Chapter 109

Bruce Conroy’s expression shifted to one of all business. “So, how much did the administrator explain to you?” he asked. “I don’t want to double up on what you’ve already been told. That’s boring for everybody.”

“I haven’t been told much,” I replied, “except that I would be partnering with somebody for the first couple of stories.”

“That’s exactly how it’s going to go,” my new editor said. “I’m going to put you with one of our top writers. And you’ll be doing three stories where you co-write with her. When you finish those three, you’ll have a good idea of how the Palace Press runs. And then you’ll be free to pitch ideas at the next available morning meeting.”

“What do you mean how it’s run? Don’t we just write once you accept a pitch?”

“Not here at the Palace Press,” Bruce Conroy explained. “Things run a little bit differently here than at a general media company. Because we represent the palace, everything goes through a panel for approval before we release it. After all, every story you write will now represent not just you but also the capital city here in Packhaven, along with the entire nation of Orlune, and even the alpha king himself. We can’t allow second-rate writing out of the Palace Press. I’m sure you understand.”

“Is it just editing, or is it censorship?” I asked.

“Mostly editing. You might call it a little bit of censorship,” Mr. Conroy admitted, “but it’s more like cleaning up.”

“Feel free to elaborate,” I said, feeling my stomach knot up a little bit.

“Well, it’s not that you’re told exactly what you can or cannot write. But let’s say someone refers to the alpha king as a big fat, flying fuck. Obviously, we don’t want to change their feelings in the article, but we might soften the sentiment by simply saying that a particular source doesn’t approve of the king.

I blinked at him, waiting for him to explain how changing someone’s words wasn’t unethical. Bleeping out profanity, I could understand. But softening down such a potent quote to mere dislike was an injustice to a source and nearing deception on the part of the writer. Or at least that’s how I saw it.

“Obviously, we’re not out to obscure the truth,” Mr. Conroy continued, blissfully unaware of my deep distrust of his rhetoric. “Things like heavy profanity in that example are unacceptable since we don’t want the palace represented with those words, even if they came out of someone else’s mouth.”

“I’m still unsure,” I said, choosing diplomatic wording.

He nodded. “Right. That’s why I said you should write with my head writer. Wendy Lowell is excellent at what she does, and she will walk you through the process and the sorts of things that the Palace Press Panel is likely to ask you to alter.”

He smiled at me. “I’ve been the lead editor for quite a while, and I was a writer here before that. In all the years I’ve been working for the Palace Press, I can honestly say there have only been one or two articles that the panel ever completely turned down. It’s usually just a matter of tweaking the language a little bit so that it represents the palace in the most professional way.”

“I guess I can respect that,” I said. Personally, he’d done nothing to relieve my reservations about how much censorship would actually be involved. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

If I took everything that I’d been told today at face value and added it to the glowing report of Packhaven I’d gotten from our bodyguards, then I would have to assume Packhaven was a virtual utopia. Meaning my misgivings stemmed from my treatment in the last two weeks. Or another, more sinister possibility existed. Perhaps Packhaven and its sycophants bordered on a cult.

Bruce Conroy went on to explain all of the formatting requirements, from pictures to in-story links to shared bylines, the difference between their print publication and the online publications, when each publication released its new stories, and so on.

By the time he finished, my head was buzzing like it had been infested with angry bees. He took one look at me and laughed.

“I understand it’s a little overwhelming,” he said. “But don’t worry. We’ll walk you through all of it. If you’ve been as professional a reporter as your work history dictates, then you should have no problem getting into the swing of things in no time. Just hang in there.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “But I don’t know if I’ll be here long enough to get into that routine.”

“Thinking of leaving us already?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’ll bet it’s that alpha of yours. He’s got to be in quite a hurry to breed a pretty little thing like you. If I were an alpha, I wouldn’t waste any time spreading my seed either.”

I blushed. “No. That’s not—”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No worries. I can sympathize with a woman’s desire to bear children and even the competing desires of family vs. career. We don’t hold that against you as some professions might. If you get that point, all you have to do is say the word. And we have plenty of females and even a couple of male reporters who do most of their work from home. And for those mornings when they’re required to be at a meeting in person, they are allowed to use the city’s child care for employees. We don’t offer it full-time for free. But for mandatory, in-person meetings, parents are allowed to utilize that service and bill their department.”

I blushed even deeper. “You misunderstand. Charles and I aren’t at that place in our relationship yet.”

My chin ducked inside my collar a little bit. It felt weird having that conversation with a strange man when Charles and I had barely had the conversation between ourselves.

Mr. Conroy backed up a bit. “My apologies if I brought up an uncomfortable subject. I just wanted you to know as we got you started with us that these aren’t things that you need to worry about or feel like you need to leave us over.”

I tried to open my mouth to explain that I was talking about moving back to Lustrum all along when he stood, his smartwatch beeping.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, hurrying for the door. “I’ll be right back. This is important, but when I come back, I’ll bring Wendy, and she can take you out to get started on your first story. You are up for that this afternoon, are you not?”

I gaped at him, open-mouthed, and just nodded.

Bruce Conroy hurried out the door, pushing a button that would activate the Bluetooth in his earpiece, and started having a conversation with somebody else. I’d forgotten how busy chief editors were in just a few weeks I’d been off and away from the office.

Theo leaned forward and touched my shoulder. “Maybe I should have started taking notes for you,” he said with a chuckle.

“This has been a lot of information all at once,” I agreed. “But I think I’ll be able to keep up with it.”

“You’ll do fantastic, I’m sure.”

After a moment of consideration, I decided to ask Theo something which had been bugging me. “Was it just me, or did he seem a bit, I don’t know, off-putting?”

“How do you mean?”

I frowned, trying to find a way to describe the slimy feeling to a man. He’d probably never had a man make him feel like that. “Like he was too personal and too sexual?”

Geez. I’m a writer, so why was describing the icky way he made me feel so difficult?

“I guess he was a bit personal,” Theo said. “But I guess from there, it’s about personal boundaries. That’s why it’s good to wait before taking on such topics. He has no idea where your boundaries lie.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped because Mr. Conroy came around the corner with a woman who, if I’d had an older sister, would have been about her age, looking five to ten years older than me. The pair entered the office, the smell of peonies curling around Bruce Conroy’s nacho scent and souring my stomach with the mixture.

Mr. Conroy ducked his head at me in acknowledgment. “I’m really sorry to do this, Ms. Laurentia, but I’m going to turn you over to my Wendy. Like I said, she’s extremely good at what she does, and she’ll help you get started. We’ve had a bit of a thing come up, and I need to go help one of my other reporters smooth some ruffled feathers.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and hurried out of the room.