Then she says Layn.Not Athena Magazine. The Layn Corporation is a plantation owner.
My head reels back. "Can you repeat that?" I ask because journalism has taught me to check and double-check. "Did I hear you correctly?"
Dr. Mack adjusts her glasses. "Layn has bought several coffee plantations in Brazil. More than one. Enough to matter. The acquisitions are legal, as far as I can tell, but rapid expansion always raises environmental questions. When a business buys that much land that fast, the public deserves to know what they intend to do with it."
"You do understand that Athena Magazine is owned by the Layn Corporation? The magazine does operate independently, but they are our owners."
"Yes, I understand. But you have a reputation as a woman of integrity. If I didn't trust that, then we wouldn't have this conversation."
"I appreciate that. And I promise to honor your trust." I keep my eyes on the screen."I have to ask. Do you think Layn's purchases are connected to your environmental concerns?"
"I don't know yet. That's the honest answer." Dr. Mack leans closer. "Right now, I’m researching the medicinal benefits. I don’t think we’ve properly explored its potential. But if it’s overharvested we might lose this resource. So are companies protecting it or exploiting it? I think the question is worth asking. And I think people should ask before the land is exhausted, not after."
By the time the interview ends, the sun has dropped into a fuchsia pool. The floor is quiet, almost everyone has gone home. I sit with the closed laptop in front of me, breathing through a slow, ugly realization. Skylor knew.Of course he knew. Heknew Layn owned coffee plantations in Brazil. Knew Dr. Mack's work raised questions about environmental impact. And he let me pitch it to him like it wasn't aimed at his family's private business. He either approved the story because he respected my work… or because he wanted to manage me.
Anger flies me across the hall faster than good sense can follow. Skylor's assistant is not at her desk. We’re alone because normal people have gone home to make dinner, watch bad television and not accuse alien royalty of hiding coffee-related secrets. Lucky them. I knock because I was raised right, even if my choices this week suggest otherwise.
"Come in, Miss Watson."
His voice is a low and rough rope that reaches through the door. My body has the nerve to respond before my brain does. My nipples stand up to salute him. Heat blooms in my belly. My suppressants, those expensive little traitors, basically shrug and walk into traffic.
Skylor sits behind his desk, with his blue-tinted glasses off and a thin stack of papers in front of him. He finishes marking a line with a sleek black pen, sets it down, and then lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes are soft cornflower yellow around black pupils, beautiful enough to be lethal and strange enough to remind me he is not a man, no matter how nicely that suit fits. The pupils widen the moment he looks at me, and I file it away because it's dangerous to workplace stability.
"Dr. MacArthur mentioned Brazil," I say. "She mentioned Layn."
"Yes."
I close the door behind me and step inside. "So it's true. Layn owns coffee plantations in Brazil."
"Yes."
That is it. One clean word. No flinch. No explanation. No slippery corporate excuses. I should appreciate the honesty, but I am too busy wanting to throw my notebook at him.
"You knew that when I pitched the article," I say in a huff. "You knew the feature could put Athena in a position where we're investigating our parent company."
"Yes."
"Are you planning to answer in complete sentences today, or should I send in a formal request?"
His gaze drops to my notebook, then returns to my face. "Many companies own coffee plantations in Brazil, Ms. Watson."
"That's your full answer?"
"For now."
I let out a sharp exhale, and his nose twitches. "That is a very polished way to say absolutely nothing."
"It is a factual way to say what I am willing to say."
"Dr. MacArthur has questions about what Layn is up to in Brazil. She has concerns."
"Then she is doing her job."
"So am I."
"I know."
The simple answer knocks a little wind out of me. Not enough to stop. Just enough to sting. "So, you’ll allow me to interview you?"
