Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
My assistant popped her head around the door and pointed animatedly in the direction of the Verity meeting room.
Apparently, Andrew had arrived.
“Thanks, Wendy. Gotta go.”
I scooped up my papers and sped along the corridor.
I took a deep breath and opened the meeting room door. “Andrew, Douglas, how are you both?”
It had been just over a week since I’d last seen or heard from Andrew. He’d been true to his word and hadn’t been in touch at all since he’d offered me the Verity job. I’d even stopped by Noble Rot the first three days after my promotion to see if James made an appearance, but he’d disappeared too.
I was equal parts angry at and grateful to Andrew. I understood that sleeping with the boss was a cliché and that he, more than most people, had an incentive to keep walls up between his worlds. But wasn’t it worth a shot? Weren’t we worth it?
I thought so.
Seeing him made my stomach rock like I was on a row boat in the middle of the Atlantic. How had we shared so much in such a small space of time and now, sitting opposite each other across a boardroom table that felt wider than an ocean, it was like we’d never been anything more than professional colleagues.
My mom was right when she told me that there was no such thing as a free lunch. This was my sacrifice: I’d given up Andrew for this job. A man for my mother’s health. What other choice was there?
“What have you got for us?” True to form, Andrew didn’t want to waste time chitchatting. I wasn’t going to argue.
“My plan is to go from zero to sixty in two-point-five seconds. We want a big-bang launch. The readers, advertisers, and staff needed for Verity, Inc. going forward is so completely different to what we have now, there’s no soft launch. We go in big and we go in hard.”
Andrew’s expression was completely blank. I wasn’t fazed. I’d rehearsed this presentation fifty times before today. I was confident in my subject and my decisions, and I couldn’t wait to get Andrew excited about my plans. Even if he didn’t show it.
I talked them through the research I’d found, some of the market measures and relevant statistics, and a few of the branding ideas I’d been working on.
“So an entirely new team?” Andrew asked.
“I’ve read in three key creative people about our plans. They’re enthusiastic and talented. I want to keep them. Some of the back office can stay if they’re on board, but unless people have the skills and experience we need for the future, keeping them on is just prolonging the agony.”
Still no reaction.
“Moving on, I’ve put October first in the diary as the launch day. Key for launch is getting free advertising from other media. We want to go out and talk about your grandmother and her legacy. We’ll need to have tight communications on why we’re switching from celebrity gossip back to real news. So that’s also what we’re going to be talking about in the first issue—the rise of celebrity gossip and its impact on politics, power, and the real news media. Hopefully we can get people talking.”
Andrew didn’t so much as nod throughout my hour-long presentation. Douglas spent most of the meeting with his head down, scribbling notes.
Had I expected anything else?
As I wrapped up my presentation, Andrew checked his watch. He asked a couple of questions on the financial model and then stood.
“I’d like a sensitivity analysis on the cost exposure. Work with Douglas.”
He swept out, and Douglas pulled his papers together and scurried after him. Before he closed the door, he turned. “Great job.”
I’d take that from Douglas, especially since it was more than I’d ever get from Andrew. I’d have Andrew’s verdict based on whether or not I had a job next week. At least I knew how he operated. Still, I couldn’t help but focus on the rush of air from my deflating heart as I stared at the back of the door.
Thirty-Eight
Andrew
My new assistant, Trudy, knocked on my office door at exactly ten thirty-three. She’d asked me three times yesterday whether or not this meeting was a mistake because of the time. Other than that, Trudy was shaping up quite nicely. She was almost as irritable as I was and clearly had no desire to discuss anything but work. She was efficient and didn’t seem to be offended by my monosyllabic responses to her questions.
She wasn’t Sofia, but she’d do.
“Come in,” I said, standing and rounding my desk.
“Aryia Chowdhury,” Trudy announced as the writer followed her inside and then appeared from behind her, holding out her hand.
I took it, careful not to crush her tiny fingers. “Aryia.”
“Thank you for making time to see me. From what I’ve read about you, I’m sure you’re very busy.”