing up, it was how to stretch a dollar.There has to be something.

“Send me with another publication,” I snap, stepping directly into Jane’s eye line. “Almost all of Hoffman’s magazines have a travel section. I’ll go with another journalist.”

Jane tilts her head to the side, studying me. I refuse to shrink under her gaze.

“I’ll talk to Gemma atOutdoorsy. Their magazine is practically one giant travel section. Surely, there’s someone I can join on a trip, especially because they’ve been going through layoffs too. I’ll help them with their stories. They’ll help with mine.”

My chest pounds out the quiet passing seconds. Jane stares at me, looking both flawless and terrifying. “Fine.Ifyou can find another journalist to work with. This is your one chance, Ophelia, and I suggest taking full advantage of it. You say you can do the work of an entire team, and you can prove it.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” I say decidedly.

“It seems you have some planning to get to if you want to be on a plane soon,” Jane says. She looks from me to the door, a signal for me to leave. I stand, hands trembling slightly, and stride away.

“And Ophelia?” Jane calls right as I’m about to close the door behind me.

I freeze.Did she already change her mind?

“I like your pants” is all she says before picking up the phone at her desk.

Adrenaline courses in my veins as if I injected a triple-shot espresso into my arm. In a matter of minutes, my universe, which is built entirely around my career, threatened to come crashing down. And my half-baked solution isn’t making me feel much better.

I’ve only been onOutdoorsy’s floora few times, but I’m still able to find my way through the cluttered desks and past the milling employees dressed in plaid and sweat-wicking button-ups to the door etched with the wordsGemma Yu — Senior Editor.Through the glass, Gemma is pacing in tight circles. Immediately after we I walk in, she rushes over to me, wrapping me in a hug.

“What happened?” she whispers into my hair. Clearly, my close call set her on edge, too. After leaving Jane’s office, the only text I could get out of my fingers was:I might lose my job.

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