Someone should have the dangerous job of investigating how Jackson Haley looked when he wasn’t suited up defending the city, his own face, or the newsroom. Not that she was volunteering, because fascination from afar was safer and the newsroom spin was that Jackson Haley was more into the men he liked to hit than anyone who wore a skirt and heels.
And wasn’t that a lifestyle story headline.
Chapter Two
Jack sat at the conference room table for the daily editorial meeting with his cell phone held low on his thigh so he could read email under the table. He’d already pitched his story for the day to Madden, now there was just sports and lifestyle to have their moments to jockey for page position and he was out of here.
He scanned a purloined police report about the hushed-up arrest of a prominent businessman and considered whether it was a story worth pursuing or merely scandal that writing about would only elevate to more importance than it was worth. Deciding it was the latter, he tuned back in as Spinoza talked about a leaked document naming a bunch of sports stars for using banned substances. Some big egos in the sporting world were going to have a bad day once Spin had finished with that story.
For a guy who mostly wrote about tackle counts, Spinoza was right about the Courier. If the paper got any thinner, if they employed any more junior reporters to write clickbait about vegetable detoxes or thigh gap, the paper was going to disappear like hundreds of others across the country already had. Not that Jack had any answers. He was an investigative reporter, not a miracle worker who could recast the economics of the newspaper business.
Worse luck.
Potter was the last to pitch. Jack listened to her talk about some university experiment that was supposed to be about finding inner peace or some crap while he prepared for a fast getaway, pushing his chair out and standing. Did everyone know Potter was banging Madden? Madden sure didn’t treat her differently than anyone else on the senior editorial team. If anything, he interrogated her pitches that much harder, but this one was seriously hokey.
Jack leaned on the back wall alongside some woman he didn’t know, who must’ve been an intern. Welcome to the last gasp of serious print journalism, sweetheart. He listened to Madden grill Potter on her story pitch.
“It’s called the Experimental Simulation of Interpersonal Familiarity,” Potter said. “It’s a famous social psychology study and this year is its twentieth anniversary.”
Madden gave her raised brows. “The what?”
“It about accelerated intimacy,” said Potter. “I want us to put it to the test.”
“What the hell is accelerated intimacy?” said Madden.
“Like what happens between two strangers seated next to each other on a long-haul plane journey,” she said.
“I thought that was called free drinks and passing out,” Madden dead-panned.
Jack almost squirmed for him when Potter came back with, “It’s about love, Phil,” and everyone in the room laughed. Yeah, they all knew Potter and the main man were simulating horizontal accelerated intimacy.
Madden’s forehead cratered. “And you want to replicate this experiment?”
“It’s a detailed questionnaire and an exercise in sustained eye contact.”
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Madden sustained an eye-roll, and Jack was glad he’d stuck around for the amusement value. “And why would anyone care?”
“Everyone cares about love, Phil. It’s our most basic human interest after food and shelter.”
There was some spirited agreement from the section editors, not all of it insincere. Jack didn’t bother to stifle a laugh, which scored him a sour look, before Madden barked, “What’s the story?”
“It’s a series. We pick two people to do the study and they write about their experience and then we follow up and see what happens to them.”
“So, if this couple hate the very sight of each other, they’d write about that?”
Potter narrowed her eyes at him. “The study has a high success rate. It’s more likely they’ll fall for each other.” That got a reaction, very sincere disbelief.
“I’ve got stats.” Potter shuffled her notes. “It’s been responsible for making friends of enemies, creating lifelong partnerships and lots of marriages.”
Madden groaned. “What poor unfortunates do we put through this? A couple of D-grade celebrities?”
Jack’s phone buzzed and he looked at the new text. A story lead about an insurance company fraud he’d been waiting on. He needed out of here. He took a couple of steps toward the door.
“That could be fun, but even the D-grades want to be paid. I’m suggesting we match Derelie with one of our male staff members.”
“Haley,” Madden barked.