Habits of Highly Successful
Media Moguls
As it happened, Maddie didn’t know anything about the habits of highly successful media moguls. It turned out that Elena Bartell liked to spend most of her day outside the office, or so Lisa informed her, and only turned up at Hudson Metro at about three each day with an uptight blonde woman in her slipstream. She was the same woman Maddie had seen with her the first day. She now sat in Melissa’s old desk, right outside Bartell’s office, and Maddie was exactly a single 180-degree chair swivel away from her.
The blonde’s name was Felicity Simmons. Uptight wasn’t even the start of it. She was sniffy and huffy and all sorts of snobby, as though she’d been pumped full of private-school elocution lessons, but loyal to a fault about her boss. Every now and then, though, her accent slipped and there was the faintest Midwestern twang. Maddie grinned. She was such a fraud.
“What are you looking at?” Felicity demanded when she caught her staring.
Where to start? The tight, hair-sprayed bun and severe, angular body that made her look like an Eastern European ballet dancer? The preternaturally wide eyes, pronounced cheekbones, or thin lips with a slash of purple lipstick that gave her an emo-librarian look?
“Is there anything you don’t do? Where are you going to get tickets to that show by tomorrow morning?” Maddie asked. “Doesn’t your boss know it’s sold out?”
She’d overheard Bartell’s clipped demand when she’d started work. No one had been able to get tickets to Song of Eternity for months.
“She knows,” Felicity said in a curt tone. “She also knows that I have contacts with the law firm that covers the show.” She huffed. “And ordinarily, this would not be my job at all. But Elena is without a personal assistant at present.”
She looked frazzled, appalled, and every kind of exhausted. Not that Bartell seemed to appreciate the woman. From what Maddie had seen, her boss was both demanding and dismissive of Felicity.
“Why not quit?” Maddie asked. “If she’s that much hard work.”
“Quit!” Felicity looked askance. “Are you insane? Do you know what my job even is?”
Maddie shrugged. “Shit kicker to a media overlord.”
“I am no such thing. And she’s…complicated.”
“She is mean to you. Like, King Kong-sized bitch mean.”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, it’s not personal. No one understands her.” The like I do was unspoken, but Maddie heard it all the same.
“And if you knew half the things she had to endure on a day-to-day basis, all the balls she has in the air that she juggles, you’d be astonished,” Felicity continued. “But no, you’re like the gutter press. All you want to focus on is how she does things, not what she does. But what do you know anyway? Aren’t you the obituaries girl?”
“And crime.” Maddie shot her a grin. “It’s the bread and butter of a commuter paper.”
“Fascinating, I’m sure.”
“Come on, it’s a skill to get a large-scale drug bust told in 150 words,” Maddie said, ignoring the sarcasm. “But you’re right, it’s kind of boring after a while.”
Felicity’s expression was incredulous. “And you’re sharing all this, why?”
Maddie grinned. “I mistook you for a human, and I thought we were making small talk.”
“Wrong on both counts. And I have an actual career to attend to. That means keeping Elena organised and on schedule, her contracts up to date, and having everything she needs, including tickets for two to Song of Eternity. Not hearing prattle from the office junior who could be unemployed within weeks.”
“Wow. Low blow.” Maddie was kind of impressed by how little Felicity seemed to care about whether she was liked. She and her boss were made for each other.
Felicity shot her an indifferent look, so Maddie took the hint and returned to work.
The hours bled together, and before she knew it, it was almost midnight. She glanced around to find the usual empty office. Sofía, the cleaner, was vacuuming somewhere, but Maddie couldn’t see her. The light was still on in Bartell’s office, although the woman wasn’t anywhere in sight. With a sigh and a grumble about environmentally unaware media executives contributing to greenhouse gasses, she pushed off from her chair and headed into the office. She stuck her head in, reached around the corner, and flicked the switch.
“Who did that?” an outraged voice said from somewhere in the darkened room.
Maddie started, snapped the light on again, and looked around.
A dark head bobbed up from floor level behind the desk, and Maddie stared into the furious glare of Elena Bartell. Craning her neck, she could see a yoga mat on the floor under Elena. Oops. Shit.
“I was stretching!”
“Sorry,” Maddie said. “Really. I thought you were gone. And—”
“And you thought you’d save a tree in the Amazon or something?” Bartell rose to full height, stretching her arms above her head and swaying, left and right. Her arms were toned and clearly used to exercise. Her new position had the effect of thrusting her chest forward, encased in a tight, white T-shirt.
Maddie’s cheeks heated up. “I…uh…”
Bartell swivelled her neck, as though shifting the kinks, not taking her eyes off Maddie. “Oh very enlightening. Thank goodness you’re a journalist where words are your skill.”
Maddie pulled a face. “Yeah. Um, I didn’t know you were here. Think how much money I could have saved you, turning out the lights and all?”
“Mm.” Bartell shook out her arms. “Since you’re in here, ruining my brief window of relaxation, you can make yourself useful. Chai latte with non-fat milk, extra hot.”
“Um, you know I’m not a PA, right? And if our kitchen stocks chai latte, I’ll sell my house.”
“Who said anything about you getting it from our kitchen? And you don’t have a house to sell; I’d be surprised if you’re not renting a broom closet. As for not being a PA, you don’t seem to be much of a journalist either, so this is a step up.”
Maddie bit down her annoyance at the jab. Not much of a journalist? How the hell would she know?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more direct. I’m not your PA. I’m your junior crime and obits writer.” She said it politely, but this had to be a suicidal approach. Still, there was no way she was going to do a midnight run to the 24/7 Times Square Starbucks from now until Bartell gutted the Hudson Metro News and moved on. She did not want to become a Felicity, who took fawning to new heights.
