I swallow nervously. “Uh ... so you didn’t like that one?”
“Nothing happened next. She picked up the penny and continued on her way. It’s a complete non-story.”
“Yeah, I was going for irony.”
He swipes and shows me another. THE BIGGEST COLLECTION OF GIANT COCKS YOU’VE EVER SEEN!
I nod. “Yes, but you see –”
“What were the images of, Tate?”
I sigh. “They were pictures of roosters.”
“And not even giant roosters. Regular, average-sized roosters. The comments section was like a fucking Thunderdome of anonymous hate.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “You see, the Great Unwashed of the Internet considers every click precious, and if you waste the valuable three seconds they were planning on using to ‘pray’ for sick children by liking Facebook posts, or signing whatever-the-fuck useless petition is going around and make them look at pictures of non-pornographic feathery livestock, they are merciless in expressing their anger.”
“I know.”
He throws the tablet onto his desk. “And yet you continue to post content that I could get from my ten-year-old nephew randomly mashing a keyboard with his head.”
“Derek, you see it’s just that –”
“You’re terrible at your job?”
“I can’t deny that I perhaps don’t have the flair for these types of posts –”
“Massive understatement.”
“But if you just give me a chance to write something more substantial, I promise you won’t be disappointed. Let me prove myself to you.”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “You know the rules, Tate. You don’t get a crack at a feature until you –”
“Pay your dues in the mines. Yeah, I know. But I have a lead on something that could be really big.”
He narrows his eyes. “What lead?”
“There’s an escort here in New York called Mister Romance.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rubs his eyes. “Mister Romance? Seriously?”
“Wait. Hear me out.”
“You have ten seconds to convince me.”
I sit forward and become more animated. “His clients are the elite of New York’s society ladies. So far, I know of at least one congressman’s wife who pays for his services, and I have no doubt that if I dig deeper, I’ll find a slew of well-connected women on his client list. Possibly celebrities, too. Actors, rock stars ...”
Derek stares at me for a few seconds, silent and unblinking. “He fucks these women for money?”
“No. He dates them.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, but even without the sex, think about the implications. At five-thousand dollars per date, this guy is swindling romantically bored women out of huge amounts of cash. The scandal would be epic.”
He leans forward. “You have reliable sources on this?”
“Only secondhand right now, but I’ve just come into some information that could lead to a goldmine. And because we’re in on it early, we could secure an exclusive scoop for Pulse.”
That gets Derek’s attention. He steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. “Exclusive is good. Our advertisers like exclusive.”
I put my hands on his desk. “Then let me run with it. If it doesn’t pan out, I promise to devote myself mind, heart, body, and soul to creating the most irresistible click-bait known to man. I will find glorious portraits of the most massive roosters on the planet. But, if I land this story–”
“Here we go.”
“I want a permanent spot at the features desk. And a raise.”
Derek chuckles, but not in a cute way. More in a you’ve deflated my rage boner, and I resent you for it way.
“You have some balls on you, Tate,” he says. “I call you in here to fire you, and now you’re making me seriously consider giving you a promotion?”
I give him my most determined expression. “I’m a reporter, Derek, and a damn good one. Let me report. At least give me a shot to show you what I’m capable of. I won’t let you down.”
He thinks about it for few seconds while he taps a forefinger against his lips. Then he says, “Okay. One shot. Follow this thread down the rabbit hole and see where it leads. Keep me up to date on your progress.”
“Will do.” I mentally give myself a high-five. “Oh, and one more thing – I need a thousand dollars in cash.”
He picks up his tablet again. “And I need a self-blowing dick. Guess we’ll both have to live with disappointment.”
“I need the money to buy a meet-up with this guy,” I explain. “He won’t talk to me if I say I’m a reporter. I need to pose as a client. A wealthy client. If he takes me on, I’ll need another four thousand bucks to buy a date with him.”
Derek’s face crumbles in confusion. “The fuck?! What the hell does this guy do to these women that’s worth five grand?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
He reluctantly turns to his computer and taps out an email. “Tell me this isn’t some excuse to get your rocks off on the company dime.”
I roll my eyes. “Derek, please. As if I need to pay a man to go out with me.”
He scowls before sending off his email. “Go see Emily in finance. She’ll have the cash waiting. But you’d better give me a decent return on my investment.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my office.” He pulls on his wireless headphones and cranks up the volume of something that can only be described as angry white-guy thrash.
“You’re such a piece of shit,” I mutter under my breath.
He looks at me sharply and slides the headphones back from his ears. “What was that?”
I give him my sweetest smile. “I said this story will be a hit.” Without waiting for a reaction, I turn and leave, grateful to have staved off the executioner’s axe, at least for a while.
*
By the time I get back to my desk, Toby is in my chair, hunched over my computer and typing furiously.
I’m about to inquire about his progress when he says, “Don’t ask. There’s no traceable IP at the Massey’s home address, which means they either don’t have internet – which is unlikely – or they’re off the grid. But don’t worry. I’m gaining remote access to her phone, and just as soon as I get into her email folder, I’ll be able to ... Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Oh.”
I lean over his shoulder to see what he’s looking at, but the screen is just a big bunch of code. “Please translate, ‘Oh’ for me, Tobes. Is it good news or bad news?”
“Both. She’s using an email account that’s totally different from her public one. Maybe this is how she hides her activities from her husband.” He laughs and looks over his shoulder. “Goodwife69 is her handle. Ironic.” He goes back to tapping keys. “Okay, secret and possibly filthy emails – come to Poppa.”