“Hey,” I respond and take another step back, putting even more distance between us.
“Did you get my voice message the other night?”
“I did. Sorry I haven’t responded—just been busy.” That’s a lie. I have more time than I’ve ever had. I just spend it thinking of Lindsay.
“Did you want to hike this weekend? Maybe on Saturday? I haven’t been out in a couple of weeks, and the weather is supposed to be great.”
“Um, yeah, sure.”
She looks at me hesitantly, as if she wants to say something. “Okay. Well, I have to get this lunch back to the office.” She lifts up the plastic bag in which she is carrying several to-go boxes. “So, I guess I’ll see you Saturday.” She raises her hand in a small wave. Landon stands leaning against his car, pretending not to pay attention to me, but I know he was watching me talk to Melissa. He waits until I get into my squad car and put myself back on duty before leaving. Today, I’m thankful to work some overtime and use this time to focus on something other than Lindsay or Melissa.
I glance at the screen on my phone when it pings, alerting me to a new text message. Jess. I swipe my finger across the screen and smile when I see her message.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you.
I tap out a quick response.
Me too. I’m anchoring this weekend. Found out Monday. You’re coming to work with me Saturday morning.
She immediately responds.
Perfect. So proud of you, Lindsay.
Something in those words makes my heart smile. I feel like I’ve let everyone down, so it’s nice to hear someone say they’re proud of me. I pull my thoughts away from Jess and her visit to focus on the list of story ideas I plan to submit at our morning production meeting.
“Venti skinny vanilla latte, madam,” Mike says as he sets the paper cup on my desk in front of me.
“You’re a life saver.”
“You’ve been antisocial since Monday, sweetheart.”
“I’m on Rob’s shit list. I need to keep my nose buried in work.”#p#分页标题#e#
“Lindsay, you’re entitled to a break every now and then. So tell me, what did he say anyway?”
I sigh, remembering the conversation I had with Rob two days ago over my deleted story. “He just couldn’t understand how my story was deleted from my computer and the raw footage from the SIM card.”
“Did you tell him you thought that dirty whore Amanda did it?” He chuckles.
“No.”
“No? Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s just not worth it. I’m not going to snitch her out. I’m going to work my ass off and prove that I’m better than her.”
“There’s nothing to prove. You’re a better reporter, a better person…”
“Well, I want everyone else to see that.”
I lift the cup of coffee to my lips and Mike leans back against my desk. “Look at me,” he says. I lift my chin and look at him as I swallow the coffee he brought me.
“Lindsay, I get what you’re doing. You’re young and you’re motivated—and you don’t want to start shit with Amanda. But you’re worth it. Your career is worth it—do not let her destroy you.”
We sit and sip our coffee while I let the weight of those words sink in. “Come on; let’s go.” I smile at him as I grab my notebook and pen. We walk side by side and I bump shoulders with him as we walk down the hall to our morning production meeting. We normally sit along the back wall, away from the conference table, but today we grab chairs around the table and settle in. Amanda sits directly across from me, turned slightly, her chest extended forward, her attention focused solely on Rob. I don’t miss her sarcastic eyes and her long sighs, as if she’s bored when I speak.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the dirty look Mike flashes at Amanda and can’t help but smile. I’m so thankful for Mike, my little pit bull of a friend, for looking out for me. I present all of my story ideas during the meeting—damn good story ideas. Jan, the assignment manager, smiles and nods her head, frantically taking notes, but Rob quickly kills all of my story ideas. I’m being punished for my slip-up on Monday. I bite my tongue, smile gracefully, and take diligent notes, trying not to let being snubbed bother me—at least not here in the meeting. Keep it together, Christianson, I repeat over and over in my head.
My hands begin to betray me and start shaking as I write notes. I feel little beads of sweat form across my upper lip and forehead and I discreetly try to wipe them away with my shaking hand. I fold my hands into my lap in hopes that the shaking isn’t noticeable to anyone other than me, but Mike reaches out and places his hand on top of mine under the table to stop the noticeable shaking. A wave of nausea overcomes me and I jump up from the conference room table.