from his seat. “We shall.” Together we walked out of Richard’s office and into the Newsplex. I pointed out all the major sites—anchor desk, assignment desk, editing, etc. Introduced him to a few nosy coworkers (mostly women) who made their way over to pretend to ask me something and then casually question, “Oh, who’s your friend?” As if I’d be fooled by that old ruse.
I considered showing him the broom closets, just in case the mood happened to strike him in a closed-in, private area like what might happen on a soap opera, but then forced myself to stay professional. After all, I’d be working with the guy every single day. I didn’t have to rush things.
“And this is Special Projects,” I said as I led him into our upstairs alcove. “Tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the Newsplex.” I brought him over to my cubicle. “You can hang here for a moment.” I gestured to the empty desk across from mine. “I have to check my e-mail real quick.”
The desk’s owner, a political producer named David, was currently on the campaign trail with Senator Gorman, the incumbent Republican Senator from San Diego. Seeing as Gorman was the most conservative guy on the planet and David probably the most openly gay, I greatly regretted missing witnessing the two of them hanging out on the same tour bus.
I signed in and scanned for new e-mail. I had eleven unread messages: five on enlarging my member, three offering to overnight me Valium, two in Chinese that might have been really interesting if I could read the language, and one which, were I considering buying a house, I’d be offered a super interest rate.
No reply from any doctors eagerly awaiting fifteen minutes of fame garnered by ousting those secret cosmetics that killed. Darn.
“So, do you like working at News Nine?” Jamie asked, interrupting my systematic deletions.
I tried to keep my face expressionless. I hated this question from newbies. They’d just started and, for them, this job was a dream come true. A chance to work in TV news in “America’s Finest City.” They might have slaved years to get to this place. I didn’t want to be the one to burst their bubbles, tell them the newsroom was a shithole with terrible managers and even worse journalistic ethics. That it was the bane of my existence, and I had only stayed so long out of an overwhelming fear of the unemployment line. I was pretty sure that a degree in TV wouldn’t elicit very many good job offers.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” I said nonchalantly. He’d find out soon enough. “Like any newsroom, it’s got its idiosyncrasies.”
He laughed, seeming to catch my meaning. “I see.”
“Where did you work before this?” I asked. I wondered if his newsroom was as bad as News 9.
“Actually, this is my first TV news job,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “I worked in LA before this. Doing movies. Documentaries. That kind of thing.”
“Really?” I asked, too enthusiastic before I could help myself. Come on, Maddy. At least a shred of dignity would be nice. “What movies?”
He listed off several very cool independent films. Wow, this guy got better and better. Not only was he good-looking, but he was talented, too. Total boyfriend material. Though way out of my league. He probably dated models.
“So, why are you here?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He sighed and stared at the ground. Oh, good one. I’d asked him something that made him uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to go into it,” I added.
“No, it’s okay.” He shrugged. “Basically, the projects dried up. The economy’s so bad now. I figured I’d get a ‘real job,’”—he made finger quotation marks—“until a new project started. Get some money saved up.”
I nodded. That made sense. Poor guy, though. He was going to hate working at News 9. I, on the other hand, was very, very happy about his arrival. I wondered how I could make my first move. Would it be too forward to shove him against the desk and have my way with him?
As I was pondering possible photog molestation, his cell rang. “Hello?” he said, after pulling an iPhone from his pocket and putting it to his ear.
He was so cool. So, so cool. And he was all mine for at least eight hours every day. How did I get so lucky? I casually gave him another once-over as I waited for him to finish his conversation. God, he