Cover Story by Rachel Bailey Page A

line and checked my bracelet-watch. I didn’t have much time to get this road-toll article finished for the next day’s edition. “Hi, Mom. Can I call you back later? I’m in a bit of a hurry finishing an article.”
    “You always say that, and this won’t take long.”
    I sighed and kept typing. “Okay.”
    “I just called your editor, and we had a nice chat about—”
    “You did what ?” I stopped typing and pressed my fingers to my eyelids. I knew this wouldn’t work. When Grandpa Jack’s company bought the publisher that put out my paper, I was worried I’d have to find another job. I didn’t want any favors or interference. I’d immediately called his secretary to make an appointment to inform him of my concerns. When I’d finally seen him, Grandpa Jack told me he was far too busy to worry about a small-time journalist who worked for a paper he may or may not keep and that I had his word he wouldn’t stick a single finger into my career.
    Unfortunately, my mother had different ideas. As a major shareholder in her father’s company, she sat on the board and had grand delusions about her power. Her responsibilities, however, were another matter entirely—she often missed meetings and fobbed off work. The other board members called her “the princess” and tried to pretend she wasn’t there. And now here she was, calling Kevin.
    “I just called him for a little chat. I don’t see why you’d be upset about that.”
    I closed my eyes and moved my fingers from my eyes to my temples. My mother had an amazing ability to generate migraines—it was something the army should be investigating. “What did you say to him?”
    “That I thought your gnome stories were wonderful and that he should give you a promotion.”
    Oh. My. God. I’d be lucky if he didn’t give me the sack.
    “I’ve got to go, Mother.” I hung up the phone and stole a furtive glance at Kevin’s door. I’d have to finish the road-toll article first—I didn’t want to give him another reason to fire me. I madly typed the last paragraph and submitted it, then took a deep breath and headed for Kevin’s office.
    Halfway there, Matias stepped out into my path. “Hey, gnome girl, can two gnomes screw in a lightbulb?”
    “Not now, Matias, I’m in a hurry.” I pushed past him.
    “They can, but it freaks them out if you turn it on while they’re in there,” he called out as I continued down the hall.
    “Ha crappity ha,” I muttered as I smoothed down my trouser suit and knocked.
    “Come in,” Kevin barked.
    I walked in and shut the door behind me. “Kevin, I’ve just found out—”
    “Fletcher. Good. Sit down, there’s something I want to ask you.”
    I sank into a seat, my palms raised in surrender. “I apologize for anything she—”
    “Fletcher, does your mother like flowers?” He paced back and forth behind the desk between us.
    I frowned. Not seeing any relevance, I dismissed the question and continued with my main priority. “I’m sorry about the phone call, it won’t happen again, I—”
    “I asked you a question.” He leaned on the desk. “Does she like flowers?”
    I blinked. “Ah, yes, she does, but—”
    “Good. Any in particular?”
    “Um … white ones.” I wasn’t sure where this was headed, but I was sure I didn’t like it. “My mother—”
    “I’m taking her out tonight, Fletcher. Hope you don’t have a problem with that.” He glared at me, daring me to challenge him.
    Have a problem with that? No. I had many problems with that. So many, in fact, that I didn’t know where to start.
    “Fletcher?” he boomed.
    I took a deep breath and steeled myself. “No, I don’t have a problem with that.”
    “Good. By the way, I want another gnome story.”
    This just wasn’t my day. “There’s nothing left in that story to write about.” I knew it wouldn’t do any good, but I felt honor-bound to point it out.
    “Doesn’t matter—readers are lapping it up. We’ve even been getting