To everyone else at the paper, she was a pain in the ass. She always blamed them, though. After her exchange with Burt Newman this morning, maybe she was more of the problem than she cared to admit, she thought. Will was in Joyce’s work area when Kristine arrived, which prevented any of the niceties she hadn’t had time to plan.
“Kris, come on in,” Will said. Kristine just waved at Joyce, a gesture Joyce probably mistook for sarcasm. Will closed the door behind Kristine. She plopped down in one of the chairs across from him. Will’s office was almost the size of her apartment. He had a sitting area, 47 inch TV, his own restroom, a little stainless steel refrigerator and a huge, decorative cherry wood desk. He sat in his black leather chair. It was the kind of chair that would have made anyone else look small. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why?” she asked.
“You’ve been in my office for 30 seconds and haven’t said a word,” he said sitting back.
“I’d like to move my desk away from Burt’s,” she replied quietly.
“You’ve asked me to do this three or four times now and the answer is always no,” he said.
“Today’s different,” she said. “I was really mean to him.”
“You’re always really mean to him. You’re mean to everyone except me and the guys in Sports. That’s why no one wants to sit near you,” he said amused. She cringed at his words. She thought for a minute and realized she should probably tell him what had happened before anyone else did.
“I kind of went over the line this time, Will. I kind of attacked him and his wife,” she said. Will closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again.
“What did you say?”
“I said he was repulsive and he probably had to hold his wife captive so she wouldn’t escape from him unless she was just as bad as he is,” she said and sighed. Instinctively, she felt the need to defend herself. “But he is repulsive. You’d have to admit that. And he’s always picking on me, calling me ‘little girl’ and you know how much I hate that!”
“Let me tell you something, but I’d like for you not to repeat it,” Will said leaning forward in his chair his voice deep as usual but with an almost scolding tone she hadn’t heard in the past. “Burt’s wife lost both of her legs and her eyesight as a complication of diabetes. Burt spends all of his money and energy taking care of her. During the day, he pays for a nurse to come in and help her. The medical expenses, the nurse and taking care of her are taking their toll on him. I think he likes you, because you don’t treat him like you feel sorry for him.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Crap,” she whispered.
“Now, let’s forget we had that conversation. I want to know what’s going on with the story,” he said leaning back in the chair again. “We haven’t talked in a week.” She cleared her throat and tried to erase what she had just heard from her mind.
“Do you have a radio in here?” she asked looking around and feeling two inches tall. She walked over to the TV and picked up the remote. She stepped back, pointed it at the TV and clicked the power button. The television was set to a 24 hour news channel, which she didn’t take the time to identify. She pushed the volume button to create background noise. She motioned for Will to come around his desk and join her on the sofa closer to the TV. He did, and they sat facing each other.
“I have a strong story,” she said. “But it’s not great, yet. I’m sure there’s more out there. I brought you this,” she stood up and turned away from him. She untucked her shirt and reached under her blouse to retrieve a disc. She put the disc in her mouth and tucked her white button-down shirt into the black dress pants. She didn’t consider herself a fashionista, but she knew what looked good and stylish on her. She took the disc from her mouth and turned around to see a highly amused, yet very concerned look on Will’s face. She sat down and put the disc on her leg. “I need you to keep this somewhere really safe and do not tell anyone you have it.” He was looking at the disc.
“You’re off the story,” he said quietly looking up at her. This brought the life back into her.
“What?!” she said practically jumping off the couch and the disc fell onto the floor. She picked up the shiny circle and held her work between her thumb and index finger.
“If you’re walking around with your story stuffed under your clothes and turning on background noise, you obviously think there’s some sort of danger,” he said taking her arm and pulling her back down on the sofa. “Why?” She searched her mind for something to say. “Tell me why or I’m completely killing the story,” he said.
“Okay, just don’t kill the story,” she said unconsciously putting her hand on his leg. She realized where her hand was and drew it away quickly. “Sorry,” she said as she felt her face grow warm. “I noticed the lock on my desk broken one morning when I came into the office.”
“And?” he replied. Kristine wondered if he had some sort of magic powers that let him read her mind - like a Jedi or something.
“And someone may have broken into my apartment.”
“And?”
“And someone may have tried to run me down in a crosswalk,” she said putting extra emphasis on the word “may.”
“Run you down?” he asked shocked and panicked. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“Hey, this is New York. People get nearly run over in crosswalks every day,” she said somewhat surprised at his reaction.
“This isn’t a joke, Krissy. No story is worth losing your life.”
“What life,” she said sarcastically. “Will, in case you haven’t noticed, this job is my life.” They stared at each other for a moment.
“You’re driven,” he said comfortingly. “This is my fault. A lot of pressure came with the job offer, but you’ve surpassed even my expectations as a reporter. You’re young. You have a lot of life left to live.” He didn’t sound like an editor. He sounded like a friend. She didn’t know what to say to this.
“I really want this story, Will.”
“I know you do. But you don’t want it for the right reasons. You don’t want to uncover some truth to right a wrong. You want to win. You want to be first,” he said now sounding more like a father - or worse…a psychiatrist. Still, there was truth in his words. “Let me give the story to someone else.”
“No, you can’t do that to me,” she nearly shouted gripping the disc tighter. “I don’t want you to understand my motives. I’ve done a hell of a lot of work on this, and it’s mine. Giving it to someone else will only take the focus off of me and put it on someone else. Do you want that?” She knew she had a point, but now she was afraid he’d totally kill the story. “Will, if you take away my story, I’ll quit and sell it to someone else,” she said without thinking. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed, hurt or disappointed by that threat.
“You’re not leaving me much choice here,” he said. They sat in silence, the only noise coming from an update of the stock market on the news, for what seemed like a few minutes. “How close are you to getting what you need?”
“Close,” she said. She didn’t know this for sure, but it was a gut feeling she had had for a few days.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said standing. He paced