“WHAT’S UP?” GREG ASKS IN alarm, looking up from his computer.
“Claire Wilcox stole my ferry story!”
There’s a pause, and then Greg nods in resignation and looks down at his desk. Why isn’t he more upset? Why isn’t he outraged?
“Did you know?” Erica demands.
“No, I did not know. But to be honest, Erica, I’m not surprised.” He looks her in the eye. “Why don’t you sit down a minute.”
Erica fights the urge to rant. She knows from experience that impulse comes before error. She sits and crosses her legs, tries to compose herself, but her top leg is bouncing.
Greg sits back at his desk, gives her a rueful look, and runs his fingers through his thick black mop. “I’m very sorry this has happened.” His soulful green eyes are so sympathetic that for a moment Erica is afraid she’ll burst into tears. Like tears ever got her anywhere.
Greg leans across the desk toward her. She smells his piney soap. “You have a lot of talent, Erica. I believe in you. I think you can make it to the top in this business, and I want to do everything in my power to help make that happen.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “But Claire Wilcox has some clout at GNN. A chunk of the network’s revenues come from advertising sold on her show. Yes, your ferry coverage did well, and that’s been noted by Nylan—you’re firmly on his radar.”
“Can we take this up with him?”
Greg gets up, closes his office door, sits back down at his desk, and lowers his voice. “Claire wouldn’t have pulled this without his okay. Nylan is a shrewd bird, Erica. He likes to pit people against each other. And even play mind games. He’s a little perverse.”
“Do you think he put Claire up to it?”
“That’s not something I want to get into here and now.” He gives Erica a meaningful look and switches gears. “I think we have to be very smart and very strategic. We’re in the news business.”
Erica tries to push Greg’s words about Nylan out of her mind. “Greg, Claire is going at the story the wrong way. I believe we have to look into the possibility of cyberterrorism.”
“Say more.”
“What if someone hacked into the ferry’s computer system and shut down the controls?”
Greg drums the desktop with his fingertips, wheels turning. “Cyberterrorism is the twenty-first century’s battlefield. And there’s so much hacking going on these days. But terrorists are usually eager to take credit, and no one has.”
“Yet.”
Greg is silent for a moment. “I think you should write Claire a memo and copy it to me and Nylan, laying out your theory.”
“She just stole my story and you want me to hand her a promising lead?”
“Absolutely. If it does turn out to be cyberterrorism, you’ll look like the brilliant reporter you are. And there will be a record of it. Plus you’ll earn points for being a team player.”
Erica knows he’s right, but it’s a hard pill to swallow.
“The best thing we can do is accept what’s happened, keep our heads down, work like dogs, and find a story Claire Wilcox can’t steal.”
Greg’s voice is so calm, so reasonable, and there’s no sugarcoating. He’s speaking the simple truth. And presenting a way forward. Erica lets out a deep exhale and feels herself relax. She has an ally. Someone she can trust.
Greg smiles at her. She looks at his hands, the dusting of hair, the prominent veins, the long, supple fingers—and has a sudden urge to be held by those hands, cared for, caressed.
Alarmed by her desire, Erica stands up, paces a moment, and then stops. “You’re right, of course. Thanks for talking me down. Any promising stories on the horizon?”
“Kay Barrish’s plans are the hot topic these days.” The former movie star and California governor is considering a run for the presidency, a race she would enter as the clear favorite.
“She’s said she’ll announce her decision on a White House run in the next couple of weeks. Landing an interview with her would be a big coup.”
Erica nods. “I’ll work on that.”
“It won’t be easy. Everyone in the business is trying to snag her.” Greg smiles at her. “Of course you’re not everyone.”
“I appreciate your support and sound advice.” Erica heads toward the door.
“Erica?”
She turns.
“Any chance we could continue our discussion over dinner?”
Greg looks so hopeful, both strong and vulnerable. Erica swore to herself that romance was off the table for her first year. But this isn’t romance. It’s just two colleagues having a casual dinner. Right?
He holds up his palms in surrender. “We’ll go Dutch,” he says with a smile.
“Out of the question,” Erica says. And then she returns his smile. “I’m paying.”