Page 24 of Common Grounds

“I’d like to do a piece on a local business that’s in danger of failing—”

Randall’s voice is measured and scarily quiet as he cuts me off. “We are not doing a story about a business going under.”

I drum up some of the confidence I had yesterday and say, “All due respect, sir, but I’d like the opportunity to finish my pitch. If you’ll hear me out, I think you’ll see it could be a great story.”

He studies me for a second, his beady eyes squinting at me, then waves for me to continue. The room collectively exhales.

“Thank you. As I was saying, there is a specific local business that is in danger of closing, and I’d like to do a piece—well, a series of pieces—about the establishment. I want to start by introducing our audience to the shop and its owner, get them invested, and then establish the shop as an important part of the community, culminating in a grand re-opening of sorts.”

Randall pushes himself back in his seat and makes a frustrated noise. “One million clicks on one story, Darlis. That was the deal.”

But I’m ready for this one. I knew he would say this. “You’re right,” I say. This seems to placate him as he leans forward over the table again. “But I think the heart of our deal was to drive more traffic to the website overall. And not only that, but to foster an investment from our readers. Readership isn’t built on one single viral story. It’s built from a community of people who care enough to keep coming back. Right now, with our one-off stories of various odds and ends, our readers don’t have anything to sink their teeth into. They don’t have anything to look forward to, to come back for. I want to give them that. Which is why I’m willing to write a four-article series for this, rather than just the one article you were expecting.”

I’m a writer. It’s my job to turn a phrase—to persuade people to think and believe things they wouldn’t otherwise. But Randall was a journalist in his day, too, and I pray to the universe that he doesn’t see right through my insinuation that this is a service to the magazine rather than a loophole in our deal.

He regards me for a long moment, and everyone in the room stills again. He takes a loud breath in through his nose. “What’s the business?”

I’ve almost got him.

“The Baker’s Blend Coffee Shop on Main and Chestnut.”

Shockingly, Randall’s features smooth out. It’s gone again quickly, but it was unmistakable.

“I didn’t know that place was still open. I thought it shut down when that warehouse of a coffee place opened up down the street,” is all he says about that. Interesting. He must have frequented Baker’s Blend a long time ago. I file that tidbit away for later.

“It’s still open, but barely. The current owner took it over from his father, who took it over from his grandfather, but he’s struggling to compete with the big box stores popping up in the area. Which is why I think this is the perfect story. Millennials love nothing more than sticking it to The Man. They want to see local businesses thrive, and they’re willing to let their money talk. They’ll not only be invested in this series, but they’ll come out for the grand re-opening. I can guarantee it.”

Randall hums, narrowing his eyes further. I almost wonder how he can even see me when he squints like that.

“One million unique clicks over four weeks. Repeat readers don’t count. One story per week,” he counters. “And we will be a named sponsor at the grand re-opening.”

In name only, is what he means. No way is Randall footing the bill. No matter. If he wants a banner with the magazine’s name on it, he can have it. I can work with this. How hard could it be to get one million unique readers over four articles?

“Sounds fair.” I nod.

Randall stands, but on his way out of the conference room, he stops near Josie and says, loud enough for me to hear, “I’d start cleaning out your desk if I were you. I think there’s going to be a new Letters writer by the end of the month.”

It takes all my effort not to growl. Fuck him.

Once Randall leaves the room, most everyone else files out after him. Ethan and Josie hang back. They’re both wide-eyed with excitement, and Ethan is practically wiggling in his seat.

He pops up from his chair, slinging his camera bag over his shoulder. “I am going to head over to the shop right away to snap some pics of that tall drink of water for the first article. You coming, Emery?”

“No. I need to start writing.”

Josie’s face falls slightly, and Ethan gives me the side-eye.

“You’re not planning to write all of these articles without even talking to him, are you?”

“What do I need to talk to him for? It’s a coffee shop. No one goes there. Save the small business. Whoo-hoo.” I make a circling motion with my finger in mock excitement.

Josie stands and walks toward the conference room door. “Yep, I’m going to go start packing up my stuff,” she says on her way out.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I shout to her backside, but she ignores me.

Ethan purses his lips and looks me up and down, then sighs. “I’ll do the best I can to get some eye-candy pictures to post, but there’s only so much I can do to help you, honey. If you want your readers to be invested, you’re going to have to get invested, too.” He turns on his heel and leaves.

I’m left alone in the conference room, feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut. The last time I got invested, I got my heart ripped out of my chest and handed to me on a platter. Twice, if you count the layoff. Getting invested is exactly what I’m trying to avoid, and I silently vow to stay as far away from Trevor for as long as I can.

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