Too Late, Mr. Forbes: Watch Me Shine

Hayden stood in the cramped, moldy bathroom of the cheap motel. The mirror above the sink was cracked in the corner.

She applied a thin layer of foundation to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She pulled her hair back into a tight, severe bun at the nape of her neck. She slipped into a plain black blazer she had bought from a discount store years ago. It was stiff and cheap, but it was clean.

She walked out of the motel and descended into the subway station. The train car rattled violently, the screech of metal on metal hurting her ears. She gripped the overhead pole, letting the sway of the train ground her.

She emerged in Midtown Manhattan. The Vanguard Media building was a towering spike of steel and black glass.

Hayden walked through the revolving doors. The lobby was a massive expanse of white marble. She checked in at the front desk, clipped a temporary visitor badge to her lapel, and took the elevator to the 40th floor.

The waiting area for the entertainment and financial news division was packed. Recent Ivy League graduates sat in sleek designer suits, tapping nervously on their iPads.

A girl in a pristine Chanel skirt suit looked at Hayden's cheap blazer, her lips curling into a dismissive smirk.

Hayden ignored her. She sat in a plastic chair in the corner, her back perfectly straight, staring blankly at the wall.

"Hayden Simmons," a sharp voice called out.

Hayden stood up. She walked past the staring candidates and entered the massive glass-walled conference room.

Eleanor Vance, the notorious editor-in-chief, sat at the head of the long table. She had sharp cheekbones and eyes like a hawk.

Eleanor picked up Hayden's resume and dropped it back onto the table with a loud smack. "A seven-year gap in your employment history. Why are you wasting my time?"

Hayden didn't sit down. She placed her hands flat on the polished wood table and leaned forward slightly. "Did you read the attachment? The analysis on the Hollywood tax evasion scandal?"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "I read it. It's brilliant. Which is why I assume you paid someone to write it for you."

"The mayor's office just leaked a zoning permit issue for the new stadium early this morning," Hayden said, her voice rapid and precise. "The obvious angle is political corruption. But if we establish an investigation direction to cross-reference the newly registered shell companies buying the adjacent lots, I strongly suspect you'll find their registered addresses all trace back to the same offshore trust funding the mayor's reelection. It's a lead worth digging into. I can have a 2,000-word piece exposing the framework of this money trail on your desk by noon."

Eleanor stopped breathing for a second. She stared at Hayden, the skepticism in her eyes melting into raw, predatory excitement.

Eleanor slammed her hand flat on the table. "You're hired. Junior reporter. You start tomorrow."

"Thank you," Hayden said. Her voice was calm, but her palms were slick with sweat.

She turned and walked out of the conference room. The heavy glass door shut behind her. She let out a long, shaky breath and headed down the hallway toward the restrooms to wash her hands.

As she turned the corner, her foot caught on the edge of the carpet. She stumbled forward, crashing directly into a solid chest.

Hot liquid splashed across her hand.

"I am so sorry," Hayden gasped, stepping back quickly.

She looked up. A tall man in a bespoke navy suit was looking down at his sleeve. Dark coffee dripped from his pristine white cuff.

"Hayden?"

The voice was deep, smooth, and laced with absolute shock.

Hayden's eyes snapped up to his face. The warm brown eyes, the sharp jawline, the perfectly styled hair. It was Jamie Clark. Her senior from Columbia.

"Jamie?" she breathed.

Before he could answer, two assistants rushed past Hayden. "Mr. Clark! Let us get you a towel," one of them panicked.

Hayden's stomach dropped. Mr. Clark. The Clark family owned Vanguard Media. Jamie wasn't just an employee; he was the heir.

Jamie waved the assistants away without looking at them. His eyes never left Hayden's face. He smiled, a slow, warm expression that reached his eyes. "I heard Eleanor talking about a candidate who managed to impress her today," Jamie said, his voice laced with genuine delight. "I didn't expect it to be you, Hayden. What are you doing here?"

"I just... I just got hired," Hayden stammered, pointing back toward Eleanor's office.

Jamie's smile deepened. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a thick, embossed business card, and slid it into her hand. His fingers brushed against hers. They were warm.

"Welcome to Vanguard, Hayden," Jamie said softly. "If you need anything. Anything at all. You call me."

He stepped around her, his assistants trailing behind him like ducklings. Hayden stood in the hallway, staring at the gold foil lettering on the card, a strange knot forming in her stomach.