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“I don’t see how you think one edition will save it,” he warns sternly. “I want to know how the meeting went. There’s a lot riding on this article, as you well know,” he pushes.
“I still have time, and as usual, you’re clearly underestimating me.” I run my hand through my hair.
“When I named you as editor-in-chief of Blissful Bride over a year ago, I expected you to do more than sit in your office and play boss. You had one year to turn it around, and now that you’re down to sixty days, you expect to pull a miracle article out of your hat like some kind of magician.”
I hate that sometimes this man can still make me feel like I’m six years old.
He makes it sound like I wasted time, but I was looking for better solutions to fix the magazine. It was my mother’s dream. She published the first issue of Blissful Bride right before I was born, and it’s the only thing that matters to me now. He just thinks that I’m not doing things right only because I wasn’t doing things his way.
“And I told you the real magic will be going digital.”
He never listens. He’s stuck in the past, and if he looked forward instead of backward, he would know that print is a dying breed.
“We will talk about that after you prove that you have what it takes to be a leader.”
“You gave me a job to do, and I’m trying to do it, so if there is nothing else…”
“Better watch that tone with me, boy,” he snips.
My response is to talk shop. “Once some of the advertisers got wind of the anniversary issue, they jumped on the sponsorship opportunities. If all goes well and we can get an entire quarter of sponsors, we could go digital by New Year’s.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Even laced with skepticism, it’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ll get. “And the meeting, how did it go? To be honest, I’m surprised you’re calling so soon.”
“It went great.” I lie to him because the truth would be a death sentence for the magazine. “The groom had to step out for a call.” My little white lies are snowballing, and they just might roll me to hell when they catch up with me.
“The bride?”
“She beautiful and, from what I’ve gathered, exceptional at her job.” At least I hope I’m right about that last part. “I think I’m going to really enjoy working with her.”
“That better be all you do with her.” Too late.
He takes my silence as an invitation to continue.
“She’s the story, Beau.” He pauses. “Because if she’s not the story… she’s nothing. And so is Blissful Bride.”
I swallow hard.
“I understand,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“I thought you might. I expect a full report Monday morning in my office.”
“Yes, sir.” I barely get a reply out before he ends the call.
What am I going to do? I scrub my hands down my face.
No bride, no article.
No article, no magazine.
Technically, I have the bride… it’s just the groom we’re missing.
Then it hits me. Her offhanded, snarky little comment knocks me back like a ton of fucking bricks.
So, unless you’re volunteering for the job.
That’s what she said, but joking or not, it just might work.
It’s crazy. It’s risky. She will probably never agree to it.
