Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

The art department, marketing and programming were also large, though not as much as combined editorial. Carlos gave me a quick rundown of their names as we walked around the room, though they quickly blended together, as did the many faces. Everyone, despite race and sex, seemed oddly similar; youngish—Tanya and the arts director were the oldest, in their late thirties—very well dressed, and exuded this cosmopolitan vibe that I was certain didn’t extend to me. They all seemed cool. How did one become cool? A baffling concept.

“And we sit over here.” I followed Carlos across the room to a clump of four tables grouped near the wall of windows, and the spectacular sight of sky and—actually, all the other buildings kind of blocked out the best view of the city, but it was still imposing and impressive.

Carlos was gesturing at a wheelie office-chair. “All right, this is you. These are your neighbors, Jin and Mduduzi. Both mostly cover the Leopards, though you’ll all pitch in with the Jets and the Giants from time to time. Tanya and I will also occasionally be at games, especially when you’re starting out.”

The two guys looked up. I made the snap judgment that Jin was the Asian American with muscles I didn’t usually associate with journalists, and Mduduzi was the tall African American in a crisp button-up and fashionable glasses. They were both a couple of years older than me, and both looked more attractive than I’d expected my coworkers to be. I wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

They both nodded and said hello.

Carlos tapped a beautiful, shiny, brand-new laptop on the empty desk across from Jin’s table. “This is yours. You’re lucky—they rolled out the new model right before we ordered it. Supposed to have great battery power.”

I tried not to salivate. I’d bought my last computer—okay, the only computer I’d ever owned myself—six years ago, right before college. It still worked, but it was a little tired sometimes. Poor baby.

“Come on,” Carlos said. “Let’s find Tanya.”

He led me to a corner office and my nerves came back in full force. Tanya Jones was the thirty-nine-year-old editor of Sports Today. She graduated from the Columbia J-school and got her start at one of the popular blogging platforms before landing a writer position here six years ago, and she took over the editor-in-chief position last year. I’d met her last month, and until she’d offered me the job, I hadn’t the slightest idea if she liked me or not.

Come to think of it, I still didn’t know if she liked me. Maybe I was the only viable candidate able to start so quickly.

Carlos showed me into her corner office. Tanya had the largest office on the floor. Her ultimate boss, Stuart Kingsley, the CEO of Today Media and its six separate magazines, worked on the twelfth floor, and while I’d seen pictures, I’d never met him.

Tanya stood and came over to shake my hand. She was tall and strong-boned and casually dressed. “Good to see you again. You’re the only new hire this week, so we’re going to do a seat-of-our-pants orientation. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Um. No.”

“Good.” She led me out of her office and back onto the open floor. Carlos kept pace. “Let’s start with coffee. Do you have a mug?”

“I don’t.”

“Then you need a mug.” We entered a brightly colored kitchenette. Boxes of snacks and candies lined the counters. I saw a bowl filled with dark chocolate squares and wondered if it was too early to snag one.

She pulled out a ceramic mug for me and filled it and her thermos with fresh coffee. She kept moving before I had a chance to doctor mine. I tried to keep pace without letting the liquid burn my hand, while Tanya managed to authoritatively gesture with hers. “You’ll have noticed. We have more than our fair share of testosterone in the office. Don’t let that bother you. If they bother you, report them to HR. I’m not interested in people who don’t treat everyone like humans.” We passed by the desk of a guy my age. “Right, Billy?”

He looked up with puppy-dog adoration. “Tanya, I love you, I would never betray your trust.”

She hmphed and we kept going, past the desks and along a wall of conference rooms. “Two things to remember. First, deadline’s not flexible. Second, you’re not Lois Lane.”

Carlos leaned close to me. “She’s Lois Lane. Doesn’t want you to steal her thunder.”

“I heard that.”

He just grinned. “Also, I’d add a third rule—fact-check your stories to death.”

That made sense, but the gravity he used unnerved me. “What if I miss something?”

Tanya didn’t break stride. “We’ll feed you to the wolves.” She paused for emphasis. “The wolves are the commentators on our website.”

“Don’t read the comments,” Carlos said helpfully.

I looked back and forth between them. “Why not?”

“Because internet commentators are the scum of humanity and they will tear you apart.”

“Our readers,” Tanya said forcefully, “are a wonderful community that we encourage and respect. However. They will tear you apart.”

People don’t tend to tear you apart when you work at a little weekly newspaper in the town you grew up in.

After she wrapped up the widest scope of my position, Tanya leaned back in her chair and studied me intently. “We’re doing things a little differently this year.”