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+Prologue+
Astraia Hamilton trudged into the her little cubicle in Anemos Press Tuesday morning clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline. She did not like mornings. She never has nor ever will. The fact that she had a deadline to meet this morning at 4:00 am did not help. The article made it, but she’s not quite sure her body had.
Of course, she is also currently referring to herself in the third person. She leaned back and poured some of the hot liquid into her throat. Ah. I love coffee. Oh. I’m finally back to talking in the first person. Coffee does miracles. Really.
“Astraia!”
I groaned and wondered if I could hide under my desk. As nice a person as my editor happened to be, I didn’t want to think about another article just yet.
“Yes?” I replied weakly before taking another big gulp of my coffee. I can almost feel the molecules working their way to my brain.
“You’re tired,” Irene commented, peering down at me. Instead of responding, I chugged the coffee down—or as fast as one could chug down such hot liquid. The inevitable thump of a manila folder hitting my desk came before the caffeine finished its work. “You should get started on this interview with Mr. Li, but I’ll give you permission to take a two hour nap before jumping on it, ok?” I nodded weakly before returning to my coffee. I’ll give myself another ten minutes for the caffeine to do their job before attempting to get through everything.
“He’s not here at the moment.” And how many times has that phrase been tried out on reporters? Since the very existence of the career. And how many times do good reporters fall for that trick? Zilch.
“Perhaps I could leave a message? A package for him inside?” I asked just as a car drove up to the gate.
“He’s there right now.” The guard pointed at the incoming car that had stopped inches from me. I quickly walked to the side and tapped on the stained window.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m a reporter from the Anemos Press and I was wondering if you had any time for an interview today?”
“I’ve already talked with someone from your company. I see no reason why I should allocate time for another,” a masculine voice drifted through the now half-open window. I froze. Clutching my manila folder harder I prayed that the familiar voice I heard was just the trick of my ears. When I dared to look up again I saw a very familiar pair of chestnut eyes that met my own. Someone up there really hates me. My trained smile was frozen in place but my nails already sank through the cover of the manila folder. Mr. Li. Of course. Mr. Li and traveling agencies. Mr. Li, the Chinese guy in America.
“Sorry to disturb you,” I managed before turning around to leave. I forced myself to walk away calmly until I heard the car drive through the gates before breaking out into a run. I flipped open the folder and went back to the personal page and photo. Adrian Li. Why did Irene hate me? I had half a mind to rip the paper in half. And why did sleep-deprived me decide not to read the goddamned last page?
By the time I slammed the door to my car, I’d decided that there was no way I’m going to do this interview—not even if it cost me my job. Squaring my shoulders, I marched into Irene’s room. Despite making an effort to paste on the sweetest smile I could muster at the moment, I couldn’t stop myself from slamming the folder onto her desk.
“Irene. We need to have a talk,” I started. “I, you see, cannot conduct this interview.” She stared at me for a moment.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she replied. There was an unwritten rule at Anemos that ‘cannot’ should never appear in conversations with one’s editor.
“I mean, Vanessa already interviewed him,” I tried going about this in a different way, “so I see no reason why I should interview him again.”
“Yes, but Vanessa’s article has the distinct flavor of someone who jumped in bed with him to get it,” Irene replied bluntly. Neither one of us liked Vanessa very much, not to mention she was my biggest rival within our generation in the company. “And the other editors would like very much to have a…less biased, more truthful version.”
“But, you could get Ara to do it,” I suggested, trying so hard to keep up the smile that my face wass starting to hurt.
“Astraia, let me explain this to you plainly. Whoever succeeds at getting a real article out of this will most likely be promoted,” Irene said. “Adrian Li has been very successful at avoiding the press and real in-depth interviews. If you do this, there will be no way for Vanessa to even compete with you in this company.”
“There must be other ways,” I replied. “I can compete with her in other ways.”
Irene took off her reading glasses and sighed. “You must realize that Vanessa and you are the very best reporters we have right now. If she only barely managed to get an interview with him, no one else other than you will be able to do it. Simply put, if no one else can get an interview, Vanessa wins, and you will have hard time making up for that loss.”
“Irene, but you—”
She cut me off with a look. “If you can’t do this right now, I’ll just tell them to run Vanessa’s article today,” she said. I glared at the picture on the last page of the file, really wanting to rip it to a thousand little pieces.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” I said dejectedly. She nodded, her expression softening a bit.
“Was he really that bad when you talked to him?” she asked concerned.
“No,” I replied, looking at the paper again. Birthday, favorite food, favorite song, etc. I took it with perfect calm and ripped it methodically into four pieces, then eight, then sixteen, before finally tossing the piece into the trash and smiling at Irene. “I won’t be needing that.”
I laid down my stuff, trying to stop the shaking in my hands. How in Heaven’s name is this going to work?
