Carly checked herself in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time. Her black slacks hung perfectly, just like they had the other ninety-nine times. Her white blouse, with the top button open to show off a silver chain with a round diamond pendant, was wrinkle free, and the black suitcoat lay over it just right. She went to her closet and got the black patent pumps she’d had since senior year of high school. They were comfortable, classy, and easy to walk in. She stood back in front of the mirror and gazed into it again. “Maybe I should wear a different color shirt,” she mumbled.

“That one’s perfect.” Carl Roberts leaned against the doorframe. His mustache bobbed when he spoke, and his bald head held all the wrinkles her suit coat didn’t.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. You’re going to knock ‘em dead, girl. Your mother has breakfast ready. Come on out and have some before you go.”

Carly chewed her lower lip and watched herself smooth her coat in the mirror. “I think I’m too nervous to eat.”

Her dad came in and stood behind Carly, placing his hands on her arms. “You studied hard, got your degree, and talked these people into hiring you,” he said. “Those were the hard parts. Now all you have to do is go in and do what you were taught. You’ll be a grizzled, cynical, old reporter in no time.”

Carly felt a pang. “That’s what I’m worried about,” she muttered, turning toward her dad.

“What do you mean?”

“What if I do so well at the paper that I do become a wizened, hardened journalist in a few years? What if I’m so cynical and addicted to work that I don’t know how to love someone? I could become an old maid.”

Carl chuckled. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. You’re smart, funny, and cute. I bet you’ll find some guy in the newsroom on your very first day. In fact, I bet you’ll be beating male reporters off with a stick.”

Carly grinned but tried to make a pouty face. “You have to say that. You’re my dad.”

“I’m your dad, but I don’t have to say it. I could just keep my mouth shut like I do when your brother worries about not finding a nice girl.” He winked and gave her a bear hug, and Carly tried not to worry about it wrinkling her clothes.

When he left, she looked at herself in the mirror again. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. Might as well jump into this day and get it over with. Once she’d met everyone and sized them up, Carly would know more about what she had to do to succeed at Newton Weekly.

When she got to the kitchen, Carly’s stomach growled, and she decided she could eat a little breakfast after all. Trista greeted her with a smile and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. They ate in silence, and then Carly stood and put her plate in the dishwasher.

“I got a travel mug and some lunch ready for you.” Trista motioned to the silver thermos and brown paper sack on the counter. “Have a great first day.”

“Thanks.” Carly kissed her mom on the cheek and then bent to pet Tiny, who sat at Trista’s feet staring at her intently, obviously waiting for a morsel to drop.

Carly left the house with her lunch and coffee and got into the Kia. She took a deep breath and then started the car and backed out of the driveway.

The thirty minute drive to the paper’s main office felt like much longer. Carly fought butterflies in her stomach the entire time, trying to chase them off with deep breaths and calm thoughts. When she got to the nondescript, small brick building in the otherwise quaint and bustling Newton downtown, she circled the block twice wondering where to park and getting more and more stressed. Her palms sweat on the steering wheel. Finally, she saw a sign for a parking structure on the next block and pulled into it. She was early enough that, even with that setback, she walked into the lobby with ten minutes to spare.

A blond receptionist who appeared to be in her mid-thirties sat at a desk in the center of the room, and she smiled at Carly. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

“I’m Carly Roberts. It’s my first day. I’m a reporter. A junior journalist, I mean. I’m new.” Wow. As first opinions went, she didn’t think this woman was going to be left with a good one of her.

But the lady smiled bigger. “Welcome, Miss Roberts.” She stood and came around the desk to offer Carly her hand. “I’m Jessica. They said you’d be coming and asked me to show you around a little bit. I work at the front desk and also do some legwork for the reporters—look up addresses for them and that kind of thing. Like an assistant.”

“Nice to meet you, Jessica.” The round-faced blond was doing a lot to ease Carly’s nerves. Her eyes were expressive, and she had an open, friendly demeanor.

Jessica showed Carly around the small building. There was a tiny breakroom where she left her lunch. They saw the mail room and then the conference room where Jessica said daily meetings to assign stories were held promptly at 9:15 am. They went past Harriet Grove’s office. She was the HR woman who’d interviewed and hired Carly, and she waved as the two women walked by her open door.

One large room contained fifteen or so cubicles, and Jessica showed Carly which one was hers. It held a small desk, a sturdy chair, and a computer. Carly’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the nameplate someone had placed on the desk. She’d never had a nameplate before.

“The cubicle right next to you is empty right now.” Jessica’s brow creased. “It’s Samantha’s, but she hasn’t been to work in a couple of weeks. She’s not answering phone calls, and no one has seen her.”

“That’s terrible!”

Jessica nodded. “Yeah, we called the police after the first day because it just wasn’t like her to go off the grid like that. They say they’re working on her case, but we haven’t heard anything.” She looked around and then clapped her hands. “Okay, I think that’s the five cent tour. I’ll take you to see the editor now. He always likes to chat with new reporters for a few minutes on their first day before the morning meeting.”

Carly’s nerves reared up again. This was it. The editor. She needed to make a good impression on this guy right from the beginning if she wanted to do well here. She wiped her palms on the sides of her pants and followed Jessica down a short hallway to its end, where a door was open. A dark-haired man stood in the room, his back to them. Jessica tapped the door frame twice. “Mr. Parker, the new reporter is here.”

The man turned around, and Carly’s jaw dropped. There, not ten feet away from her, with his way-too-perfect goatee, new beach tan, and model-ready hair, stood Donovan.