Page 23 of A Ticking Time Boss

“Of course,” he says. “You have to, for them to hold a reservation, you know.”

“Right. Well, that’s why you can get a reservation at Cake.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t mean I have bad judgement.”

“No, you’re just out of touch,” I say.

“At least I don’t need sweeteners and creamers to drink a normal cup of java.”

“Low blow,” I say. “One-and-a-half pumps.”

He opens his menu, a smile on his lips. It transforms him into the man I’d met at the bar all those weeks ago. The one who’d teased me out of my nervous breakdown. “Order something, kid,” he says. “You only have an hour-long lunch break.”

“Are you pulling the boss card?”

“Boss’s boss’s boss, I believe it was,” he says. “They have decent burgers here.”

We order by the bar, and the food arrives a suspiciously short amount of time later. It should stop me in my tracks, but I’m too hungry to hold back, biting into the burger.

“Oh,” I murmur. “This is decent. Delicious, even.”

“Told you,” he says, looking at me over his bun. His eyes glitter. “You moan when you eat, you know. When it’s tasty.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

I reach for my glass of water, self-conscious. “You’re being mean.”

His eyebrows rise. “Not the response I was expecting.”

“Why did you bring me here, really?” I ask. “Just to tell me why the paper is doing so bad? That doesn’t feel like information a junior employee is entitled to.”

Carter takes another bite of his burger, his sharp jaw working. He doesn’t seem in a rush to give me an answer.

So I put my food down and wait.

He looks out at the empty dive bar. “Couple of reasons,” he says finally. “You see a different side of the Globe than I do. You’re right there, talking to others as a colleague. You’re in the newsroom.”

“I won’t spy,” I say.

His mouth quirks. “Wouldn’t expect you to. But if you’re so concerned about this paper, then… help me set it to rights, Audrey. You’ll see what departments do the most work. You’ll see what departments barely do anything at all.”

I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t be the reason people lose their jobs.”

“But can you be the reason dozens, if not hundreds of others, maintain their jobs?” he says. There’s enthusiasm in his tawny eyes. “You don’t have to give me any information that makes you uncomfortable. But you clearly have opinions. I want to hear them.”

“Is this just because…” I trail off, unable to find the words I’m looking for. Him and me, in a crowded bar, arguing over trivial things with dancing eyes.

“Because of what?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Never mind. I’ll help you, if I… if my opinions really can help.”

“They can,” he says. “I need as many perspectives as possible into the Globe, the organization, the way it works.”

“Not happy with just Wesley?” I say dryly.

“He’s good, but he doesn’t know everything,” Carter says. Then he gets a gleam in his eyes. “You know, I’ll help you in return.”

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