“Sounds good. Now, go get me a serial killer lead.”
When I walked out of Brent’s office, I had a fresh bounce in my step. A whole new opportunity was on the horizon, and I needed to play this right.
That became even more clear when I got back to my desk and went through my calendar. I already had a ton of work to do, and now I’d added an additional assignment to my already full plate.
As I organized my timing on deadlines and interview appointments, I told myself I could do this. I worked my ass off in college. I’d had a full-time job, was the editor-in-chief of the student newspaper, and still got straight As so I didn’t lose my scholarship. It hadn’t been easy, and this wouldn’t be, either, but I’d figure it out. I wasn’t scared of hard work, and if I wanted to achieve my dream of being editor-in-chief ofThe Chronicleone day, this was the price I had to pay.
I glanced at the framed picture of my mom and Gael. We took it at his tenth birthday party last year. They were smiling at the camera, happy, even though money was always tight. Seeing their faces always made me want to work even harder than ever to make sure they had a better life.
“Shit,” I muttered. I hadn’t taken their schedules into account.
Taking out my phone, I pulled up the calendar app and scrolled through. Mom had a dentist appointment, and Gaelwanted to go to a school play because his friend was in it. Other than that, nothing big. I might need to reschedule Mom’s appointment if I managed to get some free time to make calls to the cops I knew. It wasn’t an issue, though. I typically helped manage most of the household, and this would be no different.
I spent the next couple of hours organizing my desk and making notes on what I’d need to do tomorrow. All around me, the other reporters, junior editors, photographers, and graphic designers began to trickle out as it grew close to quitting time. Still, I tried to get as much extra work done as possible, even managing to finish two different stories on local activities before getting up from my desk to stretch my back.
Brent had already gone home. His office was dark, the door closed. If the big boss man had called it a day, then I supposed it was time for me to leave.
Grabbing my coffee mug, I headed to the breakroom to rinse it out. The sink was full of dishes and cups. I grabbed the sponge on the side of the counter and started washing up.
“Cameron, you know you don’t have to do that, right?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I found Tina Morales, a copyeditor who worked the sports page, watching me.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s dirty.”
Tina rolled her eyes and gestured toward the cubicles outside the door. “If those assholes aren’t willing to clean up after themselves, then why should you do it for them?”
“Someone’s got to do it. Why not me?”
Tina let out a little huff. “You’re too nice for your own good, Torres. Have a good night. I’m out.”
“Goodnight,” I called over my shoulder, diligently scrubbing cream cheese and jelly off a plastic plate.
It wasn’t about being too nice, it was about doing what’s right. Regardless of how others handled things, I prided myself on trying to do the right thing ever since I was a kid.
I’d seen what could happen if you didn’t. All the men who’d left my mom high and dry were evidence of that.
Once I was done with the dishes, I grabbed my bag and stepped into the elevator. As I stepped out on the ground floor, my phone rang. It was Rick. I sighed at the sight of his number. He was getting bad about calling me while I was at work. A small issue, but one that irked me nonetheless.
“Hey, babe,” I said.
“Are you still at work?” he asked.
“Just leaving,” I said.
“Lord, you work too hard. Are we still on for Sunday?”
I stepped out of the building and into the open air outside. Rick and I did have plans for Sunday, but he’d been doing everything he could to check in on me since the attack happened. Calling at least three times a day to make sure I was fine, but using some other excuse for each call. It was getting a little ridiculous, honestly. Instead of feeling grateful, I was getting annoyed. Like he viewed me as some precious porcelain doll that might break at the slightest touch.
“We should be good to go,” I said, approaching my car. “I don’t see why not.”
“Great. I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you the last week.”
“I miss you, too,” I said somewhat distractedly as I dug for my keys.
Rick had been out of town for business when the attack happened. When he found out, he’d been distraught and horrified. I’d thought he was going to rush to the airport and hurry to my side that night, work be damned. Thankfully, I’d managed to talk him out of that and assured him I was fine. I didn’t tell him I was injured and said the attacker had been scared off before he hurt me. A white lie to keep his mind at ease.
After unlocking my car, I looked down at my hands. The scratches from the fall and fight were almost healed, the smallscabs already fading. An inspection of my reflection in the rearview mirror showed the same for the scrape on my cheek. In fact, they were healing faster than I’d have anticipated. That ointment Mom swore by and had lavishly slathered on me seemed to have done the job well.
