Worth the Risk(2)

“As long as I’m learning new things to gain experience to one day earn me that editor-in-chief job, I would be happy anywhere in the industry.”

“That’s a line your mother would fall for. Too scripted. Too perfect. Don’t bullshit me, Sidney.” Again, he steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair, as is his habit when he’s deep in thought. “I’m in a quandary here over several things.”

Quandaries are never a good thing when it comes to my father.

“What type of things?” Why is it I’m twenty-eight and my father can still make me nervous?

“First off, I’m mad at myself for giving you the leeway to think that silver spoon you were born with gets to stay in your mouth without you having to earn it.” My gulp is followed by his sigh. “You do great work when you apply yourself. Incredible work, actually. Your eye for what will resonate with readers is instinctive, your ideas innovative, your take on stories fresh.”

“But . . .”

“But you’re missing the big picture, and that’s my fault.”

I shake my head, trying to follow his line of thought, but he holds up his hand to tell me there is more to come. “You know you’re my pride and joy. But I’ve done you a disservice. I’ve let you think working here is a given. That you don’t have to act responsibly when your last name is Thorton.”

“I know that. I’ve never assumed—”

“You’ve never assumed, and yet, you’ve never had to get a job outside of Thorton Publishing. So, answer my question. If you had to pick a magazine that would be your least favorite to work on, which one would it be?”

Crap.

“C’mon, Dad, you know me.”

“So . . . what? No kids. No family stuff?”

“Just no domesticity,” I finish for him, and he chuckles.

“Ah, yes, I forgot. The woman who plans on jet-setting her whole life and never being strapped down with a child.”

“You make that sound harsh. It isn’t a bad thing to know what you want and not conform to societal standards about what a woman should or shouldn’t want.”

“Only the fashionably acceptable for you. And domesticity is not that, right?”

“That isn’t what I meant. It’s just . . . I don’t know those things—motherhood and children—they’re nowhere near my radar, so that would make it hard for me to contribute to a magazine that is focused on them. ”

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “The board and I have been talking about eliminating two or three magazines from our portfolio.”

“But why?”

“Decreased circulation.”

“Isn’t there decreased circulation across the board in this digital age?”

“There is.” He nods resolutely. “But these also have a decline in online subscriptions and viewership. Of the three titles, there’s one in particular I want to save. It is one of my first magazines, and it holds sentimental value to me.”

“Okay . . .” The different titles of Thorton Publishing’s magazines run through my head, and I try to pinpoint which one he’s referring to but can only draw a guess.

“In order to save it, I need to beef up its online visibility. I need more hits to it, more buzz about it . . . more social media draw. With a fresh take that can reel in new readers, I can net more advertising.”

“Okay,” I repeat, a little quieter now.

“I think you’re just the person for the job.”

“What do you mean?”

Really, I’m more intelligent than I sound, but hell if I’m not standing here and staring at my dad as if it’s judgment day. If it’s a magazine with decreased circulation, it’s most definitely one I’m not keen on.

I just screwed myself, didn’t I?

He takes one look at my expression and reminds me, “If you really want that job at Haute, you’d do anything to get it, right?”

“Of course.”

“Even figure out a way to save Modern Family and prove you’re worthy of the job?”

“Modern Family? As in ‘what’s for dinner,’ and ‘how to get your kid to behave,’ or ‘silly summer crafts’?” I sound calm while I’m cringing on the inside at what feels like a major demotion.

“As in domesticity.” His grin is wide and unforgiving.

This is a test.

He’s watching me closely, waiting for the immediate rejection I refuse to give. Domesticity—motherhood, parenting, kids in general—is the one subject I know almost nothing about. Strike that. I know plenty about those things, but they are so far removed from my current life that it makes the notion hard to swallow. I can fake it with the best of them, but stepping in and working side by side with the people at the magazine and pulling it off? Now, that might be hard to do.

But editor-in-chief of Haute?

Holy shit.

“I can’t just walk in and run a whole magazine.”

“Rejecting the idea of hard work already, are you?”

“That’s not what I mean.” I sigh in frustration. “I mean, to step in without any footing and—”

“Relax, Sid.” He chuckles when I don’t find his little joke amusing at all. “I don’t expect you to step in and take over. Modern Family has its own very capable and tough editor-in-chief, Rissa Patel.”