"That's a super-important story, and I'm glad you brought it up, Harper. Ainsley has been working on it for some time, and we can talk about you contributing at some point."
Ainsley looked at Harper as if she had just run over her dog and fled the scene of the crime. Inside, Harper felt like she'd stuck her foot in it. On the outside, she stared back at her until she looked away. Harper wasn't one to tolerate dirty looks for no reason.
Just then, a tall, reedy woman with platinum-blonde hair and severe lipliner interrupted the meeting. The nasal sound of her voice was rivaled only by her aggressive gum-chewing. "Greg. Sorry for barging in, hon. I meant to drop this on your desk, but since you're having a meeting…" She handed him a folder marked "press kit." She gesticulated as she continued, and as she spoke, her energy reminded Harper of somewhere between Nanny Fine and Janice from Friends. "I know, it's a little bit of a conflict of interest, but I'm just so proud of my little side business. Anything you can do to help spread the word!"
Greg nodded, but Harper caught the tick in his jaw. "While you're here, Opal, meet our newest reporter, Harper. Harper, Opal is our latest hire in the advertising department. The parent company just poached her from the New York Post."
Opal thrust out her hip and said, almost flirtatiously, "Greg, hon, you make it sound like they trapped me like big game," Opal said, giving an exaggerated guffaw, although Harper didn't quite think it was that funny. Opal then turned and quickly glanced down at Harper's shoes. Harper, feeling self-conscious, feebly crossed her ankles. She stared back at the woman. Opal's diamond ring could blind someone. Her lash extensions were so thick and lush, Harper thought the Girardi crime family could hide a body in there. "Nice to meet you," Harper said, tentatively.
The platinum-haired woman's face broke into a disarming smile, and she approached Harper with her hand out. As she sashayed across the room in hot pink stilettos, the numerous gold hoops that hung from her ears clattered against each other. "Sweetie, you can always pop by my desk if you're looking for story ideas. I've always got plenty to go around." She may have worn more makeup than a party clown and smelled like a perfume counter exploded, but Opal's handshake was warm, and her manners overall outshone the greeting that Harper had received from her colleagues.
Greg seemed slightly annoyed but polite. "Thanks for stopping in, Opal."
She turned and winked at Greg on her way out. "Anytime, sweetie."
When the door closed behind her, Harper sensed strange energy from Greg. The vibe was there and gone in a flash, and she doubted anyone else noticed. But, just for a moment, his knuckles of the hand that held the press kit folder turned white.
She recognized that reaction. Lynwood Dashell Fitzgerald, or "Dash," as he was commonly called, exhibited the same tenseness whenever Harper opened her mouth. One time, when she'd walked into Crow Bar, where he worked as a bouncer, to collect signatures for the "Save the Sea Birds" petition, Dash had busted a beer stein. Yep, Harper was that annoying, and she owned it.
Why was she thinking about Dash at the moment, anyway? She allowed that jerk to take up way too much real estate in her head. I am evicting you from my psyche, Dash Fitzgerald. And you owe back rent, she thought to herself with a smirk.
Ainsley appeared impatient to keep the meeting moving along. "You were talking about finding a safer niche for our untested reporter, I believe?"
That was a bit of a wild interpretation of what Greg had been talking about before the interruption, but Harper let it go. She felt she was already on thin ice with the other newsies before she'd even been giving a chance.
She spoke up. "I have a few sources in the street-based sex worker community, and I think they'd have some input."
Some of the male reporters in the room snickered. One of them remarked, "Now that's something to consider. Got any prostitutes in your Rolodex? I don't suppose the Dispatch will reimburse us for that expense, huh Greg?"
Greg ran a hand over his face, clearly frustrated he had lost control of the meeting.
Ainsley, to her credit, shot the other reporters a look of death. "The preferred term is 'sex worker.' Can you knock off the shitty comments?"
Some of the guys shrugged, while others answered with an eye roll or a shake of his head.
"All right, children. Meanwhile, we have to come up with copy for the evening edition. Since it's your first day, Harper, we'll go easy on you. We have some gaps in the business section, and we could use you to cover the grand opening of a new business in Dockside. Here's the press release."
Greg handed the press kit in his hand to her, and she looked it over. The words "Wild Ex-Scapes," jumped out at her right away, and she knew immediately what this meant. She just got handed a fluff piece.
Harper kept her eyes locked on the press release and refused to acknowledge the heat flooding her cheeks. As the rest of the staff busied themselves by grabbing notebooks and bags or making phone calls, Ainsley brushed past her, quipping, "We all have to pay our dues."
Chapter Three
Dash
Leave it to Declan O'Donnell to mandate a team-building exercise.
The new owner had bought the business the previous month and had been working nonstop to implement changes to attract a more moneyed clientele, had a management style that
