Page 86 of Landing Liam

“I want to write real stories,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension in the room like a blade. “I’m done chasing useless leads across the state just because you think there might be a story. We have a full staff of reporters who can handle that. I’ve been here for five long years. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I’ve…” I pause.

I’ve fallen in love. Got cheated on. Left. Fallen again. Somehow, I’ve kept myself afloat on a salary that barely covers gas, driving a car that starts with a screwdriver. I deserve more—more than this job, more than this moment.

“You what?” Janowicz raises one wiry eyebrow, leaning forward slightly.

“I’ve proven myself time and time again,” I continue. “I get to work early every morning, and I’m usually one of the last to leave. I’ve given more of myself to this paper than anyone else out there in that newsroom, and it’s about time that you acknowledge that.”

He leans back in his chair, studying me with an unreadable expression. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ve earned a promotion and a pay raise,” I reply, my voice steady despite the nerves thrumming beneath my skin.

Janowicz lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You landed this story because you slept with the guy.”

My cheeks flame as my jaw drops. “What?”

“You don’t think Odie told me?” He lets out a humorless chuckle before his face hardens. “You’re a hard worker, Maggie. Nobody’s denying that. But you’re lost. You have no direction. And I’m not talking about your career. Let’s face it, you’ve been floundering for years. You were living in your ex-boyfriend’s grandmother’s house—”

“Granny flat,” I interrupt sharply. “Not her house.”

He waves me off, his expression pitying. “Do you know why you’re the first one here every morning and the last to leave?”

I shake my head. “Because I’m passionate about what we’re doing here.”

“No,” he says, quieter now but no less cutting. “Because you’re afraid.”

The words hit me like a gut punch, knocking the air out of my lungs. “No,” I argue weakly, though the sound wavers with the weight of his accusation. “I’m not afraid.”

But even as I say it, I feel the familiar knot of self-doubt twisting in my chest. How did this conversation go so sideways? How did it shift from me asking for a promotion to Janowicz dissecting my entire life?

He shakes his head slowly, the pity in his gaze burning through me. “You’ve been running, Maggie. From one thing to the next. From one story to the next. You think if you stay busy enough, you’ll outrun whatever it is you don’t want to face.”

I sit there, stunned and silent, the words I’d planned to say drying up in my throat. Because maybe there’s a sliver of truth in what he’s saying.

“My personal life is none of your business,” I say steadily despite the fire simmering under the surface.

Janowicz nods. “No, it’s not.”

“Then can we get back to the promotion?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back to what I came here for.

He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “You’re promoted to senior writer, but there’s no pay raise.”

I blink, feeling the words hit me like a slap. “What?”

“It’s not in the budget,” he says with a shrug, offering me a weak, almost apologetic smile. “Newspapers are a dying breed, Maggie. Be grateful for the title.”

“What about the website?” I counter, desperation creeping into my voice. “Doesn’t that bring in revenue?”

He exhales heavily, like I’ve asked him to solve world hunger. “It brings in enough to pay the IT guy to fix it when it crashes every other week. That’s about it.”

I lean back in my chair, the reality of the situation settling over me. This place has always been a dead end. A safety net. A crutch I’ve used to avoid thinking too much about my messy past or planning too far into an uncertain future. It’s been comfortable, but safe doesn’t get me anywhere. Safe doesn’t challenge me, doesn’t push me toward the life I want to build.

Safe keeps me right here, and right here isn’t where I want to be.

“I have a job offer,” I say suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. It’s not a complete lie. Jack did offer me a position at the Windwood Times, and even though it was said in passing, maybe it’s exactly what I need.

Janowicz raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“I do,” I reply, my confidence growing. “At a paper that values its writers. A place where I can tell the kinds of stories that matter.”