Dan swallowedthe last of his drink. “Since the interview with The Wall Street Journal is completed and scheduled to run nextweek, maybe you and the Chroniclereporter can start to mend fences. Tell him that I and the Albright SoftwareMedia board forced you to cancel the interview with him and do it with the Journal instead.”
Connor’s mouthcurled into a sad smile. “Tim’s smarter than that. He knows I’m my own person andmake my own decisions. It hurt him that I sided with the company’s decision tobuy so much Chronicle ad space thatwe were able to force them to shelve his interview.”
“It was theright thing to do,” Dan said, a stubborn edge to his voice.
“Was it?” In Connor’sopinion, Tim’s questions were more insightful and challenging than the onesfrom the Journal reporter. While the Journal article would probably benefitAlbright Software Media more, Connor had a feeling Tim’s article would havebeen more interesting.
“Damn right itwas! Whatever personal feelings you had for the Chronicle guy, were they worth putting the acquisition of Scrap Vook at risk? If we’d let the Chronicle publish that article when they wanted to weeks ago, thenews about your heart attack and surgery would have indefinitely delayed, ifnot outright killed, the deal.”
But at least I would still have Tim.
Dan continued.“Now that it’s finished and shareholders of both companies see the benefits ofthe acquisition, the news about your health won’t be as much of a focal point.”
“My health nevershould have been a focal point,” Connor grumbled. “Bringing Scrap Vook into the fold made a lot of sense and was goodbusiness for both companies. That’s true whether I’m healthy as a horse orlying on my death bed.”
“But the dealwent through primarily because everyone believed a healthy Connor Albright wasat the helm, not a weakened one. You were the one who taught me that image andperception is everything in this business. Speaking of which….” Dan rose. “Weprobably should get back to the boardroom before our lengthy absence getsnoticed and everyone starts forming their own perceptions about it.”
Connor followedDan, feeling a little lighter after their talk. However, he still remainedunconvinced that things had to turn out the way they did. There should havebeen a way he could have had Tim andcompleted the deal.
As they passedby a receptionist’s desk, an idea occurred to Connor as to how he could getthings back on track with Tim. It probably wouldn’t work, but he was desperateto do anything that would bring Tim back into his life. With a little luck,maybe this plan would do just that.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, have youseen this?”
“Seen what?” Timasked, spinning in his chair so he could face Matt, who leaned against the edgeof his cubicle.
Matt handed hima thick, glossy portfolio with a purple and yellow cover. “It’s a new proposalfrom the Albright Software Media Corporation Foundation. Apparently, they arespearheading a new fifty-million-dollar community-service initiative that’sgoing to provide computers and software for the schools in Philadelphia’spoorest districts.”
Just hearing thename Albright still dredged up bitter memories for Tim. Even though nearly fourmonths had passed since his profile on Connor got canceled, he still hadn’tbeen able to let go of all the resentment.
As if sensinghis thoughts, Matt said, “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge after allthis time.”
“Of course not,”Tim said, with a smile as fake as the cheerfulness of his tone. “It’s all waterunder the bridge.”
“Bullshit.” Mattpulled a chair from another cubicle into Tim’s, so when he sat in it, they werealmost knee to knee. “I don’t understand why you’re still angry. You got apromotion and a raise out of it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Timadmitted grudgingly. The bump up to senior reporter and the accompanyingincrease in salary were the only reasons he’d remained at the Chronicle. After his fight with Connor,Tim’s initial instinct had been to resign from the paper. A week later, he wasstill weighing his options when Shelby offered the raise and the promotion inorder to stay.
“I know you’restill upset about your Connor Albright profile not being published, which isunderstandable,” Shelby had said. “But before you do something hasty, likequit, I want you to know just how much your work and contribution are valuedhere. If you extend your contract with us, I’ll promote you to senior reporter,which means you’ll have more flexibility in your assignments. And there willalso be a very generous increase in salary.”
As angry as he’dbeen with Shelby, Tim found the offer too tempting to resist. Besides,journalism prospects were few and far between. He knew if he quit, it would besome time, maybe even years, before he found another job as a reporter. Timsigned the contract extension before his pride took over and convinced him todo something foolish.
Matt’s voicedragged him back to the present. “This is a great way to show there are no hardfeelings. If you could get ten thousand words to me by Wednesday, this storymight have a shot at being a Sunday feature.”
“Huh?” Timstruggled to catch up, and he lifted the portfolio. “You want me to do a storyon this?”
“Isn’t that whatI just spent the last five minutes explaining? Try to keep up, McInerny.” Matt’s smile took the edge off his words.
“Why assign thisto me? I thought being a senior reporter meant I could pick and choose myassignments.”
“I thought youwould want to do it.” Matt raised his eyebrows. “Shelby has already committedto making this a Sunday feature, and the Foundation has already indicated thatConnor Albright would be willing to do an interview. Wouldn’t you like anotherbite at the apple?”
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame onme.The well-worn cliché floated through Tim’s head, but he dismissed the thoughtas quickly as it had appeared. If he didn’t do this story, there were othersenior reporters who would. A chance at a Sunday feature, with its highprofile, was a coveted opportunity. Tim wouldn’t pass it up, despite thepotential awkwardness of seeing and interviewing
