Page 7 of Love Under the Microscope
JACK
As I enter my editor’s office, sweat streams down my back. My deodorant is barely doing its job, and at any moment, I’ll stink worse than I do after a run. I wish I could blame the warm autumn temperature, but the unexpected heatwave in Seattle has nothing to do with my sweat glands mimicking faucets.
Will this be the last time I’m asked to come in here?
I don’t want to know the answer.
I close the door, keeping my gaze on the door handle. I’m sure my coworkers are taking bets on how long I’ll get to pack up my personal belongings. It’s all fun and games until you’re the one about to lose your job. I take a seat in the chair closest to me and force myself not to wipe my clammy palms against my pants.
Drew Hampton, who runs PharmaNews as if he’s the publisher, not just the editor, sits behind his desk, his beady-eyed stare making me squirm.
Fuck, I haven’t been in here thirty seconds, and I’m already about to lose it.
Layoff rumors have circled for weeks and have become louder in the past few days. Given I’m single with no dependents, I’ll be the first out the door. The others on staff have significant others, and a few even have kids. I feel for them. I do, but … I still need a salary to cover my rent and expenses.
Why should my lack of a relationship and dependents affect my employment?
It makes no sense to me, but they better not ask me to resign. I’ve heard that’s a thing now. That’ll be a big N-O. I’ll need to receive unemployment until I can find another job. Freelance articles won’t pay enough. I can hear my parents say we told you so. Well, if we were still in contact. They never forgave me for leaving biochemistry for journalism, and I haven’t forgiven them for telling me a year of mourning my late girlfriend was six months too long.
I swallow and continue to look at my editor, who hasn’t said a word since I entered.
Fucker.
I won’t let the silence get to me. Drew’s the one who wants this meeting, so I’m not talking first. Stubborn? Yes, I can be painfully so at times. But that trait has helped more than it’s hurt. I hope he doesn’t make me wait too long to tell me what’s happening. Knowing Drew, he’ll stretch it out until I want to scream.
I’m not a fan of my boss. Truth be told, I hate his guts, but if I want to work for PharmaNews, and I do until a more reputable publication hires me, I have to put up with him. For now, I’m stuck here, literally and figuratively. Since I’m forced to write using stupid literary pseudonyms, I can’t prove any of the clips are truly mine. Although if I no longer have a job, maybe some freelance work will give me the credits I so desperately need to be hired elsewhere.
A silver lining to the dark cloud of unemployment?
It’s all I have to hold on to.
Drew steeples his fingers like he’s a mafioso and not a short, thin man wearing a suit that’s two sizes too big. “You’re probably curious why I want to talk to you.”
“Yes.” I somehow manage to keep my voice steady, which is easy to do when you only say one word.
“You’re not losing your job.”
Thank God. I blow out my breath. Even though I want another job, I want that to be my choice, not Drew’s. I flex my fingers. “Good to know.”
“I have a proposition for you if you’re interested.”
“I am.” Of course, I am. As long as he’s not firing me, I’m up for anything that won’t get me arrested.
“How would you like to write an exclusive? You could even use your real name.”
Holy shit! My mouth gapes, but I press my lips together quickly. I need to play it cool even though my fist wants to pump, so I count to eleven. “I’d be down for that.”
I speak with a calmness that surprises me, downplaying the anticipation revving my heart rate. I’ve wanted and relentlessly asked for a feature under my own name over the past four years. During my first year, I didn’t want to cause any waves.
I press the soles of my feet against the floor so my knees don’t bounce.
I don’t want to appear too eager. Drew might use that against me. That’s the kind of game I’ve been playing with him since day one. I lean back in his guest chair. “Tell me more.”
I’m not expecting to hear much. Everyone on staff knows Drew’s only the editor because his dad publishes the magazine. Nepotism at its finest. If promotions happened based on merit, I’d be sitting behind that desk, and PharmaNews would be doing so much better than it is.
While most of us on staff are passionate about science, he’s fascinated with literature, which explains why he makes us use literary pseudonyms. His is Andy Chekov. I write so many articles I have more than one. It makes the staff seem larger than it is.
Drew’s lips curl like some two-bit comic villain. “Zentello’s getting ready to announce when Orchid will launch.”
