“C.J. is the winner of the journalism competition Mr. Mayhew set up in the local schools.” The contest had been another of Cyrus’s bright ideas for drawing attention to the Bugle, and all the staff should certainly be awareofit.
“That’s great. Congratulations.” She focused on C.J. “What did you win?”
Obviously the staff, or at least this member of it, hadn’t kept up-to-date. His decision was even more appropriate, then.
“C.J. has received a six-week internship with the newspaper. A chance to find out if journalism is the right career for her, as Mr. Mayhew said in his editorial about the competition.”
Which you should have read. The words were unspoken, but Amanda no doubt caught his meaning, since her lips tightened.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided to assign C.J. to work with you for the duration. You’re going to be her mentor.”
“I see.” A momentary pause as Amanda turned to the young woman, and then came the smile that resembled the sun coming up over the ocean—the one she had yet to turn on him. “That’s great, C.J. I look forward to working with you.”
The ironic thing was that she probably did. For him, this brainstorm of Cyrus’s was nothing but a nuisance. He had no particular desire to have a high school kid wandering around his newsroom.
Still, paired with Amanda, she couldn’t do much harm. And if Amanda could persuade her that skintight jeans and a skimpy top weren’t appropriate professional apparel, so much the better.
“Don’t I have anything to say about who I work with?” The kid turned a belligerent frown on him. “I don’t want to run around town covering stuff like boat parades and charity races. That’s all she does.”
He’d been so intent upon ridding himself of the problem that he was actually surprised when the kid spoke up. Irritation edged along his nerves. She was lucky to be here. Still, she’d obviously done her homework and paid attention to bylines.
“C.J., that’s how everyone starts out,” Amanda said quickly, as if to block out his response. Maybe she sensed his annoyance. “You’re lucky you weren’t assigned to the obit desk. This is much better than writing obituaries, believe me.”
C.J. didn’t noticeably soften. “Not much,” she muttered.
“Hey, we do interesting stories. In fact, this afternoon we’re heading down to Coast Guard Base Charleston for an interview. You’ll have a chance to see the inside workings of the place.”
“We?” He stressed the word. Taking Amanda along on interviews hadn’t been part of his plan.
Amanda’s eyebrows lifted. “My father is expecting us at three-thirty today. I hope that works for you.”
He was tempted to make it clear that he didn’t need or want her company. But if he did, that could put paid to any more help on her part. He might need her goodwill to gain future access.
“Fine.” He tried to look as if he welcomed her company. “I’ll see you then.”
He turned away, startled to realize that on at least one level, he did.
Chapter Three
Amanda didn’t know whether she was more relieved or surprised that Ross didn’t fight her on the visit to Coast Guard Base Charleston, but he’d headed back to his office without further comment. Maybe he was beginning to see that she had something to offer. If this worked out well, maybe he’d…
She looked at C.J., and she came back to earth with a thump. Ross hadn’t changed his mind about her. He just hadn’t wanted to get into a hassle in front of the new intern.
No, that didn’t sound like Ross. He didn’t mind coming off dictatorial, no matter who was listening.
Thinking of him had brought a frown to her face. Amanda replaced it with a smile for C.J. Although, come to think of it, she wasn’t exactly feeling warm toward the young woman. What had she meant by her outspoken distaste for working with Amanda?
She nodded toward a chair at the vacant desk next to hers—vacant since Ross had decided that its occupant was expendable. “Pull that seat over, so we can talk.”
Wearing a sullen expression, C.J. rolled the chair to Amanda’s desk and plopped into it, folding her arms.
Amanda had to hide a grin. C.J.’s body language was eloquent. Still, she’d have to learn that she couldn’t call the shots at this point in her career. Any more than Amanda could.
“I suppose you’ve been working on your school newspaper,” she ventured, wondering what the key would be to opening up this abrasive personality.
C.J.’s lips pressed together. After a moment, she shook her head. “Have to be a teacher’s little pet for that, don’t you? Anyway, I’m not gonna write stupid stories about poster contests and decorating the gym. I want to write about important things. That’s why I entered the contest.”
That hit a little too close to home. “Sounds like we have something in common then,” she said briskly. “We both want to write more challenging subjects.” She’d never really regretted retuning home, but the truth was that with the paper’s already well-established staff, it was tough to move up. Especially when the new editor refused to believe she could write.
C.J. glowered at her for another moment, and then she shrugged.
Amanda resisted the desire to shake her. Working with this kid might be an exercise in suppressing emotions.
“Okay, then.” Might as well go on the offensive, since nothing else seemed effective. “How did you know what kind of articles I write?”
Another shrug. “I know what everyone who works for the paper writes. It’s my thing, isn’t it?”
So she’d put time and effort into this chance at success. Did she even realize that her attitude was working against her? With a more accommodating spirit and some advice on what to wear, C.J. could come out of this on the road to success.
Dismayed, Amanda recognized her crusading spirit rising. It was the same irresistible urge that led her to one lame duck after another, always convinced that somehow she could help them.
And she had, more often than not. Her brothers insisted that her victims, as they called them, responded because that was the only way they could get rid of her, but she didn’t buy that. That hapless Bangladeshi student at College of Charleston would have been sent home before he finished his degree if not for her organizing his fight to stay. And the article she’d written about endangered sea turtle nests had helped move along a new lighting ordinance.
Given C.J.’s attitude toward her, it was unlikely that the young woman would be one of her success stories. Still, she had to try.
“If you really mean to make journalism your career, an internship is a great place to start, especially getting one while you’re still in high school. I didn’t have one until the summer between my junior and senior years of college.”
C.J.’s eyes betrayed a faint
