Had he never seen the clash?
"We can sell the ad space to other retailers," he says. "I'll have our sales department draft a list of possible candidates during the day."
I run a hand through my hair. The Globe shouldn't be this reliant on ads. It's stifling the company's originality, credibility, and most of all, it's losing trust with the very people we want to reach.
"Do that," I agree, even if I hate the necessity. "Investigative will have a part to play in this whole thing, you know. If we're to draw new subscribers to the Globe , we want to keep our reporting relevant. Break new stories."
"I'm with you on that, sir," Wesley says.
He leaves my office soon after, and I relish the closed door. No one to impress or charm, just me and my thoughts. This fucking media company is like a minefield. I make one department redundant only to discover some of the employees in it were actually pulling a load on the side for another. The man I thought was competent enough to head a new department is poached by another newspaper with higher pay, and the bastard doesn't even confront me about it-or HR-to ask for a commensurate raise in pay first.
The internal structure of this newspaper is a disaster.
But I can't blame my mood entirely on the Globe , try as I may. There's a single, tiny little reason why I can't.
It's the text I got last night. I haven't responded to it yet, and it's lying on my phone, innocent and unanswered.
Audrey: I survived the date!! It went so well. I think I've nailed the art of small talk now. We're going on another one tonight. I'm supposed to pick the place. I want to suggest the movies, but does that have other implications for a man?
Her date went well. As a friend, I should be happy about that. Hadn't I been the one to make the damn suggestion about helping her with dates if she helped me with the company? So far we'd done neither of those things. It would be cool by me if we kept it like that.
Of course this guy wants a second date. Any man who wasn't an idiot could see the catch she is. Honest to a fault, beautifully optimistic without being naive, and true in a way I've rarely met. There's no artifice to her.
She's quick to laugh and quick to stand up for her beliefs.
Audrey might give me flack for being a charmer, but mine is all bluff. Her kind of appeal runs deeper.
The idea of her having trouble dating is ridiculous. I'd understood that the second I met her. It's in her head, the nerves, the expectations, the build-up.
I want her to realize that… just not with some random guy from a dating app.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and go searching for Wesley again. He looks up when I enter his office. "Yes?"
"You said you'd introduce me to the investigative team. I want to do it now."
"Right, okay. Let's go." To his credit, Wesley never seems off balance with my suggestions. Not even when I'd slashed half of the circulation department.
We reach the newsroom and walk through the busy corridor. People fall quiet as we pass, the sound of animated voices quieting down to a hesitant murmur. They still don't trust me around here. I wonder if I have a giant sign over my head that says your job is in danger whenever they see me. One person I don't recognize actually ducks back into his cubicle, as if he's safe as long as he can't see me.
Wesley stops in the center of the office. "Anyone seen Booker?" he calls.
A gangly man in a tweed jacket answers. He's sitting next to a wide-eyed Audrey, her eyes moving from me to Wesley. "She's finishing up a phone meeting," he says.
Wesley clears his throat, but I step in. This is the team Audrey waxed poetically about. It's the kind of reporting that, I have to admit, she has a point about. It could put us back on the map.
"Sorry to disrupt your work," I say, projecting my voice to the entire room. There has to be at least forty people working here. "We've met before, but not on a personal basis. I'd like to get to know this department better and familiarize myself with the work you all do. I'll do a lap of the room with Wesley here, and speak to each one of you."
Quiet murmurs break out as soon as I've finished. The journalists are hesitant. A quarter of them aren't even in the office. But some tell me in open, excited terms about the stories they're working on. One man, older than most, informs me that he's working toward a deadline and doesn't have time to hold my hand. Wesley pales by my side, but I grin at him.
"Someone who understands the value of time. I appreciate it. I'll talk to you at a better time, then."
"Looking forward to it," he says with the enthusiasm of someone talking to their dentist.
So this team doesn't like me very much. That's all right. As long as they produce great content for me, they can think me the devil and I'll be happy.
Audrey's table is the very last I visit. I speak to her deskmate first. "Declan, is it?"
He nods. "Yes. Nice to meet you, sir."
"No sir here," I say. "Tell me what you're working on."
"I'm fact-checking some things for Emery's Sunday article."
"Right. Junior investigative reporter, right?"
"Yes. Together with Audrey here, we mostly support the other journalists." He reaches up and rearranges his glasses. Despite the stern expression, there's a bead of sweat on his forehead.
Audrey clears her throat. She's been following the conversation, and I've been watching her from the corner of my eye. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail and she's wearing a blazer, no lipstick, a world away from the woman I'd spent time with at the Reporters' Ball. She'd been almost giddy then, filled with so much excitement for her job and life that it excited my own.
"Well, we used to work on our own stories," she says. "Before the freeze on our articles. Declan's idea was fascinating."
He shoots her a glare.
"Oh?" I ask. "Tell me about it."
He does, reluctantly at first, but his eyes soon glow with enthusiasm. Audrey had been right. These people are self-starters, and assuming they can write, they're one of the paper's greatest assets.
"Don't forget to look into the other perspective," I tell him. "I want you covering both sides."
"Will do," Declan says. "Thank you."
"Anytime." I turn toward Audrey. She meets my eye with a careful one of her own, her face composed like she's sitting for an old-time portrait. The obvious attempt at casualness makes me want to smile.
"Audrey Ford," I say. "You interviewed me for the newsletter."
"Yes, that's right," she says. Even her voice sounds stiff.
I crack a smile. "It was a good interview. Well, what are you working on now?"
She tells me about the three research projects she's helping with in short, professional tones. Even goes so far as to open the file on her computer, her voice heating up with excitement.
"Excellent," Wesley says by my side. "Mr. Kingsley, let me show you-"
"I'd like to hear about what story you're working on," I ask Audrey.
She meets my gaze with a strong one of her own. "The focus is on a bodega in Queens. The owners are being evicted by a construction company on false grounds. It's all an excuse to level the place and build expensive condos."
"You care about the area?" I ask.