For the Record (Record #3)(26)

She tossed it back into the trash and exited the room. She had never thought that newspapers were going to be the death of her. Only a few weeks dating Brady and she already despised reporters, media, and everything else in between.

She wasn’t looking forward to her meeting with Professor Mires. She had put it off as long as she could, but she had to face her mentor. Professor Mires hadn’t seemed upset when she had seen her yesterday, but Liz wasn’t sure.

Walking into the journalism building, she pushed her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and straightened out the front of her skirt. Here goes nothing.

“Hello, Professor Mires,” Liz said, walking into her office.

“Liz, we’ve been working together for nearly three years. You can call me Lynda.”

“Yes, Professor Mires.”

Her professor chuckled and shook her head. She was a pretty woman who tended to wear hippie clothing with long skirts. Liz found that hard to reconcile with the high-end reporter Professor Mires had been in her younger years. “Please take a seat. How have you been?”

Well, that was a loaded question if Liz had ever heard one. How was she doing exactly? Angry that she was in the paper again. Disappointed about getting kicked off the newspaper. Elated that she was back with Brady. Happy that graduation was looming closer so she could escape it all. But of course she didn’t say any of those things.

“Fine,” she answered.

“Of course you are. Now, I wanted to talk to you about your final term paper for the internship through your Morehead scholarship,” Professor Mires said, jumping right in. “I’m going to need a rough draft before spring break so that we can get it cleaned up and out to the graduation department in time. How does that sound?”

Spring break. Well, that was coming up fast.

“Sounds fine.”

“Perfect. Now let’s discuss what you were doing . . .”

Professor Mires trailed off as Liz’s phone blasted to life. She quickly apologized and silenced the ringer. She would deal with that after her meeting with Professor Mires.

After a thirty-minute conversation about her work for her internship and the avenues they had been working toward regarding her final paper, Liz was free to go.

When she stepped into the hall, she fished her phone back out of her purse and pulled up the missed call. The caller ID read NANCY—NEW YORK TIMES. She dialed the number and waited.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Nancy. How are you?”

“Hi, Liz. It’s been an interesting afternoon to say the least. How have you been?” she asked.

“Just fine, ma’am. I’ve been keeping up with my classes and working on my internship term paper. I’m looking forward to seeing you and getting back to work at the New York Times over spring break.”

Nancy cleared her throat. “That’s actually what I want to speak with you about.”

“About travel arrangements? I believe the university was going to have me leave on Monday,” Liz told her.

“Unfortunately, Liz, the New York Times is going to have to terminate any further work with you,” Nancy said.

Liz’s breath caught in her throat.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she managed to get out. “I don’t . . . understand.”

“After your relationship with Congressman Maxwell surfaced, we were willing to look the other way. In fact, I fought for you to stay on over the summer, because I believed things would blow over,” Nancy said, and then sighed. “But everything didn’t blow over. With your appearance in the Post today, I couldn’t seem to justify keeping you on to my superiors. We can’t have one of our own reporters continuing to surface in the news.”

“So . . . so you’re firing me?” she gasped.

“Officially, since no paperwork has been signed and we only had a verbal agreement, we’re withdrawing our job offer,” Nancy explained.

Same f*cking thing.

“I see,” she muttered.

“I do apologize for this, Liz. I was very excited to work with you all year and then again this summer, but my hands are tied.” Her apology seemed sincere. She didn’t sound cold, just resolute. At least Nancy was the one delivering the news and not some person Liz had never met.

“I understand,” Liz said. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind . . . or your superior’s mind?”

“I’m sorry. I think this is a final decision,” Nancy said. “Good luck with all that you pursue. I know you’ll find something else. You won’t waste your talents.”

What did she say to that? She mumbled something numbly and then got off the phone. She couldn’t keep talking to Nancy about the job that she would never have again. Her dream job. Gone. Poof!

In a matter of weeks, everything that she had worked toward had completely fallen apart. No job. No internship. No paper. No prospects. How had she gone from complete and total success and control of her career path to this mess? And what was she going to do now? She had no path. The last four years had been wasted. If the New York Times wasn’t going to hire her after they had already put the offer on the table, who would be willing to work with her?

She wanted to just go home and figure out how to fix everything. She wasn’t crying as she had this morning only because she was in shock.