Vacant Heart

Chapter One

"There's only so much caffeine one should consume before ten in the morning, Jo," Samantha mewls, depositing my third mug of java since I arrived in my usual frenzy well before seven. Unaccustomed to the trials of insomnia, she was already seated when I entered, prepared for the chaos that usually follows her well to do boss.

"When you're running on three hours of sleep, coffee may be the one thing that can save you from snoring during Matthew's meeting. I'm not inclined to be put out on my ass today."

Dressed in an oversized cardigan and a forest green turtleneck sweater dress, she pulls on the thick flaps, shivering from the frigid weather seeping in through the thick glass behind my desk. "You won't be. You're getting Hughes today."

Shoving my work into a crazed pile in the middle of the desk, I gather it into my arms, rising with my hand wrapped around the mug, fingers so cold that the steam doesn't burn. "You really think he's gonna give it to me?"

"You're his best journalist. Of course he's going to."

"Rory wants it bad."

"Hughes is yours, I feel it. And after work, we'll head out to celebrate it. Chicken tacos and margaritas."

"Good. I want to hear all about Jeff's recital."

My sling back heels clack against the hardwood floor as I cross the wide room, congested by desks and bodies of other intensely caffeinated people. Most countertops and desks mirror my mess, making me feel less overwhelmed. Nearly Christmas, The Chronicle is on fire, flooded with news to report before we meet another end to a year.

Two others are already seated around the conference table when I enter, and more pile in behind me. The Chronicle, being one of the best magazines in the country, in an industry that has been struggling for years, there's naturally a make or break mentality here, which makes it hard to become friends with any of my fellow colleagues. Not that I have time for more friends. I barely see my own.

Matthew, all commanding, rushes in with a bang. He is the king of java. We are his manic minions. "All right! Good morning. I don't want this to be more than one hour. Sixty minutes. Go."

Instantly, the newer, less accustomed reporters begin to offer prospective news stories I'm positive Matthew's already been informed of, but he indulges them, nodding at their excitement. My eyes meet Rory's across the long table, who remains as silent as me, waiting for the precise moment to mention Aidan Hughes, a story we both expect to land.

Eying the papers his assistant hands him, he reads out pieces that need to be written. Heroics, controversy, romance, celebrity exposes. Eventually, his round eyes dart up, landing on mine, swiveling over to Rory's.

"Who can tell me about this business with Aidan Hughes?"

"His father was a movie star in the late seventies, turned congressman in '87," I voice, cut off by my opponent.

"Mother and father died in a car crash a couple years ago, made headlines around the country."

"He's a force in the photography world. By twenty, was nationally recognized for his work. Within five years, he'd shot in nearly every country in the world," I announce with determination. "He may have been able to live a semi-normal life, even with all that money, if it hadn't been for the sudden death of his wife and child. It was ruled an accident, and to this day, not much has been said on the subject. He hasn't released a single shot since."

"Why the intrigue on this guy? What has the poor guy done to get his name back in headlines?"

"Nothing. His work has been circulating. Ever since that quake in California a month ago, his works on disasters have resurfaced. He's done celebrity shots, but is most famous for capturing nature at it's finest. The internet is buzzing with him," Rory hums, crossing her arms.