Good for You: A Novel (2)

Sure, Meagan had been a bit brittle since Aly became editor in chief six months ago. But fire her? There was making strategic decisions, and then there was being a monster.

Suddenly Aly had an even better idea. “James,” she said brightly, “I’ll take the cut. Slash another thirty-five from my salary. That, plus cutting the other salaries and letting a researcher go, should just about get us to a hundred.”

Thank goodness she lived with Seth now, because after her student loan payments were deducted from her bank account at the end of each month, she barely had enough to buy groceries. But to Aly, a magazine job that offered dental insurance and a steady paycheck would never not feel like winning the lottery.

James snorted. “That’s ridiculous. You’re barely making more than your senior editors.”

“Right, but we both know that’ll change if I get a chance to fully right the ship. Circulation’s up by three percent since last year, and digital advertising is on a steady rise,” she said proudly. “I’ll ask for that thirty-five back with interest the minute we’re out of the red.”

She’d expected James to agree to her suggestion. Praise her, even, for her dedication and long-term vision. Instead, he leaned forward and said in a too-gentle voice, “Aly, I know you’ve been through a lot.”

This was the problem: James knew her too well. In addition to mentoring her, he had set Aly up with his son, Seth. Founded by James’ great-grandfather, Innovate Publishing was a family business, and Seth was the head of the company’s sales department. He and Aly had cleared their relationship with HR, and they maintained firm boundaries at the office—but things still got a smidge personal at times. As such, James knew more about Aly’s life than she’d prefer.

“I’m doing great!” Then she softened her lie with the truth: “Work keeps me sane.”

“Well, kiddo, you’re the absolute gold standard, and I mean it.” Before she could thank him, he added, “And, Aly? New salaries go into effect on the thirtieth. Please let your team know.”

It was the second of June. Which meant her staff would have one more paycheck before the cut. Then what? Just the month before, All Good’s most talented senior editor had left to work at a nonprofit because—and this really killed Aly—it paid “way better” than publishing. Who would decamp next? She didn’t even want to think about it.

James was looking at her, so she pushed the corners of her lips back into position. But even though the magazine had recently published an article about research showing that fake smiling tricked you into feeling happy, she still felt like her heart had been dipped in cement.

Then her gaze shifted to the floor-to-ceiling window just behind James’ desk. Eight stories below, Midtown Manhattan pulsed with life. Wasn’t she lucky to be here—exactly where she always wanted to be, doing what she’d always hoped to do?

Not everyone could say that.

“Absolutely,” she said to James, who beamed his approval, and while this did nothing to warm her, she at least felt like she’d accomplished something.

Aly’s brother, Luke, had once called her a shark. “You’ll die if you don’t keep moving,” he’d said, winking at her, and though she’d pretended to be offended, she’d actually been incredibly pleased that he’d described her so perfectly. It was a gift, to have someone know you that well and love you even more because of it. In her experience, it almost always went the opposite direction.

Yes, Aly just needed to keep moving, and eventually she’d swim her way back to normal. Except as she marched out of James’ office, a fleeting but awful thought surfaced in her mind.

What was the point now that Luke was gone?





TWO


With the September issue just around the corner, Aly would’ve preferred not to spend precious time at that morning’s editorial meeting explaining the pay cut. Still, the announcement went as well as it could’ve. Sure, she caught nearly every editor around the conference table exchanging subtle glances with each other. But no one shouted or stormed out—or even protested, which surprised her. Usually staffers spoke freely at her meetings, which had not been the case when Ellen, the iron-fisted editor in chief who’d hired Aly fresh out of college, had been in charge. At one point, Aly shot a help-my-hands-are-tied expression at Meagan, who sat directly across from her, but Meagan just looked away.

Oh well. Meagan was distant sometimes, but she more than made up for it with her snappy cover lines and ability to artfully rearrange even the sloppiest copy. And Aly certainly wasn’t going to tell Meagan that she’d personally yanked her pink slip out of James’ hand. After all, taking charge without taking credit was how she’d gotten ahead in the first place.

It was past noon when the meeting adjourned, and because she hadn’t had anything but coffee, her stomach was on its way to self-digesting. The pile of page proofs on her desk would double by the time she returned from getting food, but All Good was hardly The Devil Wears Prada; Aly didn’t have an assistant to go fetch lunch for her. She grabbed her bag, dashed to the elevator, and headed downstairs.

The building’s lobby was directly attached to the salad chain next door, which meant that even though the food wasn’t particularly good, the place was always packed. Today was no different, so Aly got in the queue. She figured she could practice the All Good principle of doing more in less time and answer some of her unread texts while she waited.