Chapter 5 The Journalist and the Flirt

It was ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and low hums of conversations -- the newsroom. In that crowded spot, Mia Torres sat still at her desk with her eyes glued to the glowing monitor, her fingers doing a methodical tapping on the keyboard while stopping for a moment to note something down in her used leather notebook. And to top it off, a cup of cold coffee was lying at the very edge of the desk in an abandoned state. A loud voice sliced through all the clamor. It was Carl, her editor, whose angry steps soon reverberated through the air even before Mia managed to look up.

Barrel-chested, with a deeply lined weather-worn face permanently set in a scowl, he was visibly irritated now. "You're still after that Johnny Lance story?" Mia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "You mean the story of a guy who in weeks turned from rags to riches, for which there is no clear explanation? Sure, Carl, I am after it." Carl snorted and tossed one of the papers on her desk, with the title reading" **Silverstone Collapse Devastates Investors.** " "Everyone's after it," he jabbed a finger at the paper, saying, "But more than theories and speculation would do for the news. You got anything solid or just spinning wheels here?" "I've got something solid," Mia said, her tone sharp. "Silverstone's collapse wasn't an accident. Lance shorted the stock right before it tanked. There's a pattern. He's been making moves that don't add up." "Man, curious stuff. And you have proof of this?" Carl asked, raising both eyebrows along the middle. "I'm working on it," Mia admitted. "But there's more. Lance has ties to Marcus Blackwood. You know, the guy who practically owns half of New Veritas? There's bad blood between them, and I think it's connected to Lance's sudden rise." "Connected how?" "I don't know yet," Mia said, her voice laced with frustration. "But I'm going to find out." Carl sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, Torres. I get it. You're hungry. You want the big story. But if you don't have something concrete by the end of the week, I'm pulling you off this. Got it?" *That was a strange expression,* thought Mia, watching Carl walk away while she clenched her jaw. This would not be forgotten, not with the finish line in sight. --- Dim lights hung over the bar where a laptop computer lay open across from Mia. A scroll through financial records got the best of Mia's eyes, jumping back and forth between columns of numbers. Off to the side was a glass of red wine, half-full, half-empty, and untouched. "Working hard or hardly working?" came an unmistakably drawling voice from behind her. Mia glanced up and saw a man in fine spirits leaning casually on the bar. The sharp brown eyes of Mia glared up at the man. His confidence was evident, even accentuated by his smirk; the tailored jacket made his shoulders and biceps somehow look more pronounced. Disheveled dark hair framed his face as if he had been fussing with it for the last half-hour to get that "effortlessly cool" look. "Depends," said Mia, dryly, as she turned back to her laptop. "Do you always walk into a bar and recycle pickup lines from bad rom-coms?" The man chuckled and took a seat in front of her without an invitation. "Only when I see someone with a laptop in a place that is meant to unwind. What are you working on? Stock tips? Insider trading? Oh, wait- hacking into someone's bank account?" Mia arched an eyebrow. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard. "Funny you should mention insider trading. Would you know something about it?" With that slightly cryptic comment, she glanced up to assess his reaction. He grinned and slumped back in the chair. "Not a thing. Now I am curious. Why would a journalist get so fascinated with something that she has been ignoring her drink?" "You assume I am a journalist," Mia said, tilting her head. "Maybe I am an investment banker. Or a private detective." The man laughed, leaning forward. "Nah. You've got that investigative look about you. Sharp eyes, quick wit. You're definitely a journalist. Let me guess-Mia Torres?" Mia looked like a frozen statue at this point with fingers over the tip of the notebook like a gangplank. "And who are you?" she demanded with her voice even but feeling her heartbeat gallop in endless race. He stretched his hand and elaborated partly more on his grin. "Johnny Lance." Strangely, Mia's stomach somersaulted, but she kept her face blank. *Johnny Lance. Great.* She ignored the hand instead, but closed her laptop deliberately and folded her arms across her chest. "Should I be flattered or concerned that you know my name?" "Flattered," said Johnny with a hint of regret as he withdrew his hand. "You're digging into my life; only fair I do a little digging on you." Mia held back with a thin curve of her lips. "Research, huh? That's what they call it nowadays? Pretty one-sided, isn't it?" "It's not one-sided," said Johnny with his ever-playful self. "I'm here now, weren't I? Thought I'd save you the trouble of stalking me and just introduce myself." "Stalking?" Mia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Please. You're not that interesting." Johnny let out a warm-natured yet unflappable laugh. "Interesting to you, maybe. Funny considering how much time you've spent looking into me. So tell me, Mia, is it my financial comeback? My history with Marcus? Or just how I look so damn good despite everything I've lived?" Mia resisted laughing and shook her head. "Oh, man. You've got an ego, Lance. Did that come pre-installed, or was it an upgrade?" For a split second, Johnny looked taken aback, before covering it again with his customary smirk. "System? That is an interesting choice of words. Care to explain?" "Not yet," she burst, leaning forward slightly. "But don't worry, Johnny. I am very thorough. I'll figure it out." Johnny watched her for a moment, dark eyes glinting with mirth. "I like you, Torres. You're smart, sharp, and not half bad to look at." Mia rolled her eyes again, but at least, her cheeks were a bit flushed. "You're not that charming, you know." "You're not as intimidating as you think," he shot back, leaning in closer to continue, "So tell me straight: What do you want from me?" "Answers," she replied, not blinking. "How does a guy go from being dirt poor one minute to a millionaire the next? Hard work and perseverance are a nice cop-out excuse, Johnny. I just did an overview of your financials, and they simply don't add up." His smile didn't falter, but the chill in his eyes suggested darkening clouds. "You've been investigating my financials? Might I say that's a little invasive?" "Not as invasive as your stock manipulation," Mia countered. "Silverstone Corp? Ring any bells?" "Ah, Silverstone," Johnny said, sitting back and crossing his arms. "A poorly run company that was destined to fail. I just sped up the inevitable. Is that what you're so worked up about?" "Worked up?" Mia repeated, narrowing her eyes. "People lost their life savings because of you, Johnny. Families are struggling. But hey, as long as you're sitting in a fancy penthouse, who cares, right?" Johnny's smirk faded, and for a moment, he looked almost... guilty. But the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. "You're making it sound personal, Torres. Is it?" Mia leaned forward, her voice low and sharp. "It's personal for the people you've hurt. People like Rosa Martinez, can't pay rent because of what you did. People who trusted the system and got burned." Johnny's jaw tightened, and he cast his eyes away for a moment before finding them again on her. "So you think you know me? Think you've got me all figured out?" "I think you're hiding something," stated Mia levelly. "And I'm going to find out what that something is." Johnny leaned in again, their faces inches apart. He spoke softly, teasingly. "Relentless. I like it. Just be careful, Mia. Usually, when you dig too deep, you wish you hadn't." "Is that a threat?" Mia asked, keeping her voice cool even though her heart raced. "Not at all," Johnny smirked. "Just a friendly warning." They maintained eye contact for an extended period and remained with a charged tension in the air. She picked up her laptop and held her notepad to disrupt the quiet. "That was pleasant, Mr. Lance. Truly. However, I need to start working now." Then she lifted her bag onto her shoulder and got up. He stood relaxed with his hands in his pockets. "Leaving already? I was just beginning to like in our little conversation." "There's no need to worry," Mia said with a sarcastic smile. "I'm confident we'll meet again." "Then we can call it a date," his voice was soft, seamless. "Best of luck with your... investigation." Mia pivoted and exited the bar, her heart racing. She would have had to sadly concede that Johnny Lance was more charismatic and significantly more perilous than she had anticipated; nonetheless, it did intensify her urge to uncover the truth. As she ventured into the refreshing night air, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. Unidentified number, unclear message. "You're talented, Torres. However, it wasn't your talent can only get you so far. - J.L." Mia gazed at the text, a slight grin shaping the edge of her mouth. "We'll find out soon enough, Lance," she murmured, putting her phone back in her pocket and vanishing into the darkness.