Page 16 of The Last Dance

5

Work Emergency

Ambri

‘Ambri, I need you to rewrite Josh’s story.’

My boss can be a little more than demanding at times, even when I’m supposed to be off the clock.

‘Why?’

I know why because word spread through the office pretty quickly today after Josh let it slip to Trevor, but I never expected Jimmy to force me to write his article. Clearly I’m being punished for the fact that Josh couldn’t seem to get his shit together enough to perform his job. He started at PDX Weekly two months ago and never did turn in a story on time. He’d been pulled into Jimmy’s office every single week for an ass-chewing because of it. No wonder he quit. I can only handle the occasionally irritated Jimmy and even that is something I’d much rather avoid.

‘Because the story he’d written was his resignation that makes me seem like a slave-driving idiot.’

I will not laugh. I will not laugh.

He taps a pen on his desk as he stares into the dark empty office behind me. He’s truly shocked by this news. How on earth doesn’t he see what we all see?

I’ll admit, when I took this job almost two years ago I’d heard horror stories about Jimmy, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. People have bad days. People also rarely talk about the good in life. Negativity spreads much quicker than anything positive.

It’s kind of funny he’s this irritated over not wanting to look like a slave-driving idiot, yet I’m standing here at eight in the evening because I got a text demanding that I come in immediately because there was a work emergency. It’s not like I drove clear across town or anything. Thankfully, I don’t live far, but still, I’d say he qualifies for demanding at best.

‘I don’t write celebrity pieces, I’m afoodwriter. How am I supposed to write a column about local celebrities when I have no ins with that world?’

I’m the girl who couldn’t really care less what the Kardashians are up to and am much more interested in what Rachel Ray is doing. I like food. Always have, though my obsession has grown over the last couple years. And it’s got to begoodfood. Not the stuff you get from McDonald’s or Burger King, but the kind of food you can only get when you walk the streets of a city. The tiny places tucked into corners or in the shape of a truck. They’re all around you if you look and I know where every single one of them is in Portland.

Jimmy drops his head back against his desk chair, heaving a frustrated-sounding sigh. ‘God, you guys need a lot of help doing your jobs.’

‘I don’t need help doingmyjob. I knowmyjob. What I don’t know is Josh’s job. The site updates in forty-eight hours so how exactly do you expect me to find an in and get a story written by then?’

‘Here.’ He scribbles something onto a yellow sticky note and hands it over to me. ‘This is my niece, Karmen McBride. She’s been a celebrity stylist in LA for the last few years – my brother, her dad, is a big movie producer down there. She’s new to town and I’m sure she can hook you up with some kind of dirt on someone. It probably won’t be local, but I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.’

I take the sticky note from him and stare down at it.

‘OK…’

‘And, Ambri, remember, the juicier the story, the better the site does.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of how a celebrity story works, Jimmy. I’ve readPeoplemagazine before.’ I roll my eyes only after I’ve left his office.

Two days’ notice. Which means in order to make the site I have to have the story ready to go in one. Perfect. I was supposed to have the next couple days off because I’ve got vacation days stacking up. So, Noah and I were going to spend a long weekend together binging on Netflix and eating all the food you’re not supposed to eat. We’ve both been working a lot and we need a break. There go those plans.

I make my way through the office and to my car. I pull the note from my pocket with my keys. I should probably wait and call Karmen in the morning, at least that would be the professional thing to do. But I can’t risk not being able to get a hold of her with as short of a timeline as I have. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial in her number. The line rings, and rings, and rings.

‘Forget it,’ I say to myself.

‘Hello?’ A woman answers right as I’m pulling the phone from my ear to hang up.

‘Hello?’ I repeat, like an idiot who’s never used a phone before. ‘Er, I mean, hi! Is this Karmen McBride?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hi, Karmen. My name is Ambri and I work as a journalist for your uncle, Jimmy Painter.’

I question if this is a niece that considers Jimmy the same perverted douchewagon that his employees do. He’s always staring at one of us, his expression filled with an HR violation. I can picture him as the weird uncle everyone has. The one who always wants you to sit on his lap and give him a kiss. If he is, I doubt this phone call will be very welcome.

‘He gave me your number because he’s short on a celebrity story this week due to a rogue employee and he hoped you might be able to help me out while I fill in?’

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