AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I do not own The Vampire Diaries or the characters. Unfortunately. They belong to CW.
Prologue:
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and walk into my boss' office. Carol is fifteen years older than me and is known as "The Terminator" to everyone who works for her. She is extremely competent but tough as nails towards those who show even the slightest amount of incompetence. She has fired more people than any other editor who has worked here at the Tribune and doesn't do it kindly. In her opinion, if you can't do your job and hand articles in on time, then she won't do you any favours by being polite.
Only fair, I suppose.
We've got along fine for the past two years I've been working here and this is the first time she has ever called me into her office. As far as I know, I haven't done anything wrong, having even handed my last article in a day early.
She's talking on the phone and doesn't look up as I walk in. As always, she is the picture of professionalism. She has her brown hair tied back in its usual bun and is wearing her favourite black suit.
"Yes, I am aware that you want… I can assure you, you will not be portrayed negatively, we merely wish to write about your point of view on the matter." She rolls her eyes and gestures for me to sit down. "We have the utmost respect for you here at the Tribune. All right, thank you very much. We will be in touch soon." She put the phone down and muttered, "Idiots. They expect to be written about as heroes when really, they're just middle-class uptight twits who can't be bothered to lift a finger to help another without expecting something in return."
Why don't you say what you really think? I want to snort but I'll avoid getting on Carol's bad side, having done a good job of it so far.
Her brown eyes finally look up. "Sorry about that, Elena. How are you?"
"Um, I'm fine, Carol," I reply hesitantly. She doesn't seem mad, not with me anyway. I wonder what she wants.
"Good, I'm glad. I called you in here because I want to talk about your recent work." She opens a drawer from a filing cabinet, brings out a folder and opens it, flicking through the pages. I can see all the articles I've written for the newspaper since I got the job.
"Is something wrong with it?" I read it through seven times, did I miss something?
"No, quite the opposite actually. I think you have potential. You've worked here for three years now and your work has greatly improved since you were offered a place here. I already saw promise in you when you started your work experience here and I would like to see what you could do with a bigger story." She smiles at me.
She's clearly expecting a reply but I'm pretty sure my jaw just hit something, like the floor. Of the lobby. Thirty-four stories down. I was extremely lucky to have been offered a place after graduating from college, but to be given a big story after only two years?
"I would love that, of course. But may I ask why you're willing to give me a story so soon? Two years is nothing in the journalistic world, even if you think I have potential."
She looks at me, her gaze unwavering. "Do you know how many people I had to choose from for this particular piece? Hundreds. I chose you because I know you'll do your best to produce a good piece. Journalists aren't made, no one learns to write without a basic talent for it. I'm giving you an opportunity here but maybe I need to give it to someone else?"
"No!" I shout. "I'll do it. Thank you." I smile.
"Much better." She smirks back at me. "You fly out the day after tomorrow."
"Where to?" Please let it be somewhere warm, please let it be somewhere warm, I mentally cross my fingers.
"To Nevada. You're going to be writing about the lives of marines when they're at base camp and when they're out on active duty." She takes out another file and leafs through it as she talks.
"How long do I have to work on this story?"
"Two months. You're going to be speaking to a few soldiers but the one who will be your liaison, so to speak, will be Marine Stefan Salvatore. He will be showing you around and you will be interviewing him for the story." She hands me the file and sits back, crossing her arms.
I skim through the pages, seeing my travel details, information about the base, the marine I will be interviewing and some ideas for the article.
"Okay. Thanks again, Carol." I stand up and prepare to leave her office.
"Elena?"
I turn around. "Yes?"
"Good luck."
Why do I feel like I'm going to need it?
This is my first story so forgive any errors. Let me know what you think, whether it's by favoriting or reviewing. I'd love to know how I could improve my work :)
~xxEternityxx.