Page 31 of A Ticking Time Boss

“I think that’s a lie,” he says. “You probably get fired up all the time. I think you have to, to work as an investigative journalist.”

“I do, but it’s mostly in my head. I rarely act on it. Not like these greats,” I say, sweeping my hand out at the mingling guests. “Did you see that Dean Allen is here? He spent a year living with militia to get the most accurate story. He was there, in the trenches and in the dirt, and he won the Pulitzer for it.”

“Is that what you want to do? Get down and dirty for your stories?”

I nod. “Yes. I haven’t yet, not properly… but one day.”

“Well, there’s no shortage of wars to report from,” Carter says dryly. “Although the idea of you camping with militia in a jungle for a year doesn’t exactly put my heart at ease.”

I roll my eyes. “As if you have time to worry about a lowly employee.”

“A single employee, no,” he admits. “But a friend? Yes.”

I smile at him. Maybe it’s the champagne, and it’s definitely the adrenaline from being in this beautiful place, but my words flow freer than they should. “I’m sorry I judged you so harshly before.”

Carter’s face turns inscrutable. “You’re talking about the Globe?”

“Yes. I still don’t like your methods, and I’m still… worried, but I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted the worst for the paper.”

“I don’t,” he says, eyes meeting mine. The gold in them seems liquid. “I’ve recently found myself more interested in the investigative side of things, too.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. A friend told me investigative journalism was the fourth estate. A defender of democracy and crucial to civil society.”

I smile at him. “A friend said that, did she? Sounds like a smart woman.”

“She has her moments,” Carter says. He leans against the bar on his elbows, turning toward the crowd. Standing elbow to elbow with me. “I’ve been meaning to ask your thoughts about the Globe and some of the changes I’m considering.”

My palms immediately feel sweaty around the glass of champagne. “Oh?”

I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets fired, and yet the chance to have an impact—to actually help change the face of the Globe—is more than any ambitious junior reporter can turn down.

And I hate it, but there is dead weight around. I’ve been there long enough to see it now. I open my mouth to admit that.

“But not right now,” Carter says. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to pry business secrets out of you when you’re three glasses deep.”

“Two,” I say.

“Sure, kid.”

I laugh this time, shifting so our elbows touch. “So, which of the beautiful women here did you bring as a date?”

“What makes you think I brought a date?”

“Come on, Carter,” I say. “Like you’re attending an event like this on your own.”

He snorts. “You’re right. I usually need a minder. A carer, perhaps. That’s what happens when you reach my esteemed age.”

“You’re six years older than me.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll reach my level of wisdom eventually.”

“Doesn’t wisdom come with humility?”

“That’s a common myth,” he says. “Happy to bust it for you.”

My smile is on the verge of breaking into laughter, giddiness rising in my chest like the champagne bubbles in my glass. “You’re the silliest man I’ve ever met.”

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