Take a Chance on Me_A My Heart Channel Romance

by Kaylee Baldwin

  “Yeah, and you’ll fall asleep.” She rubbed at her eyes instead and stood with a long stretch, heading for the kitchen to find something to help keep her awake. After a soda and a granola bar, she dove back into writing her article.

  It took her the full three hours, a few sessions of jogging in place, three more granola bars, and too much talking to herself to admit, but Madelyn finished the article with five minutes to spare. She read through it carefully one last time, pleased with how it had turned out. It just might be enough to convince Ms. Phillips to trust her with weightier topics in the future.

  She pressed send on the email and curled into a ball on the couch to fall asleep.

  Madelyn dropped Oliver off with Jason a few hours later. He answered the door, unshaven and wearing nothing but pajama pants, looking as exhausted as she felt. Oliver jumped into his arms.

  “How was the show, bud?” Jason asked.

  “I got stitches! And met Chance Risk!”

  “Cool!” Jason looked at Madelyn with raised eyebrows. “Sounds like an exciting night.”

  Madelyn handed Jason the backpack and stuffed shark Oliver always took between their apartments. “I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it. I put some children’s pain relievers in his backpack. I just gave him some, but if he complains it hurts, he can have more after lunch.” She bit her lip, torn about leaving. “I don’t know. Maybe I should call in.”

  “He’ll be fine. I’ll call you if we need to. And my mom wants to spend a few hours with him today.”

  Like that was supposed to make her feel better. His mom liked to pretend she was still in her teens. “You’ll be there too?”

  “Yes. But my mom did raise me. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “That’s debatable,” Madelyn muttered. But she needed the money, so even though she wished she could stay, she had to go. With a quick kiss to Oliver’s head, she left and drove to work.

  The bell on the door jangled as she walked into the diner. She inhaled the familiar scent of bacon and coffee in the fifties-style diner. “Good morning!” Linda Merkle, the owner, called out to her from the counter as she filled coffee cups up for the two men who probably owned the big rigs parked out front.

  Madelyn waved and went to the break room to drop off her bag. She couldn’t resist pulling out her cell phone to look up her article. Seeing her first headliner filled her with euphoria. She scrolled to the bottom to skim the comments, and her jaw nearly dropped. There were two hundred. Double what she’d ever had. She read through the first five.

  - Verity News has been a joke for years, but this really takes the cake.

  -Where does Verity News get their “reporters” from?

  -Maybe Verity should be less worried about hiring pretty writers and focus on getting smart ones.

  -This has to be fake, right? No one is this stupid.

  -Stay home, princess, and let the men do the real reporting.

  “What?” She raced up to the top of the page and read through her article. The details checked out from everything she’d researched the night before. There was nothing too sensational in her story: Senator Brightman’s education and political positions before becoming California’s newest senator, then his recent fall from grace when it was discovered he took large bribes from several special interest groups. She read through it a second time, even slower, looking for some gaffe she must have missed, but nothing stood out to her. Her editor would have read it through carefully this morning before posting it. What in the world?

  Her mom’s number came up on the phone, and with a twinge of guilt, Madelyn sent it to voice mail. She was now five minutes late for starting her shift, but she had to figure out what was going on with her article.

  She clicked into her email account, where her inbox had hundreds of emails already waiting for her. Most had a subject heading with some variation of You Must Be an Idiot or I’d Fire You if I Could. She found one labeled “Correction” and clicked on it.

  Dear Ms. Stewart,

  In reading your article this morning, I found it to be both well-written and balanced, something rare these days. I have been a fan of Verity News for several years and always enjoy your articles. That said, I am sorry to point out that in the portion of your article where you describe Senator Brightman’s youth and political career, you actually described Gordon Wilmot—the other senator from California. Senator Brightman has a degree from Stanford, not the University of Michigan. And his parents did not die when he was a youth, but in fact only passed away in recent years. There were several other incorrect facts, and I have linked a correct bio for your perusal.

  Madelyn clicked on the link, where she was directed to the bio on Senator Brightman’s familiar website, which only confirmed her awful error.

  “Madelyn.”

  Madelyn’s head snapped up as Linda walked into the break room. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was pulled into her signature ponytail. She wore a pressed and clean apron, like always.

  “What’s wrong?” Linda asked immediately.

  “I made a huge mistake.” It was nearly impossible to get air into her lungs.

  “What happened?”

  “I mixed up some very important details in my article.” They had to pull the article down, as soon as possible. Before anyone else read it. She glanced down at the comments. They’d risen by another fifty.

  Linda wiped her hands on her apron. “Everything’s digital these days, right? Can’t you just go in and fix it real quick?”

  “I don’t know. I need to call Verity and see what they can do.”

  Linda placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath and make your call. I’ll hold the fort down for a bit until you get this figured out.”

  Madelyn nodded, grateful for Linda. She and her husband Garth were wonderful people. In the six years she’d worked at the diner, they’d been flexible and caring, and had become genuine friends to her.

  She pulled up the number for her editor, Mike. He picked up after one ring. “Do you have any idea how many messages I’ve received about your article?” he barked without preamble.

  Madelyn cringed. “I’m so sorry. Give me a few minutes and I’ll have the corrected version to you.”

  “I’ve already got Isla on it.”

  “Oh.” She violently blinked back her emotion. Crying would not help.

  “Madelyn.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t have to tell you this is bad.”

  She swallowed. “Yeah. I know. I was just so tired last night—”

  “Our readers don’t care how tired you were. They want accuracy.”

  “I know. I’m mortified.”

  “I edited it, but how was I supposed to know you got his childhood bio completely wrong?”

  Her heart dropped. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, are you? It was my fault.”

  “Look, Madelyn. I can’t talk now. Ms. Phillips is breathing down my neck and I’ve got to get the correction up in the next ten minutes or I might as well just pack my desk.”

  “I’m sorry,” Madelyn said again.

  “Yeah. Well, me too.” He hung up the phone with a finality that twisted Madelyn’s stomach. Was this it? Her chance at making it big, ruined?

  She sat in the break chair and bent over her knees, wishing she could go back a few hours in time and triple-check her information before sending it in.

  Garth stuck his head in the door, twisting his hands uncomfortably. “Linda sent me back here to check on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  There was a long pause, and then, “She told me about your article. Mistakes happen.”

  She finally looked up at this. Garth was in his late fifties, white hair, mustache, and often had a grouchy expression on his face. But she’d learned he was a huge softy on the inside, especially when it came to children. Whenever Oliver came in to see her at work, Garth always had an extra-large piece of banana cream pie to give him.

  “Yeah, like getting
a date wrong or misspelling someone’s last name. I got Senator Brightman’s entire history wrong. This is a disaster.” The panic she’d attempted to keep at bay clawed at her throat.

  “Do you need to take the day off and fix this?” He folded his arms and looked at her closely.

  She wished she could take his offer, but she needed the money desperately. And even if she did leave, the situation seemed impossible to fix at this point. “I’ll stay.” She took a deep breath and stood.

  Her phone rang, and they both looked at it. The caller ID flashed the number for Verity’s main office. She had to answer.

  “It’s Trent.” Trent was the personal assistant to Ms. Phillips, the owner of Verity News. Madelyn had met Ms. Phillips twice. First when she was hired on as a freelance writer, and again at a holiday party the year before. Ms. Phillips, an austere woman in her forties, had made an appearance long enough to propose a toast and shake everyone’s hand before leaving.

  “Are you available for a video conference with Ms. Phillips in ten minutes?”

  Madelyn blew out a long breath. It was probably better to just get this over with. “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you back in a few minutes over video.”

  Madelyn turned to Garth, gripping her phone tightly in her hands. “They want to do a video chat in ten minutes.”

  He frowned. “We’ll cover the front for you, so don’t worry about it. It’s a slow morning, anyway.” He tapped on the doorframe a couple of times before heading back to the kitchen.

  Madelyn checked Verity’s website to see if her article had been taken down. It had. Disappointment lodged in her chest. She’d thought this was it, and now it wasn’t.

  Too soon her phone rang with an incoming video. She should have straightened her hair or looked in a mirror—or at least taken off her apron—but it was too late. She answered the call, and attempted a professional smile.

  It was Trent. “Hi, Madelyn. I’ll connect you to Ms. Phillips,” his voice lowered, “who appreciates initiative and confidence. And she can’t resist a good idea.” He winked.

  “It’s Madelyn,” Trent said in his professional tone. His parting words ran through her mind while Ms. Phillips got the camera situated. Confidence. Initiative. A good idea. All things she was sorely lacking, especially since all she wanted to do was crawl under a table somewhere and sleep away the next hundred years.

  “Madelyn. Hello.” Ms. Phillips pronounced her name the French way (Mad-el-ine) in her refined English accent. She folded her arms across her black-and-white striped shirt.

  Madelyn forced herself to be still even though every twitching muscle was screaming for her to pace away the nervous energy.

  “It has come to my attention that there were important details amiss in your article this morning. This was your first headline article for Verity News, correct?”

  “Yes.” Madelyn’s voice came out thready and light. She cleared her throat. Confidence. “I have written over two hundred articles for Verity, but yes, this was my first headliner.”

  Ms. Phillips leaned back in her chair. “And is this your first article to go viral?”

  “It’s gone viral?” Her heart sank.

  “We have a reputation for giving our readers facts they can depend on. What happened with this morning’s article weakens our brand. In today’s social climate, reporters are suspect, and at the very least, people expect accuracy. The only saving grace is that your mistake wasn’t a politically motivated gaffe. If it had been, I would have permanently blocked anything you ever sent to us again.”

  Madelyn cringed. “I’ll never make a mistake like that again.”

  Ms. Phillips’s lips tightened. “This was a serious breach of trust, Madelyn. One I don’t think we can get past. It is unforgivable for a reporter to be so careless in her facts.” She leaned closer to the camera. “I expected more of you. You have a degree in journalism. You came highly recommended. But it’s taken you over two years to grab for the kind of article you told me you wanted to write in the first place. Where is that girl? The one I interviewed then, who had been so full of passion?”

  “I don’t know,” Madelyn said quietly.

  “It’s a shame, really. You have so much potential.”

  The words deflated Madelyn in an instant. So much potential. How often had she heard that phrase? When she didn’t get the editor position at her college newspaper. You have potential, but you’re not there yet.

  At her first job out of college, when she’d poured her heart and soul into an article on poverty in America. There’s a lot of potential here, Madelyn, and we like the idea, but we’re going to have someone else run with the story.

  And now here, with Ms. Phillips. It’s a shame, really.

  What if she wasn’t cut out for this? What if the only stories she could write were fear-driven, sensational fluff?

  Unbidden, an old college memory of Graham popped into her mind. A couple months after they started dating, Madelyn was given the assignment to meet with the director of a new children’s museum and write an article for the local newspaper. For all her hopes of being a new, confident person at college, her doubts—and a loudmouth classmate who had a lot of criticism for everyone, including her—poked holes in that façade. Soon she’d convinced herself to pass the interview on to someone else. She’d mentioned it to Graham one evening.

  He’d been playing Hamlet in the community theater at the time, and she’d helped him practice his lines for weeks. When he’d pressed his forehead to hers and whispered: This above all … She knew to finish: To thine own self be true.

  She hadn’t known yet who her true self was, not then. But she had known she didn’t want to be a quitter. Not then, and not now.

  She wanted to be a reporter. And not just anywhere. She wanted to be a reporter for Verity News, where she respected their style of reporting. Too many places had distinct biases, and she’d always loved the challenge of writing an article that could lay out the facts without telling people how to think. She loved that they weren’t afraid to try out new talent and welcomed innovative ideas. For too long she’d taken the safe road.

  “Thank you for your time with us, Madelyn, but I’m afraid—”

  “Wait!” Madelyn interrupted.

  The older woman pressed her lips together and raised one bemused brow. “Yes?”

  “What if …” She racked her mind. What could save her job? An idea hit her so suddenly, the words flew out before she could filter them. “What if I can get an exclusive with Chance Risk?”

  “Impossible,” Ms. Phillips said, but her eyes sparked with interest.

  “I can do it,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

  “He doesn’t talk to reporters.”

  “He’ll talk to me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I know him.” A stretch, but she’d known him once, and that counted for something. Maybe. And she had his assistant’s number in case the insurance gave her any grief.

  Ms. Phillips leaned back in her chair with an implacable expression. “I’ll give you one month. Get an exclusive with Chance Risk and I’ll not only pick up the article, I’ll bring you on as a lower-level staff writer.”

  Madelyn nodded, hoping her wide eyes didn’t reveal her shock. Lower-level staff writer meant she could quit her job at the diner. “I’ll have it for you.”

  “Just make sure you get me an interview with Chance Risk, the MyChannel star. Don’t mistake him for someone else this time.”

  It was a low, but deserved, blow, and Madelyn closed out their conversation with a promise to keep Ms. Phillips updated on her progress.

  “Well?” Linda stood in the doorway, a plate of French silk pie in one hand, a bowl of whipped cream in the other. She handed the treat to Madelyn, who took it gratefully. Pie didn’t fix everything, but it sure made the journey a lot tastier. She spooned a generous dollop of whipped cream on the chocolaty top.

  “I’ve got a second chance.”


  Linda’s eyes lit up with relief. “That’s awesome, Madelyn. You’ll do great.”

  She let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, we’ll see. Everything rides on getting an exclusive with Chance Risk.”

  “MyChannel Chance Risk?”

  “You know him?”

  “Oliver talks about him so much I looked him up. I thought he didn’t do interviews.”

  “I panicked.” Madelyn took a huge bite out of the creamy pie. An interview with Chance Risk. Someone she never wanted to see again. Someone who definitely didn’t want to see her again. Her future at Verity News all depended on a man whose heart she’d smashed eight years ago.

  Linda walked closer and dropped another huge spoonful of cream on Madelyn’s plate. “You’re going to need this,” she said grimly.

  Madelyn closed her eyes. What in the world had she done?

  Chapter Seven

  Chance sat in his condo, long after the sun had gone down, and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep last night until the late hours of the evening, and with the way his mind was racing, he had no doubt tonight was going to be the same. He went into the kitchen for a glass of water before sitting at his computer to continue editing.

  He clicked into his email instead. Usually he left his emails to Kim, but he was feeling too restless to sift through footage he need for his latest show. Nope, in the frame of mind he was in tonight, he was more likely to dive into the comments section of his channel, which was nearly as dangerous as diving with sharks.

  Another sponsor had emailed with the threat to pull out if Chance didn’t get his numbers back up. He should have just risked the comments section.

  He rested his head against the back of the couch and wished for an idea to save the show. His instant messenger pinged before he could think of anything brilliant.

  Kim: I forgot to tell you earlier. That lady called you. The one with the hurt son.

  Chance hated how his heart raced with anticipation. Even though Kim wasn’t there to see, he forced himself to be casual as he responded back.

  Chance: Madelyn Long?