Page 8 of And Now, Back to You

As the primary researcher for the news department, Gianna is usually in the middle of something. Last year when there was a mayoral scandal, she didn’t leave her cubicle for six straight days. I had to practically force-feed her chicken noodle soup and wrestle her into a change of clothes.

Working with Gianna is what I imagine having a toddler is like. A toddler with a caffeine addiction and an absolutely foul mouth.

“All right.” I study her critically. “But consume something other than coffee. I have those—”

“Protein bars in the bottom drawer of your desk. I know.” Her hands occupied, she affectionately butts her forehead against my shoulder. “Thanks for making sure I eat.”

Behind us, someone clears their throat. I turn halfway to find Mark staring at me expectantly, both of his dark eyebrows furrowed in a heavy line. He holds out his wrist and taps the face of his watch.

Gianna snorts. “Why is camera boy acting like your keeper?”

I sigh. “I have a meeting with Keith.”

Gianna’s attention snaps away from Mark and her face darkens. “Fuck that guy.”

“Gi—”

“No, seriously. Fuck that guy. Is he why you’re wearing the turtle suit? Do I need to key his car again?”

I wave my hands wildly and shush her. Thankfully, Mark has moved his intimidation routine to the other side of the lobby, standing and waiting by the door that leads to the back of the studio. I duck my head closer to Gianna. “Again?” I whisper.

An absolutely devious look twists her delicate features. “Yes,” she whispers back, her mouth hidden behind the rim of her mug. “Again.”

“Gianna.”

“I’ll tell you all the gory details as soon as this embezzlement case is done. I also shit in his—”

I clap my hand over her mouth. “We cannot discuss this in the lobby of our office, Gianna.”

She nods solemnly. “I’ll send you a memo.”

“Please don’t send me a memo. Go back to your desk. I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.”

She starts to meander in the general direction of the door where Mark is stationed before turning around and creeping right back. “You need to talk to HR,” she says quietly, her eyes serious this time.

“I did, remember?”

It got me exactly nowhere. I worked up my courage to file a formal report only to be told by the head of HR that Keith’s behavior was typical newsroom bluster, whatever the hell that means. I was told, more or less, to suck it up or find another job. That there was a long line of excited candidates behind me if I wanted to find a station that might be a better fit.

I suppose that’s the worst of it. I don’t want another station. I want this one. Working here has always been my dream. Ever since I was a little girl, watching my grandpa watch the local news every day at 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. I wanted to be the one the world woke up to. The one kids saw when they got home from school. I have always wanted to be the meteorologist for YBAL, Baltimore’s News Station. My grandpa’s favorite news program.

So I’ve sucked it up. And I’ve made the best of it. But I’m starting to crumble beneath the pressure of Keith’s malicious attention.

Maybe I should start looking for another job.

I squeeze her arm. “We’ll talk later. Go back to embezzlement.”

“What about Ava Monroe?”

“What about her?”

“Have you thought about approaching her with what’s going on?”

I snort. “I’m not going to approach the president of Emory Communications, Gianna.”

“Why not?”

“Because she has bigger things to deal with than newsroom squabbling. I don’t need to tattle. I’m fine.” I refuse to go over Keith’s head with this. What would I even say? That he’s being mean to me? No. The potential blowback far outweighs the possible improvement. I don’t need things with Keith getting worse.