“I will not have a human incubator putting this office at risk of contamination.”
“But it’s not…not catching. I mean…you can’t catch gastroesophageal reflux, it’s—”
“Go home,” Bartell said, drawing herself up to full height. “At once. I don’t want to see you back here until you are at nil risk of spreading any vile germs to the rest of the staff, and especially me.”
“B-but the budget…”
“Home,” she said. “Now.”
“Ms Bartell, can I speak to you please?” Dave Douglas, the news chief, had a pinched look as he inserted himself into the scene, his gaze flicking to his finance reporter and back.
“No! I do not have a minute. I am supposed to be doing a conference call with Hong Kong. Instead, I’m wasting my time within disease-catching distance of this loud, infected…person.” Bartell glanced back at Josie, who was frozen in her seat. “What did I say? Leave! And do not come back until you are safe to be around.”
Bartell turned on her heel and strode back to her office.
A flicker of anger crossed Dave’s face, and he clamped down on his jaw. He pointed to a man sitting not far from the finance reporter. “Take over, Robert. Deadline’s an hour. I think most of it’s done. Right?” He glanced at Josie for confirmation.
Josie nodded between sniffles. She pushed a folder Robert’s way, mumbling a few instructions.
As Bartell passed Maddie’s desk, the media mogul paused at her open curiosity. “You have an opinion?”
“Nope,” Maddie said. “But Josie’s not a disease risk any more than you are.” She lowered her voice and took a gamble. “And I think…maybe you know it too.”
Bartell’s eyes flashed a warning. “I’m sure there are more Kilimanjaro-climbing teachers who need eulogising far more than I need your medical opinion.”
Surprise flooded Maddie. “You read my obit?”
“Someone had to,” Bartell said. “I doubt our readers did, given where it was run. Now, why aren’t you working? We’re done.”
Maddie turned to face her computer and watched as Josie virtually sprinted from the building, a look of profound relief on her face. Maddie wondered if anyone else understood the favour Bartell Corp’s president had done for her. She could see the incredulous faces of the rest of the staff, exchanging furtive looks. They’d probably be tweeting about their draconian, germaphobic overlord in two minutes under smart-ass aliases.
But Maddie knew the truth. What germaphobe did yoga on a mat on some run-down office floor?
How…unexpected.
BlogSpot: Aliens of New York
By Maddie as Hell
Someone once said: “Be yourself; everyone else is taken.” Surely this is the hardest advice ever offered.
We all wear masks. We’re all practiced liars, neatly curating ourselves for the benefit of others. It’s only natural, isn’t it? We don’t want strangers to know we’re secretly nervous or shy or intimidated or cowardly. That we’re not brave enough or smart enough or well-off enough or that we’re barely coping. So we fake the ease and perfection of our lives. I’m the first one to admit I’ve posted a grinning selfie of me at Times Square with #lifegoals in the caption. I’m a fraud. But writing #drowningslowly or #lostandembarrassed doesn’t have the catchiest ring.
You never truly know what’s under anyone’s mask until you take one corner and start to peel. It awes me that anyone would allow another human to do this to them. To willingly say, hey, this is me. Do you still like me?
The advice might be right—but by God, it’s asking a lot of us.
CHAPTER 5
Exotic Balls and Exorcisms
Maddie arrived home just before 2:00 a.m., feeling twitchy as hell, and the need to bake hit her. Hard. It did sometimes, and fortunately, Simon never complained too much at being woken to the sound of a cake beater or oven timer going off at all hours. Of all the addictions to have, at least baking meant a payoff for Simon, too, given he always got to sample the spoils in the morning. Still, she really did owe him big time for all the ways she ruined his sleep patterns.
Maddie hummed as she stirred the ingredients in her mixing bowl. Quinoa flakes, vanilla protein powder, almonds, chai spice, medjool dates, and coconut. She thought of Bartell…Elena, she corrected herself…and her late-night cravings for chai tea. The flavour of Maddie’s exotic protein balls would likely please any fan of that tea variety.
As she worked, she contemplated Josie, so desperate to get home, and Dave, who had been wearing his “this is nuts, we’re on fucking deadline” face. Maddie frowned and sprinkled in a little more coconut.
Elena had descended like a thunderstorm, doing Josie a favour dressed up as a bitchy reprimand. It had been quite brilliant, now she thought about it. Elena couldn’t have directly overruled the news chief about a story without shredding his authority, and she needed him to retain the respect of his staff to be effective. So she made it look like some strange, personal issue that allowed her department head to save face, Josie to go home, and Elena… Well, she came off looking petty, weird, and void of any empathy. She’d put her tiger shark mask to good use.
No one else might have understood what she’d done, but Maddie did. She wondered what was really under the mask. Elena might have allowed this one crack to show, but her mask seemed welded on like armour the rest of the time. Did she even take it off at home? Surely she did. As Maddie stirred, her wooden spoon turning into a blur, she decided it didn’t matter. Either way, the woman deserved a little reward for her dark-arts gallantry.
* * *
Sixteen hours later, Maddie was back at work. She checked the clock. It was almost four, so she was an hour early. She glanced at the empty corner office.
Elena was absent from her desk, and Felicity and the temp were also nowhere to be seen. The trademark black, glossy handbag perched on the media boss’s desk told Maddie that she couldn’t be too far away.
She plucked a small container from her backpack and emptied six little balls onto a paper plate that she’d nabbed from the kitchen. Maddie slid the plate onto Elena’s desk and adjusted the presentation three times until she was satisfied. Then she backed away.
As Maddie returned to her desk, her heart was thumping, and she felt as if she’d achieved something special. Which was ridiculous, really. All she’d done was put food on her boss’s desk anonymously. Food she might not even eat. Because, come to think of it, how silly would it be eating strange food when you’re the boss that people love to hate? Or just hate to hate?
Okay, so she hadn’t thought this through. It was a dumb thing to do. Really dumb. Hell. Maddie pushed her chair back to go and retrieve the plate, only to find a blue-eyed gaze fixed on her as Elena plucked, studied for a moment, and then bit neatly into a chai tea ball.
Maddie swallowed at the same time Elena did. A look of surprise flitted across Elena’s face, and the hint of a smile. Then nothing. Elena turned back to her computer.
Facing her own computer, Maddie listened for the sound of spitting. She waited, ears straining, for five minutes. When nothing happened, she tried to go back to work. Her heart only slowed its pounding after she reminded herself it wasn’t as if Elena knew the treats were from her. There were plenty of people still in the building at four. The offering could have been from any of them.
She peeked eight or nine more times throughout the night, and the little pile of balls had almost disappeared by the end of it. Not that she’d been stressing about it or anything.
Nope, not at all.
The tenth time, Elena looked straight at her and gave a faint smile as she popped the final ball into her mouth.
Not for the first time, Maddie wondered what on earth Elena was thinking.
* * *
Elena chewed slowly and pondered Madeleine Grey. Her little food balls were a most unexpected offering. The way the junior crime reporter had watched so fearfully as she tried the first one instantly told her the identity of the chef. As offerings went, they were sublime. Not that she would share that with her. It was a fool’s errand to get too friendly with the staff, especially those likely to be fired in a few weeks. Her mood darkened at the reminder. The figures on the Hudson Metro were worse than she’d expected. Her plans were now a certainty. She would have to get Felicity to make the appropriate calls.
Her thoughts returned to Madeleine. What did Elena know about her? She was from Sydney. She was a reporter. She was homesick, most likely, if their elevator conversation was any indication. She seemed…unhappy. Madeleine probably wasn’t even aware of how frequently she glanced at the global time-zones display on the far wall. Her head tilted left, where the Sydney clock was, then her shoulders would slump. She also often picked up her Sydney Harbour snow globe as she talked on the phone, caressing it, giving it a shake, before returning it to its spot with a tiny pat. This was not someone embracing a new city.
Elena stared at the coconut flakes that had fallen on the plate.
Madeleine. Also known as Maddie. How many Australian reporters in New York had that name anyway? She stopped cold as the realisation hit her.
After turning to her computer, she typed in an address she knew by heart. Elena never missed Aliens of New York. When she’d first discovered the blog about eighteen months ago, she’d gone back and read all the previous entries. They were pretty much the same—observant, nuanced, sometimes beautiful, and always sad. The author could convey the ache of loneliness better than anyone she’d ever seen.
Elena related to that a little too well. Juggling her media empire, she didn’t have a lot of time for close friendships, but it didn’t mean she was immune to the emptiness of that choice at times. Even her husband, some days, felt more like a partner in conquest rather than someone interested in knowing the woman behind her success.
