In my Arms Tonight (NYC Singles Book 2) Read Free

the verdict, more than Toadface’s ugliness.
    She was abandoning him, too.
    “You can’t leave. Don’t leave.” It had an eerie echo of the parting words he’d said to his mother.
    Cole balled his fists, knowing the inevitability of what came next. The one thing that was predictable about life was the way it always, always managed to suck away your happiness and replace it with misery.
    Watermelon looked at the floor. “I’m sorry. I hope you grow up to be a fine young man and channel your energy in the right direction.” Closing her cocoa palm over his, she pleaded, “Please try to change, for my sake. You can do it. I know you can.”
    Useless hopes. The only thing he was going to grow up to be was a violent, bitter man with a mile-long criminal record.
    “Ma’am, we need to take him now,” the law enforcement officer bellowed and Cole felt trained muscles poke into his back.
    Watermelon stepped away, making way for the officers who pulled him away from the courtroom.
    Cole lost the last ray of hope that day.

Present
    I f there was something Kat had learnt in over a decade of being a political reporter, it was that bad news had a way of popping out of nowhere.
    Like every other reporter, she began her day with bad news or looking for what could be turned into bad news.
    But this bad news was different. It involved her. Or it could involve her.
    ‘ New York Times to begin layoffs,’ was the title of a press release from the Newspaper Guild that had popped into her inbox several moments ago.
    Kat scanned the article quickly and the key phrases were enough to give her a headache. Seven am. It was too early in the day for this.
    She hadn’t even had coffee yet and she was sitting around in a nondescript café waiting for John Anderson, the councilman who’d called her yesterday and asked to meet with her.
    Meeting John was a tricky proposition. Over the last few months, she’d been carrying out a secret investigation of suspicious movements of money from his campaign account into the account of an escort. With her evidence cemented, she only had to turn over the story to her boss. By the end of the day, his money laundering would become public knowledge through the New York Times website.
    “Hurry up.” Kat shot an impatient glance at the barista, who was taking his own sweet time to make her a cup of coffee.
    Cortisol was rising in her system with every letter of the press release she read.
    The New York Times is expected to lay off thirty journalists this week…
    Employees will be informed starting Wednesday…
    Wednesday was tomorrow.
    Laid-off staff will be offered severance packages and two weeks’ notice…
    More jobs are expected to be cut in the future as the New York Times restructures its business under new management.
    And it went on and on, followed by statements from the president of the Newspaper Guild and the NYT’ s management.
    Kat crossed her legs, her lip quivering and her heart galloping at the speed of a racehorse.
    Losing. Her. Job.
    Just the prospect knocked the air out of her lungs. Giving up being a reporter was too horrible to imagine. Being a journalist was her identity, her purpose in life, her dharma, her nirvana and her everything else. It was what she was. It was who she was.
    And the New York Times was where she belonged. Where she’d grown up and become herself. Where she’d found her feet and learnt to walk, jump and sprint. It was her home.
    And now she could possibly be homeless. Both literally and figuratively.
    The money in her bank account, adding in the severance pay, wouldn’t cover more than three months rent. She was smart enough to know that getting hired anywhere else would be tough. The Washington Post had culled a hundred newsroom staff last year. The Wall Street Journal had slashed even more journalist jobs. Many of the local newspapers, in the aftermath of the recession, had wound up altogether.
    Not the best time for the newspaper industry,