“No!” she said. “I want to work with you. Nathan trusts you and so do I.”
It was as if she had her fist clamped around my heart and was squeezing. I had to tell her that Nathan’s feelings about me had changed quite considerably over the last week.
“Audrey, it would be dishonest of me not to tell you that Nathan and I aren’t on the best of terms right now. The Post published the article I wrote about him and . . .” How could I explain it? “I didn’t think it through and—”
“I read the article,” Audrey said brightly.
“You did?” I was surprised she’d agreed to meet me, let alone choose me to write her story.
She sighed. “He’s not really talked to me about it. But I read it the day it came out.”
I braced myself for her verdict.
“I’ve seen a definite change in Nathan since he took Astro public,” she said, “and I see that from the outside. But you showed me how he was inside Astro, too. Work was always a passion for Nathan. He was always focused on the next goal and the next mountain to climb. But since the float it’s like he’s in the midst of a constant battle. He’s more stressed than I’ve ever seen him. He’s lost his spark.”
My insides curled up and turned inside-out. I hated to hear about Nathan being unhappy, even if I’d seen it for myself.
“I’ve spoken to Carole about it,” Audrey said. “She’s noticed it too, which I knew she would have. He’s just so changed.”
All the people he cared about had been worrying about him, and here I was pouring salt into his wounds. “God and I’ve just made everything worse.”
“No,” she said, scooting forward and patting me on the knee. “I don’t think you have at all. I know Nathan won’t have liked what you wrote, but he’ll come around,” she said confidently. He might get to a point where he didn’t hate me, but there was no way we could ever get back what we’d had. Audrey wasn’t to know the lines we’d crossed. The more we’d had in reach before I ruined everything. “He’ll come to realize that what you did wasn’t out of malice, but because you cared. You saw the real Nathan beneath the suit, the power, and the money. You held up a mirror. You told him the truth.”
“I’m not sure my motives were that pure,” I confessed. “Yes, I told the truth, but I didn’t think much beyond that. I knew what he wants most of all is to hold on to Astro, but all the press since my profile was published has been parsing rumors about his successor. I knew my article would probably cost him his dream.” My voice crawled higher and higher. “The board is going to fire him and it’s going to be all my fault.”
I picked up my teacup and took a sip to stop the tears from flowing.
“Sometimes what we want isn’t necessarily what we need,” Audrey said, her voice smooth and reassuring. “And don’t underestimate yourself. Most people wouldn’t have seen Nathan like you did. You might not realize how deeply you feel, but it was clear to me as someone who’s known him a long time, that you saw his core—his soul and his goodness. You simply said what everyone who loves him has wanted to say to him for a long time. We just . . . haven’t had the courage.”
Everyone who loves him? What did that say about me?
“I do care about him,” I said, my voice a little wobbly. I hadn’t realized quite how much I cared until I was faced with the prospect of him cutting me out of his life for good.
“Yes,” she said. “From what I can see, you both care for each other a great deal. And whatever happens, I really want you to write my story. I know you have a job and everything, but I trust you. Talking to you about things wouldn’t feel so daunting. Will you just think about it?”
“I don’t need to think about it,” I said. Even though I’d spent my entire life wanting to work for the Post, I was discovering that perhaps the role of intrepid reporter didn’t quite fit me as well as I thought it would. I knew I should have felt elated when Bernie offered me a permanent job, and the fact that I hadn’t said far more than I’d admitted to myself. Spending time with Nathan for his profile had shown me that I loved to dive deep—get in the weeds, as Nathan would say. Poncho reviews and kissing tips weren’t the entire problem with my job at Rallegra, where my work lacked depth in more than subject matter. Things just got worse at the Post in some ways, since I had even less time to focus on any one thing. Between deadlines and back-stabbing colleagues, I wasn’t sure I’d ever have a chance to write the way I wanted to.