Page 13 of Books and Hookups

Audrey Jones Hayes, Founder of Jasper Jones Literacy Foundation

LUCIE

Being able to walk to work was one of the best things about my apartment. Yesterday’s clouds had cleared, the sun peered weakly around the city’s skyscrapers, and I was full of energy after a solid seven hours of sleep. It had been decadent falling asleep exhausted from good sex with Danny’s arm warming me like a quilt.

Though I hadn’t loved the way he’d stomped out of my apartment. I’d only intended to decline his help, but I’d veered too far into brutal honesty by practically calling him a doormat. As my friend Savannah had gently pointed out last week, not everyone wants to hear an honest critique of their life choices.

When I stopped in front of the newspaper building, the ache between my legs reminded me I’d forgotten to stop at the drugstore. I glanced at my phone. Two minutes until the morning meeting. If I walked in late, Mario might give me the sucky story out of spite. I’d go to the drugstore on my way home.

I put my hand on the brass door handle and tugged. I decided to skip the stop at my desk and instead, breezed into the meeting. It hadn’t started, but Tad was there, of course, sitting in the prized seat to Mario’s right and muttering something to our boss.

“Good morning.” I set my bag on the seat to Mario’s left.

“Aren’t you chipper this morning?” Howard grinned at me with coffee-stained teeth as he set down his mug next to Tad, sloshing a few drops onto the conference table.

“Just full of vitamin D.” I grinned back.

He glanced at the pale sun outside the window. “Wait, do you mean?—”

“Okay,” Mario cut in, “let’s get started. City Council meeting today. Who wants it?”

There was silence around the table. “New guy.” He pointed at the intern, who’d slunk in. “You’re on it. Howard?—”

“Still working that piece on the legal situation at Moo-Lah,” Howard said.

I glanced at him. How long would he drag that story out? People in San Francisco were used to the ups and downs at tech companies. And Moo-Lah had been around long enough that they’d weather the latest scandal. Did he think he could make a series out of it?

“Okay. We’ve got the divorce of the founder of ClickClackGo, and this immigration thing to cover,” Mario said.

Shit. I usually listened to the news on my walk to work, but I’d been too busy replaying my night with Danny. Apparently, Tad had missed the story too because he repeated, “Immigration thing?”

“Somebody dumped a planeload of migrants in Sacramento.”

My eyes widened. That was a story I could run with. Who’d authorized moving them? Who’d paid for it? Who owned the plane? Would charges be filed? And what would happen to the migrants? How big could the story get?

Tad had his mouth open, but I said, “I’ll do it.”

“Wait a sec,” Tad said. “Celebrity divorce is your beat.”

“No, it’s not. Why would you say that?”

“It’s human interest. Everyone knows you’re the best at that.” He smirked like he’d made an unassailable point.

“Every story is human interest,” I said. “Especially a migrant story.”

“You’ll turn it into a political statement,” Tad said.

I flattened my lips. “I’ll run it by the editorial board to ensure it aligns with the paper’s editorial values. Would you?”

“Just the facts, ma’am.” He looked at Mario.

Ugh.Just the facts, to Tad, meant digging up some petty crime that one of the migrants had committed and portraying them all as a danger to white middle-class society. At least I’d treat these people as humans and not criminals. “A reporter’s going to have to go to Sacramento to cover it,” I said. “Isn’t your wife due any day, Tad?”

He scowled at me. “She is.”

Ah, the advantages of being unencumbered by family responsibilities.It was how I’d landed that story on human trafficking years ago. A reporter’s kid had gotten sick, and I’d stepped in to cover for her. “Then I’m the best option to write the story. I’m ready to go right now.” I stared at Mario.

He glanced at Tad, then back at me. “Tad, you’re on the divorce. The migrant story is yours, Lucie. But keep expenses down. I’m not paying for booze, and the word ‘suite’ better not be anywhere on the hotel bill.”

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