Mia couldn't believe what she had just heard. She even felt the need to pinch herself, just to make sure she wasn't in the middle of a nightmare. Nope, just now in pain from her pinch on the arm and extremely stressed.
"With Andrew?!" She couldn't help but exclaim, her voice going up a pitch.
Mr. Thompson and Claire exchanged a puzzled look. Of course, they had no idea about her history with Andrew. Of course, they didn't notice how her hands had started to tremble. Working in the same company as Andrew, being neighbors with him, and now being assigned to work on his story alongside him. Her life had officially become a joke, a fever dream she couldn't wake up from.
"Could I ask, why Andrew? Isn't he the new guy?" she asked, attempting her calmest voice, trying to act as if her world wasn't thrown off balance for the third time in two days.
Mr. Thompson answered, "He's working on this piece focusing on the women of Callum who were prostitutes during the war years ago, and how they live now as well as how they've coped with that trauma."
"I don't cover pieces like that. I don't do historical," Mia said matter-of-factly. She knew her strengths, and trauma wasn't one of them.
"Exactly. Pairing up with someone who writes about completely different things might be a good experience for you—getting out there, seeing more than your scope," Mr. Thompson said in a tone so serious it could have convinced her to climb Everest.
Mia raised her hand to massage her temple. Mr. Thompson was still talking, but at this point, she had almost zoned out. Her head was throbbing, and she felt as if her chest might explode. She closed her eyes briefly and thought of her mom, of her voice, and how when she was little she would calm her down by taking slow deep breaths alongside her, and brushing her hair back.
Mia shook her head to snap out of it and back into reality. "Does this sound like something you can take on?" Claire asked, intently looking at her.
What choice did she have, really? If not this, then she would look uncooperative, giving her a bad rep in the journalism community. And it was a very small community.
"Sure. If it will help me as a writer and the paper, then sure, I'll do it," she said firmly. "Is that all?"
Mr. Thompson gave her a small smile and nodded. "Yes, that's all. We know you have a bright future ahead of you, Mia. We really do."
Mia smiled back at him, then at Claire, who patted her on the back in an attempt to comfort her. She did her best to stay composed as she left Mr. Thompson's office to head back to her desk.
All she could do was stare blankly at her screen. She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she felt her stomach grumble. Right. Food. She looked up to see that most everyone in the office had cleared out to get lunch. She vaguely remembered Sarah and a few other writers asking her if she wanted to come along. She probably shook her head; she honestly couldn't remember.
She got up and headed to the bathroom. This day was only halfway through, and it had felt like an entire year had passed. Seeing herself in the mirror, it looked like she had gotten dragged through a war.
Her brown hair, normally in a neat ponytail, was now looking disheveled in a lazy bun. Her eye bags, which she thought she had covered up with concealer, were now incredibly prevalent, and the color in her cheeks seemed to have faded.
She splashed her face with water in the sink and patted her face dry with paper towels. Looking back at herself in the mirror, she said to her reflection, "Get a grip. You can get through this. You've gone through worse," she said, feeling the tears coming to her eyes. "What's one month?" she added in a whisper.
As she exited the bathroom, she bumped hard into something. It was warm but hard and smelled like cinnamon. Of course, it was Andrew.
"Get out of the way," Mia said flatly. "Please," she added meekly; her parents did teach her to have some manners.
"Mia," Andrew spoke softly, "I know Mr. Thompson and Claire spoke to you about taking on this story with me."
She winced at that. So he knew this whole time. She wondered if that was why he was so quiet and awkward at the Alley this morning.
"Yup, they did. Congrats, you have me as an assistant, and it only took you one day in this freaking company to achieve that. Job well done, Andrew. As always," she spat out, bitterly. She felt so much of her emotions bubbling up, she couldn't keep any of them in anymore.
"Mia, you're not my assistant. Far from it. And I didn't ask for this to happen, but honestly, I'm glad it did," Andrew said, taking a step closer towards her. She felt her oxygen get cut off.
"You're glad it did? Wow, okay, not surprised you were rooting for my humiliation," she said.
"Will you stop that? First off, this isn't humiliating. You're co-writing a piece with me. It's a huge deal to me, and I wouldn't want to write it with anyone else. It's why I moved to this publication in the first place. And second, I know you're an amazing writer, which is why I asked to get to write this with you," Andrew said. Mia looked directly into his eyes, a storm seemingly brewing in that usual clear blue.
She couldn't fully process everything he had said, but she heard it.
What felt like an hour of silence passed between them before either one of them spoke.
"I'll send over a bunch of files to you after lunch, just to catch you up on the details. Then we can meet tomorrow and brainstorm our approach and hash out the rest," Andrew said in a monotone. "But for now, let's get lunch."