by Lee Winter
I know focusing on expectations is a pointless waste of mental resources. They aren’t real. They’re entirely in our own minds.
And yet, I’m always going back for another hit.
Why?
CHAPTER 4
Habits of Highly Successful Media Moguls
As it happened, Maddie didn’t know anything about the habits of highly successful media moguls. It turned out that Elena Bartell liked to spend most of her day outside the office, or so Lisa informed her, and only turned up at Hudson Metro at about three each day with an uptight blonde woman in her slipstream. She was the same woman Maddie had seen with her the first day. She now sat in Melissa’s old desk, right outside Bartell’s office, and Maddie was exactly a single 180-degree chair swivel away from her.
The blonde’s name was Felicity Simmons. Uptight wasn’t even the start of it. She was sniffy and huffy and all sorts of snobby, as though she’d been pumped full of private-school elocution lessons, but loyal to a fault about her boss. Every now and then, though, her accent slipped and there was the faintest Midwestern twang. Maddie grinned. She was such a fraud.
“What are you looking at?” Felicity demanded when she caught her staring.
Where to start? The tight, hair-sprayed bun and severe, angular body that made her look like an Eastern European ballet dancer? The preternaturally wide eyes, pronounced cheekbones, or thin lips with a slash of purple lipstick that gave her an emo-librarian look?
“Is there anything you don’t do? Where are you going to get tickets to that show by tomorrow morning?” Maddie asked. “Doesn’t your boss know it’s sold out?”
She’d overheard Bartell’s clipped demand when she’d started work. No one had been able to get tickets to Song of Eternity for months.
“She knows,” Felicity said in a curt tone. “She also knows that I have contacts with the law firm that covers the show.” She huffed. “And ordinarily, this would not be my job at all. But Elena is without a personal assistant at present.”
She looked frazzled, appalled, and every kind of exhausted. Not that Bartell seemed to appreciate the woman. From what Maddie had seen, her boss was both demanding and dismissive of Felicity.
“Why not quit?” Maddie asked. “If she’s that much hard work.”
“Quit!” Felicity looked askance. “Are you insane? Do you know what my job even is?”
Maddie shrugged. “Shit kicker to a media overlord.”
“I am no such thing. And she’s…complicated.”
“She is mean to you. Like, King Kong-sized bitch mean.”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, it’s not personal. No one understands her.” The like I do was unspoken, but Maddie heard it all the same.
“And if you knew half the things she had to endure on a day-to-day basis, all the balls she has in the air that she juggles, you’d be astonished,” Felicity continued. “But no, you’re like the gutter press. All you want to focus on is how she does things, not what she does. But what do you know anyway? Aren’t you the obituaries girl?”
“And crime.” Maddie shot her a grin. “It’s the bread and butter of a commuter paper.”
“Fascinating, I’m sure.”
“Come on, it’s a skill to get a large-scale drug bust told in 150 words,” Maddie said, ignoring the sarcasm. “But you’re right, it’s kind of boring after a while.”
Felicity’s expression was incredulous. “And you’re sharing all this, why?”
Maddie grinned. “I mistook you for a human, and I thought we were making small talk.”
“Wrong on both counts. And I have an actual career to attend to. That means keeping Elena organised and on schedule, her contracts up to date, and having everything she needs, including tickets for two to Song of Eternity. Not hearing prattle from the office junior who could be unemployed within weeks.”
“Wow. Low blow.” Maddie was kind of impressed by how little Felicity seemed to care about whether she was liked. She and her boss were made for each other.
Felicity shot her an indifferent look, so Maddie took the hint and returned to work.
The hours bled together, and before she knew it, it was almost midnight. She glanced around to find the usual empty office. Sofía, the cleaner, was vacuuming somewhere, but Maddie couldn’t see her. The light was still on in Bartell’s office, although the woman wasn’t anywhere in sight. With a sigh and a grumble about environmentally unaware media executives contributing to greenhouse gasses, she pushed off from her chair and headed into the office. She stuck her head in, reached around the corner, and flicked the switch.
“Who did that?” an outraged voice said from somewhere in the darkened room.
Maddie started, snapped the light on again, and looked around.
A dark head bobbed up from floor level behind the desk, and Maddie stared into the furious glare of Elena Bartell. Craning her neck, she could see a yoga mat on the floor under Elena. Oops. Shit.
“I was stretching!”
“Sorry,” Maddie said. “Really. I thought you were gone. And—”
“And you thought you’d save a tree in the Amazon or something?” Bartell rose to full height, stretching her arms above her head and swaying, left and right. Her arms were toned and clearly used to exercise. Her new position had the effect of thrusting her chest forward, encased in a tight, white T-shirt.
Maddie’s cheeks heated up. “I…uh…”
Bartell swivelled her neck, as though shifting the kinks, not taking her eyes off Maddie. “Oh very enlightening. Thank goodness you’re a journalist where words are your skill.”
Maddie pulled a face. “Yeah. Um, I didn’t know you were here. Think how much money I could have saved you, turning out the lights and all?”
“Mm.” Bartell shook out her arms. “Since you’re in here, ruining my brief window of relaxation, you can make yourself useful. Chai latte with non-fat milk, extra hot.”
“Um, you know I’m not a PA, right? And if our kitchen stocks chai latte, I’ll sell my house.”
“Who said anything about you getting it from our kitchen? And you don’t have a house to sell; I’d be surprised if you’re not renting a broom closet. As for not being a PA, you don’t seem to be much of a journalist either, so this is a step up.”
Maddie bit down her annoyance at the jab. Not much of a journalist? How the hell would she know?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more direct. I’m not your PA. I’m your junior crime and obits writer.” She said it politely, but this had to be a suicidal approach. Still, there was no way she was going to do a midnight run to the 24/7 Times Square Starbucks from now until Bartell gutted the Hudson Metro News and moved on. She did not want to become a Felicity, who took fawning to new heights.
Bartell eyed her, fingers on her hips, drumming ferociously, and Maddie thought she was about three seconds from being fired. Deciding retreat was the best option, she hastily added, “But I should get back to work, and I’m sorry I ruined your yoga thingy.”
She returned to her desk, feeling those eyes on her the entire time. Her shoulders slumped. Seriously, what had she done to earn the wrath of Bartell? How could anyone be that pissed off about having a light turned off on them? Or was it something else? She wasn’t still mad over yesterday’s steampunk reference? God, was that it? Either way, it looked as if Bartell hated her guts, and Maddie wasn’t helping matters much.
So what was she going to do about it? Sit and mope for the rest of the six weeks? She twiddled with the Sydney Harbour snow dome on her desk, gave it a shake, and watched the improbable snowflakes wafting down. It was done now, right? She’d already pissed off her new boss, and she couldn’t take it back. So she should just…be herself. Stop fretting. Do whatever she’d normally do.
She slapped Sydney Harbour back in its place and opened her computer feed to check the wire services and media releases. Later, she would put through yet another call to the Queens Narcotics Squad. A formal request for an interview through DCPI had gon
e nowhere. So maybe the drugs squad would get tired of being badgered by the crazy Aussie and actually return her call? Or not.
* * *
When Maddie arrived at work the next day, there was a new PA sitting next to Felicity—a fearful young woman with legs up to her chin and the balance of a day-old kitten. If she wasn’t trying to pick her way around on platform shoes, she might have a hope at doing her job. Maddie watched out of the corner of her eye, as the skittish assistant leapt up and down with every request from Bartell, her face becoming more and more panicked.
Maddie spun her chair around when she disappeared on yet another errand, and her gaze connected with Felicity’s. “I give her three days. She’s a human meltdown.”
“Generous. I’m expecting her to resign by day’s end. I found her in the bathroom with tears streaming down her face. Said her work situation was ‘not what she’d expected’.” Felicity’s fingers swished to form derisive air quotes. “Did she truly think working for a global media legend would be a breeze?”
Maddie shrugged, and her gaze darted back to the awkward woman, heading back with paperwork under her arm, her legs wobbling. “Uh-oh.” The woman face-planted in front of Elena in a tangle of limbs and a squeal loud enough to draw every eye on the floor. She clutched her ankle.
“Hell, she’s sprained it.” Felicity picked up the phone. “I’ll book a temp, then start the hunt for yet another new PA. She won’t be walking on that ankle anytime soon.”
“I’ll get some ice.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll call her a cab as well. She can deal with it at home.”
Maddie shook her head at Felicity’s callousness and went to the office kitchen anyway. After finding ice at the back of the freezer, she wrapped it in a kitchen towel. Maddie headed back, ignoring Bartell’s cool gaze from within her office, and handed over the cold package to the PA, who was now in her seat. Huge, tear-stained eyes greeted Maddie.
“Thanks,” the assistant whispered, placing it on her ankle. “It hurts like hell. And Elena just fired me.”
“Oh,” Maddie said. “Well, she does that. A lot. Or so I’m told.”
The wet eyes in front of her went wide, her focus lifting to behind Maddie’s shoulder.
She turned and found Bartell a foot behind her, regarding them.
“I believe you have work to do,” she said to Maddie. “I understand nursemaid is no closer to the duties of a journalist than personal assistant is. Or have I misunderstood your job description as you explained it to me?”
Maddie patted the younger woman’s leg gently and rose. “She was in pain.”
“As was I who had to listen to her wailing.”
Maddie gave her a dark look and returned to her desk. Of all the rude, insufferable, unfeeling bitches. She shot a mutinous glare over her shoulder.
The security guard with muscles up to his nostrils had arrived to help the wounded woman out of the building. Bartell was ignoring the entire scene, back at her computer, a look of indifference on her face.
Christ. Elena Bartell was not just a cold fish, but snap-frozen sushi.
Maddie shifted her attention back to work. She was due to write an obituary. Some teacher had died after fifty years in service. Maddie had to choose people who would resonate with their audience—such as business leaders, celebrities, sporting stars—but they did leave it up to her when no one famous had died. Mrs Mavis Swenson looked as if she’d lived a life of mundane, until Maddie read what her children had listed as her hobbies. Mountain climbing? Abseiling? She put Maddie to shame.
Maddie was twenty-six, and her career misstep had cost her so much time. She’d lost two and a half years doing a level-four certificate in hospitality and catering management so she could step into her family’s business. Instead, she’d switched to a journalism degree six months before she was due to get the diploma. Her parents had been appalled, begging her to at least finish the course. She hadn’t seen the point. Six more months doing something she hated? No thanks. The downside of changing careers was that she now felt like the oldest junior reporter in history, and she was still treading water.
A few hours later, a flash of blonde in her vicinity caught her eye. Felicity was trying to explain to a temp what her duties would be. Not that she was doing a particularly thorough job.
“That’s Elena’s office. She is God. Do what God says, whatever she says, and we won’t have a problem. Understood? Good. Now get the chai latte order I wrote out for you. Go!”
When the woman disappeared, Felicity flopped down at her desk with an aggrieved sigh.
“How do you even get any work done if all you do is induct new PAs and temps?” Maddie asked, swivelling her chair to face Felicity.
“I’d get a lot more done if the dead-people writer would stop bothering me.”
Maddie ignored the dig. She was realising by now that this passed as Felicity almost being friendly. “Hey, what do you actually do for your boss? You’re not a PA, because you keep hiring them for her. I’ve narrowed it down to somewhere between ‘whatever Elena wants’ and ‘something to do with law’. So which is it?”
“Both. I’m her personal chief of staff. I have an MBA and a Harvard law degree. I could have set up my own practice.”
Maddie stared at her. She seemed too young for all that. “Then why didn’t you?”
Felicity gaped at her. “Be serious. Look at who I’m working for! I’m witness to some of the most crucial media moves made this century. I’m the woman that almost a hundred attorneys from all over the world call when they have business with Elena. I keep the Titanic headed away from the icebergs, thank you very much.”
“Oh? A hundred attorneys? I mean…is that supposed to be good?”
“Oh my God, can you really be this…this…Australian? Elena is a business legend. And I’m her right-hand woman. She relies on me. I’m at the cutting edge of everything. I prep contracts for signing, and I advise on risk assessments of business acquisitions. Like this one.” She waved at the newsroom.
“So you’re why she’s here? You told her to buy this place?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I did no such thing. If I had my way, this pitiful paper would be at the bottom of the Hudson. It was in a bundle of mastheads she picked up for a song. Some of the other publications in the bundle had merit.”
“So if this place is such a hole, why is she even debating keeping it? And spending six weeks thinking about it—which seems a long time for someone like her.”
A mystified look crossed Felicity’s face. “Elena is a brilliant businesswoman. I’m certain her strategy will reveal itself. Even if someone can’t see it, she always has it. She thinks ten steps ahead of the rest. I’m learning a lot here. It’s an incredible opportunity.”
“Yeah?” Maddie studied her for a moment. “Then why do you always look so miserable?”
There was a soft snicker of laughter from the glass office behind Felicity, and both women froze. Panic filled Felicity’s eyes, as she silently implored Maddie to tell her whether Bartell had overheard their conversation. Maddie’s eyes lifted and locked on directly with Bartell’s. Oh shit. She’d heard all right.
Maddie lowered her gaze back to Felicity’s and gave the faintest nod. The woman lost all colour from her cheeks. Maddie wanted to give her a shake. She took her job way too seriously. Of course, at least Felicity had a job. And she had a great career path and future prospects, all working for someone she worshipped. Because make no bones about it, the woman was head over heels for her boss. Or at least madly in love with the idea of her.
Sucks to be her, Maddie thought sympathetically, and reached back for Mrs Swenson’s file. Oh great. Mount Kilimanjaro by the time she was thirty.
Nope, Maddie had no right to be judging Felicity Simmons. Or anyone else.
* * *
A flood of tears greeted Maddie when she arrived at work the next day. She discovered the woman from Finance, Josie something, being patted on her back by colleagues.
<
br /> “What’s your boss done now?” Maddie dumped her bag on her desk and turned to Felicity, who had an expression of pure irritation on her face.
The chief of staff shot Maddie a frosty glare. “Of course you’d blame her. Actually, that Josie woman’s child got sent home from school with some disease involving large quantities of vomit. The father’s home with the boy, but I gather your news boss is insisting Josie stay and file her copy on the New York City executive budget, not go home to her son. I dread to think what sort of copy she’ll file anyway. But, frankly, this is all on her. She should have thought of all this before she had kids.”
Maddie choked on the absurdity of the statement. She wondered if Felicity’s ballet-dancer bun was too tight. “Uh, what? Josie should have worked out before she had kids that one day her son would get sick and that would conflict with a big news story? Does that make sense in your head?”
“Please. Parents play the parent card far too often. They get all the holidays off, are always going home early or to the school for some play or concert or whatever. You don’t see me wailing because someone in my family has a sniffle. If you’re serious about your career, it’s simple: don’t procreate.”
“Felicity.” Bartell’s voice was even chillier than her glare, as she leaned out of her office. “Where are the London contracts? And why is my latest temp missing? I need her. Now.”
Felicity flew off her chair as though it was scalding. “Elen… I-I’ll just go and track her down. I think she was trying to work out the photocopier.” She scampered off.
“What is that noise?” Bartell frowned. She took a few steps out of her office, and her gaze drifted to the inconsolable woman, who was now attempting two-fingered typing between wiping streams of tears away.
“The finance writer,” Maddie said. “Josie. Doing the budget story.”
“Must be a terrible budget.”
Maddie bit back a snort of laughter, unsure whether she was serious.
