I tried explaining myself to Kay (minus the part about Jay of course), but with each word I said, she just looked angrier. When I finished my defense, such as it was, she muttered something under her breath before taking a deep breath. She blew it out slowly, as if she needed the time to control her reaction.
“You compromised the integrity of this paper, Riley. I’m not sure if you did this because you’re inexperienced and don’t understand how non-biased reporting is literally the cornerstone of the American newspaper, or if you did it because you were trying to protect your friend.”
“I wasn’t trying to protect Tabitha, I swear! She’s not even really my friend. We’re more like frenemies, actually . . . she’s always insulting me and barking orders at me—” The look on Kay’s face stopped my ramble.
“You screwed up,” Kay said. “And I even warned you about this. Do you have any idea how bad it is for the local paper to be at odds with the mayor?”
“I’m sorry, Kay. I’m so sorry. I’ll go write the story right now. I have quotes and everything—I can have it to you in twenty minutes.”
“Nope.” Kay shook her head before I even finished talking. “You’re off the story. I’m giving it to Spencer. You can keep the obit, but you’re off the rest of it.”
Her words were like a slap to the face, quick and painful. It was just one little mistake! And it wasn’t even like I’d misquoted someone or gotten any facts wrong—I just delayed reporting something that was clearly false for a few hours . . . but even as the rationalizations were coming to my mind, I knew that’s just what they were: rationalizations for my mistakes.
Kay stared at me, waiting for me to say something. I don’t know if she expected me to argue with her, to plead my case, to beg for a second chance, but I didn’t trust myself to speak. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I might start crying, and I was not about to let that happen, so I just nodded and walked out of her office as fast as I could.
“What—no trophy?” Spencer chided as I sped past his desk with my head down, trying like hell to hold in my tears until I got to the women’s restroom. At least I knew no one would bother me in there. I pushed open the door and as soon as it swung shut, the tears fell.
Hey Riley,
OMFG. I cannot believe that ur boss freaked out because of one tiny mistake! See, this is my problem with Baby Boomer bosses: they are so JUDGEY. Like they never made a mistake before!
Anyway. Riley, I want u to focus on what I’m about to say because it is the absolute 1000% truth: Don’t let ur boss make u feel you’re some kind of screwup just because of one teeny misstep. U r doing the best u can and if ur boss can’t see that then she is the one with the problem. She’s probably afraid that ur going to take her job. I read somewhere that Baby Boomers’ second biggest workplace fear is Millennials taking their jobs, behind losing their health insurance.
And remember, in the wise words of Queen Bey,* “Power is not given to you, you have to take it.”
xx,
Jenna B.
Personal Success Concierge™
Bestmillenniallife.com
*The use of this quote does not constitute an endorsement of any kind by Beyoncé, who is not now nor has never been a paid spokesperson for Bestmillenniallife.com (but who I think we both know would totally slay as a Personal Success Concierge™—haha lol!).
Dear Jenna,
Thank you for the encouragement; I really needed that right now. However, as much as I love me some Beyoncé, I’m not sure that quote applies in this scenario. And actually, I think my boss is from Gen X.
Anyway, thanks for being on my side.
All best,
Riley
Hey Riley,
Number 1 Rule of Life: Beyoncé always applies. And Gen X’ers are just as bad.
xx,
Jenna B
Personal Success Concierge™
Bestmillenniallife.com
CHAPTER 21
I waited until the redness in my eyes and cheeks had faded before going back to my desk. I resolved to focus on the obit and make sure there was no angle I didn’t cover. At least I could still do that right. I’d be sure to check in with Flick and get his approval at every step so that by the time it got to Kay it would be beyond reproach. Maybe that would make up a tiny bit for my colossal error in judgment. But as soon as I opened the obit document on my laptop, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Carl’s private number: Meet me at Tuttle Gen now. David Davenport has been poisoned.
I left the newsroom through the back door without telling anyone where I was heading. When I got to the hospital, the woman at the information desk stonewalled me, saying since I was neither David’s family nor with the sheriff’s office she could not tell me anything. Carl was nowhere to be found and not responding to my texts.
I took the elevator to the fifth floor and asked at the closest nurses station if they knew where David was, but the woman I spoke with had no information, or at least none she was willing to give out to a random girl
