Melissa tries to straighten the creases in her shirt out, knowing it’s an impossible task even as she does it. She wishes for the umpteenth time that day that she’d spent last night ironing instead of writing up notes whilst watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians with Ali. She still blamed her housemate for getting her into the show.

 

Be, cool, Potter. Be cool.

 

She repeats the words to herself as she heads towards RJ DeVry’s office. Usually she gets her assignments emailed to her and sometimes she even gets the occasional phone call from one of the sub-editors. But this was the first time she’d actually been called into the Editor’s office. Even though it was just the local paper, it was still enough to make her palms sweat and the butterflies start fluttering around in her stomach.

 

“How’s your momma, Melissa?” Olivia gives Melissa a warm smile. DeVry’s secretary, a matronly woman in her late 50s, still hasn’t lost the southern lilt to her accent despite living in Portland long enough to have taught Melissa’s mom Home Economics.

 

“She’s good, thanks. Still working too hard but you know how that goes.” Melissa returns Olivia’s smile, glad to be distracted from her nervousness at being called into the big man’s office.

 

Olivia’s eyes crinkle in amusement as she takes in Melissa’s trepidation. “You’re in luck; he’s in a good mood – he hasn’t thrown anything today yet.” She winks conspiratorially and waves Melissa to follow her as she stands up and opens her boss’s door without knocking.

 

Melissa only knows DeVry by his reputation. He’d been the Editor of the Portland Tribune for almost as long as Melissa had been alive. She’d often wondered why he hadn’t left the small paper and gone on to a national, but it wasn’t the kind of question you asked DeVry. He had a quick temper and a habit of throwing his stationary around his office when he got mad. She had no plans to be playing ‘avoid the flying stapler.’

 

Melissa’s mom had said she was brave. Even as a little kid, she’d always been confident in her own abilities, in herself. But there was something about being called into DeVry’s office that made her forget all of that. It made her feel like a little kid being summoned to the principal’s office. When she got the call that morning, she’d been about to ask Olivia if DeVry was going to fire her. But she’d caught herself before the question had come out. She knew she wrote good copy and she was cheaper than a lot of the other freelancers as she’d virtually only just left college. She knew DeVry was getting a good deal out of her. So if it weren’t to fire here, there was only one other reason why he would ask her to come in. He had a story for her, a real story.

 

That’s what had her stomach tied up in knots. Melissa had spent the last six months writing puff pieces for the paper, covering local fairs and interviewing owners of lost dogs. Much as it was nice to see her name in print, even on page seventeen, she knew these weren’t the kind of articles that were going to get her noticed. She needed a story that was going to get attention, something sexy, something exciting, and she had a feeling that whatever DeVry wanted to see her about, it could be just what she was looking for.

 

“Coffee?” Olivia looks at Melissa expectantly as if she had asked the question more than once and Melissa realizes that her mind had wandered as soon as she’d crossed the threshold.

 

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Melissa knows if she has another coffee today, she’s likely to leave the place buzzing and if this is going to be her big break, she needs to concentrate.

 

“You never offer me coffee.” DeVry grumbles from his position by the window. He hasn’t turned around since they’d walked in.

 

“That’s because your blood pressure is through the roof and I don’t plan on putting you in the hospital. How about a nice herbal tea?” She plants her hands on her wide hips and gives DeVry a look as he mutters an expletive about exactly what she can do with her herbal tea. “Behave yourself, RJ. Don’t make me bring out the swear jar again. You still owe me from last time.”

 

She winks again at Melissa who still stands uncertainly by the door, wondering if DeVry is ever going to acknowledge her presence. When the door clicks shut behind her, she gives herself ten seconds to call on her infamous confidence, the confidence that had got her the Editing position at her college paper. She approaches DeVry, coughing politely to alert him to her presence.

 

“Mr. DeVry, I’m Melissa Potter. Pleased to meet you.” She sticks her hand out, before she can stop herself. He makes no move to take it or even to turn around.

 

“I know who you are, Potter. I’m the one who set up this meeting.” His voice tells her that he couldn’t be any less interested in her. “Take a seat. You’re hovering.”

 

Melissa frowns, biting back a response she knows wouldn’t do her any favors. She had a habit of reacting before she had fully engaged her brain. It was something her karate sensei was still working on with her. She tries to imagine what Clay would do in her position and does her best to emulate him. She waits, refusing to let the awkward silence unnerve her.

 

She takes in the office that looks notably smaller than it does from the outside. There is a picture of DeVry with an attractive woman who must be his wife. The picture looks like it was taken a good few years ago when DeVry was about fifty pounds lighter with noticeably fewer grey hairs. He was actually smiling in the photo, an expression that is notably absent from his face when he finally turns around from the window to face her. He doesn’t take his seat behind the desk, instead he remains standing, crossing his arms as he takes in her appearance.

 

Melissa recognizes this as the power play that it is. He’s forcing her to look up at him from her seat, and in his position in front of the window with the winter sunshine streaming in from behind him, he looks bigger than he actually is. She keeps her expression neutral, reminding herself that DeVry is just trying to freak her out. She doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’s doing a bang up job.

 

“How long have you been with us now, Potter?” His voice is gruff and aggressive as he finally breaks the silence that had been stretching out between them.

 

“Six months, Sir, since graduation.” Melissa keeps her responses short, to the point, sensing that DeVry isn’t a man that appreciates mindless chatter.

 

“Graduation, huh, that’s why you look so young. I need to have a talk with HR if we’re recruiting right out of high school now.” DeVry shakes his head dismissively, purposefully misunderstanding her.

 

“College graduation, Sir. I’m twenty-two and I have a degree in English Literature with a minor in Journalism. I graduated top of my class.” Melissa repeats the details that she has a feeling DeVry already knows. She doesn’t believe for one second that a control freak like him would allow anyone, even a lowly freelancer, to work for him without knowing exactly who they are and where they came from.

 

“Top of your class? Is that supposed to impress me?” He raises an eyebrow at her, making it clear how little it evidently does.

 

“It’s just a statement of fact, Sir.” Melissa shrugs her shoulders, as if to demonstrate that there’s no hidden agenda.

 

DeVry loosens his already loose tie and rubs a hand over his tired, stubbly face. Melissa takes in his crumpled suit and the couch with cushions strategically placed as pillows and wonders when the last time was that he had been home to the smiling woman in the picture. The half empty bottle of whisky on the coffee table catches the light from the window and Melissa can’t help but question if his home life – or lack of one – is the reason he has a tendency to throw staplers at people’s heads.

 

“Something you want to ask me, Potter?” DeVry’s voice breaks her off from her musings and she curses herself for getting distracted again. She was a details person, observant, could take in a scene and paint a picture with her imagination. It was a habit that made her a good reporter and eventually, hopefully, a good writer. But she’d already learned that some people didn’t like the way she was able to read their situations, situations they would much rather keep hidden from view.

 

She quells her first instinct, which is to satisfy her curiosity as to why DeVry still wears a wedding ring and keeps his wife’s photo on his desk, when evidence would suggest that his marriage is all but over. Instead she focuses on the reason that she’s here at all. “Actually, I figured that you had something to ask me. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

 

Her tone is even but there’s no mistaking the challenge in her voice. She has no intention of letting DeVry bully her. She knew that men, particularly older men, didn’t much appreciate her youth or the fact that she didn’t have a penis, when it came to working with her. It is still very much a man’s world, especially in the old boy’s club of reporting, but she has no intention of letting it get to her. It was one of the reasons that she and Ali were so close. Despite all the clashes in their personalities, they both saw eye to eye on one thing: they wanted to make a difference in the world, Ali by becoming a lawyer and fighting the good fight and Melissa with her writing, and they weren’t going to let anyone stop them.

 

DeVry raises his eyebrow again, but Melissa catches a look that tells her he’s impressed rather than irritated by the fact that she won’t allow herself to be baited.

 

“Don’t get cute with me, Potter, or I’ll have you off this paper so fast your head will spin.” His tone signals he’s not kidding, not even a little bit.

 

Melissa doesn’t respond, knowing anything she happened to say would probably only piss him off more, so she keeps her mouth shut, no matter how hard it is for her. If she wants this story, she needs to be compliant, a word she’s only recently introduced into her vocabulary.

 

Her silence seems to go some way to mollifying DeVry. “The only reason I’m giving you this story is because my staff writers are all tied up with big stories of their own.”

 

Melissa doesn’t add that he’s also massively understaffed after the last wave of redundancies had hit the paper. It was one of the reasons she’d managed to get a freelancing reporting job so quickly; DeVry was desperate to keep his paper open. Print was a dying art; she knew that, which is why she spent so much time on her blog, a blog that was getting more followers. She was even making some money, not a lot but some. But that didn’t mean that she was ready for print to die. The digital word has a lot going for it, but some of Melissa’s best memories are of curling up on the couch with her mom on a wintry Sunday morning reading the paper. It was how she learned new words that she’d then try to use in casual conversation with other eighth graders only to find they had no idea what she was talking about.

 

“You heard of the Caged Kings?” DeVry seems to be all out of preamble now. He’s either fed up with trying to make Melissa feel small or he has other things on his plate that he wants to clear. Melissa has a feeling that it’s probably a little of both.