CHAPTER 6

The very defining factor of anyone who was successful was how they approached mundane tasks. The world was rigged to function by complicating the most simple things. Humans could accomplish so much more if we managed to remove the fluff and the extras. I never had the power to dictate the way the world worked, but I did have power in my company. I had grown it exponentially over time by focusing on my principles and not wasting time or effort.

"Everyone here knows I value quality and not the shock value. It really shouldn't need to be said out loud at this point," I told Janet, one of the senior reporters who was presenting one of her pieces to the newsroom leadership staff. Her story had been flagged for further review. Janet was a veteran on staff, but lately her work had been a little, well, lazy. When she first started, she showed promise and potential. Spunk. Now, she seemed tired, like she didn't really care about the job as deeply anymore.

She took a deep, slightly shaky breath before she continued.

"Of course, Mr. Oviatt." Her words were quick and clipped, like she didn't really want to be in this room either. Her hand reached up and dropped, like she was going to run it through her blonde bob before thinking better of it, realizing she didn't want to look fidgety. "I have a story where a mayoral candidate had a tax evasion lawsuit in Spain and—"

"This candidate withdrew two days ago. How is he still relevant?" I cut her off, leaving her stunned and silent. Eric, sitting at the chair closest to my right, started to cover his face in second-hand embarrassment. I leaned forward once more, looking Janet directly in her evasive eyes. "Not to mention, OVT Broadcasting Network is a national news outlet. Why would we focus much of our resources on a local election? There are important congressional seats up for grabs and the results of those elections will shape our country for years to come. And you want to spend time on a candidate who's not even in a race anymore?"

Eric cleared his throat and straightened in his chair, pulling his suit jacket tight.

"Listen, Janet, you're one of our more experienced reporters. We trust your keen sense and talents to do the job." I had to admit that Eric was great at showing empathy for the staff. Judging by the loss of defensiveness in Janet's posture, he was getting through to her in a way my tirade had not been. So frustrating. "You've proven yourself many, many times before. But this one…This one just isn't it. No one cares about it. But now we've wasted time and resources."

Janet nodded and closed the laptop in front of her.

"I apologize," she said, addressing the room. "I will find a story that is more relevant to our audience."

I nodded once, dismissing Janet, and she quickly grabbed her laptop and smoothly strode out of the room.

"Ever since the whole crisis," I said, addressing the leaders in the room, "and what I mean by that is the crisis involved publishing a news story with fake quotes. Not good. But the crisis highlighted what I have been seeing for a little too long—a lack of attention." I leaned forward on my elbows, steepling my fingers. Everyone in the room was completely still, rigid. The tension was suffocating as the supposed top people in this newsroom held their breath, waiting to see where I was going with all of this.

"Have we gotten lazy?" The question started bringing people back to life as they shifted in their chairs, looking anxiously at one another. "Or have we just given up entirely?"

I was kind of getting sick of the declining quality of work being produced here. I had become a lot more hands-on since that epic disaster. I had to make sure it wouldn't happen again, especially right now. Everyone's eyes and ears were glued to us. We got lucky last time, there didn't seem to be much long-term damage done to our reputation. But we might not be so lucky if it happened again.

"I get it. It's hard right now. It's hard to be honest and tell the truth when our competitors are not doing the same. It's hard to continue to care when we share stories about the same problems over and over again and there are no results from anyone. It's hard. But we need to care. We have a voice and we need to use it well."

No one said anything. Eric was spinning side to side in his chair. Lucy was typing something on her laptop and two other senior editors were just exchanging nervous looks.

I sighed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olivia walk by the glass wall.

"New girl," I called out without thinking.

Olivia's steps faltered and her long copper waves swung as she whipped her head toward me, hazel eyes locking on mine almost in a challenge. Something inside me fizzled a little, my blood turning carbonated.

She tugged her dark green shirt, straightening it as she smoothly opened the door. I couldn't help but notice how tight her shirt was. It certainly wasn't inappropriate in the workplace, and it had a mock neck on top, but it highlighted her slight curves and the subtle flare of her hips. I found myself especially interested in the smattering of freckles on her arms. I hoped she didn't notice when my eyes skimmed down her dark skinny jeans. I mentally shook myself.

What the hell was I doing looking at Olivia like that?

"Yes, Mr. Oviatt?" Her husky voice was confident and filled the room. She had no hint of apprehension in her posture at all, down to the raised eyebrows.

"What have you been working on, Olivia? Maybe you can give us something that isn't disappointing or a waste of time."

Her eyes briefly narrowed, and I was positive she wished for the power to shoot flames at me.

"Go ahead, surprise me with some new perspectives, new girl."

Lucy cleared her throat to start to say something but I quickly shot her down with a look. Everyone's focus was on Olivia. She shifted her weight from one foot to another before stepping to the empty chair at the head of the table. She put her hand on the back, but made no move to sit.

She looked nervous and it was curious to me—how one moment she could seem ready to slay dragons, but the next she seemed to want to disappear into a hole in the ground. Most people were consistently one way or the other. But not Olivia.

"Thank you for that new moniker, but my name is Olivia." Her gaze on me was strong. Point taken, and I had to admire her gusto. "Sure, well, seeing as I was just walking by, I'm not quite prepared—" she began.

"I've got you, Olivia. I have the video file here," Lucy said, plugging her laptop into the monitor and pulling up Olivia's video.

"Thanks, Lucy. The piece I was working on is about James Jensen's soon-to-open restaurant and bar called Blaze Bar. My goal was to engage as much as to inform." Olivia was not looking anyone in the eye directly, but continually scanned the room. Maybe that was a tool to her confidence.

She nodded at Lucy, who pressed play. I immediately saw some technical errors on her recording, which was surprising because I knew Mark went with her. Her lighting was entirely too bright and it was reflecting off of her face—a little bit more brightness, and she would have looked like a ghost.

Olivia's voice boomed through the high-end speakers in the meeting room. Her report continued to play, featuring a somewhat short segment with James Jensen that I also had qualms about. The video ended and silence filled the room.

I couldn't quite help the small smirk that lifted on my lips as she looked at me expectantly.

Olivia

Listen,Ihaddonea million nerve-wracking things before. I sent my grade school crush a secret admirer letter, though never revealed it was me. I went against my parent's wishes and studied journalism instead of pre-med. I left home for New York without any savings or any concrete plan when I graduated college. I could safely say that I braved a lot of challenges, but I had never been as nervous as I was presenting my very first story to the one and only Ben Oviatt—especially since I was already on this man's list.

I was even more anxious when he just sat there after I was done talking, just sitting there and looking at me contemplatively with those green eyes.

There was something about his eyes with his thick dark brown hair that was just…captivating. Throw in the clean-shaven, hard jawline, and he was quite literally the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.

I swallowed hard and tried to stand completely still under his gaze. I didn't need him to see me fidgeting. But I could feel my pulse racing and anticipation clenched low in my belly. A blush threatened to creep up my skin. Why was this room so warm?

The silence stretched. I wanted to look around the room, but I also couldn't take my eyes off of Ben. But I could feel the tension. Lucy was sitting next to me and I could tell she was holding her breath.

My body continued to hum with awareness. It felt like there was some invisible force rooting me to the spot, except the force wasn't invisible. The force was Ben.

Suddenly, he stood up, breaking the spell. My knees swayed in relief. Or was that disappointment? Why was I disappointed? I rocked back on my heels, holding the chair in front of me so I wouldn't fall backward.

"It's passable," Ben Oviatt finally declared in his low, deep voice as he took a few steps toward me, eye contact resumed. He was close enough I could smell his expensive cologne. It was heady and zapped me of any focus.

I wasn't sure if my world was shattering or those were just bits of glitter blasting away in my brain.

"S-Sir?" I barely whispered as I tugged on the hem of my shirt. I hated how my voice betrayed my body in that instant.

He looked at me with nonchalance before one corner of his lips tipped up very subtly. Was that Ben's version of a…smile?

"It's passable, Olivia." Oh god, the way he said my name. "It might need a few more clips featuring James Jensen to improve it a little. But it was fine. For your first story." He looked over at Mark. "Mark. The lighting."

"Aye, aye, captain." Mark saluted in his direction.

He moved toward the door, Eric right behind him.

"Olivia, bring a revised edit to my office by the end of the day. As for the rest of you, reassess your priorities."

I was gobsmacked. What the actual hell happened here?

"I…passed?" I whispered to no one, still in utter shock. Lucy squeezed my shoulder on the way out. I shook away the fog and got to work on the next edit.

Time flew by and Mark helped me with editing. He apologized for the lighting and said he should have caught that earlier.

"I hate that Oviatt pointed that out," he said apologetically. "It's my fault. But you gotta give it to Oviatt. He knows his stuff. I think it was just that Jensen guy. Threw me off. What a tool." Mark talked about what he was doing as he clicked around on the editing software. My mind was still swimming, though, with what happened in that conference room. I had expected Ben to cut me down, but he didn't. And that energy between us was so unreal.

"Okay, I think we're done. Enjoy your trip to the ivory tower," Mark said triumphantly. He gave me a high five and left me with my next steps.

I had no idea why Ben Oviatt wanted me to deliver this to his office. I mean, wasn't that a little below his pay grade? That's what I had an editor for. Also, couldn't this have been an email?

I sighed and grabbed the stick Mark left for me. Everything had already been uploaded to the server, but he figured this would be easier for me to deliver. Fewer ways I could screw it up and make another terrible impression.

I barely noticed anything as I walked through the main lobby toward the elevator, which was a shame, because I loved this building. The huge windows of the atrium, although the sun was quickly setting. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Grateful to be alone, I pressed the button for the top floor.