Page 7 of Love on the Byline

“Can I count on you?” Gideon asked her. For as much grief asshe gave him over the assignments, he kept sending them her way. Kept heremployed.

She honestly had no right to complain. “Yeah, boss. I’m onmy way.”

“Good. Thanks.” He sounded relieved. “I’d like to scoop TMZfor a change instead of always biting off their content.”

“Was that dig aimed at me after you asked me to do youa favor?” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her snark booting backup along with her brain, apparently. Gid was a decent boss, and the closestthing to an ally she had at the Los Angeles Gazette—even if he didn’t take hercareer goals as seriously as she’d like.

“I didn’t know that asking you to do your job was considereda favor.”

Well, touché.

“Yeah, yeah.” Blake put the call on speaker, got to herfeet, and stretched. Maybe she could sneak in a few minutes of yoga beforeheading out. “Since you owe me, will you take a look at what I sent you lastnight?”

“Blake.”

“Gideon it’s only a few hundred words. Surely you can maketime for that. It’s only an intro to the story I’m working on, but I think itcould be big.” She shuffled into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She’dneed to drink the entire thing if she had any hope of making it through thisday.

“You know I love how driven you are, Blake, but Sonya isn’tgoing to let you run with that predatory talent agency or whatever the angle isthat you’re going for. If there is something there, she’ll—”

“If?” She set the decanter in the sink and turned on thewater to fill it. “What do you mean, if? I’m making enemies allacross the city to confirm some of those details about Diamond MoonEnterprises. I’m doing my due diligence.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, sounding at least alittle contrite. “I know you’re thorough. It’s just that… Let’s be real, thatstory is too big for a cub reporter.”

Well, that was a kick in the teeth.

It cut deep that he still viewed her as green. Blake feltshe’d done enough to at least earn the respect of her editor, even if she didgrouse a lot.

She thought about her grandfather and what he told her aboutstanding up for the stories he believed in. Was she not allowed to do the same?

“I’m not a kid, Gideon.” She yanked open the door to thefridge and rolled her eyes when she was met with mostly empty shelves. Was shethe only person in this house share who bought groceries? She poured half aglass of orange juice and grabbed a handful of baby carrots. At least shewouldn’t develop scurvy. “And you know I learned from the best.”

Gideon cleared his throat, his voice softening. “It hasnothing to do with your age. And, yes, you learned a lot from your grandpa.Trent Dillon is a goddamned legend. There’s just noway Sonja James will give a story that big to anyone but a senior reporter, nomatter what their pedigree. And if you go to her with it now…”

She knew what he was saying, and it stung. She paced aroundthe tiny kitchen.

“You and I both know I’m not cut out for the gossip column.I don’t keep up with who’s dating who, and I could care less who DeliaStanley—”

“Desiree.”

“Whoever! I don’t care who some actor is banging in a hotelroom in Studio City. If they’re consenting adults, I say let people live.”

“You better start caring, or at least start faking it. Youthink I walked out of U of LA, my degree clutched in my hand, and thought tomyself, hell yeah, I’m gonna kill this gossip column game?” Gid asked,sounding almost as exasperated as she felt. “It’s not about what we want, it’s aboutwhat readers want. They eat these scandals like candy, and we like eatingactual food and paying actual rent.”

“Yeah, but don’t you ever get tired of being the candy man?”

“Sure, I do.” She caught the first hint of resignation inhis voice. “But stories like these are why we all have jobs. Look, none of usare going to win a Pulitzer.”

“Gee, thanks.” Deflating, she returned to the sink to findthe carafe overflowing. Ugh, she hated wasting water. But, also, he was right.

Thanks to her grandfather, Blake’s goals were lofty. She’dgrown up at the knee of a great journalist, stealing peeks at the green leathernotebook he always had in his pocket that held hints of his process. But maybethat wasn’t what the future held for her.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Look, if anyone couldrise from the muck, it would be you who ends up winning the big prizes. Afterall, it’s in your blood.”

She poured the excess water from the carafe into thewatering can. “Thanks.”

It was a pipe dream, and she knew it. In her head, she did,but her heart grabbed onto Gideon’s optimism.

“I mean it,” Gideon said. “You’re the next FrancesFitzgerald. But for now, get your ass to my office.”

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