On the Record (Record #2)(18)
Author: K.A. Linde

When Justin walked into the bar and saw her, she broke into a smile. God, she had missed him being around, and she hadn’t really realized it until then. He had been a fixture in her life at UNC, working for the newspaper and taking classes with her since freshman year. She was glad to be reunited.

“Justin!” she said, barreling into him when he got closer.

He laughed and hugged her to him. “Good to see you, Liz.”

“It’s really good to see you too,” she said, pulling away from him and regaining her seat.

Justin looked professional in a way he never had in college in what looked like a brand-new suit and tie. His hair was cut shorter and brushed off of his face. She couldn’t see Justin wanting to be in a suit all the time. He was more of a khakis, polos, and boat shoes kind of guy.

The waitress appeared immediately, they ordered food and drinks, and then she disappeared just as quickly.

“You look great,” Justin said, a smug look on his face.

Liz managed not to roll her eyes. What did he want? Justin didn’t dole out compliments lightly. “Thanks. How is the new job?”

“A drag, but it pays well.”

“Yeah?” She knew there was a hitch already. She just waited for him to let the other shoe drop. “What is the company exactly?”

“It’s just a software company run by three guys. They wanted to make a program for students and teachers to install on their computers to live-stream from multiple locations on or off campus while still remaining interactive.”

“Well, that sounds cool,” she admitted.

“Yeah. I was selected online to do some testing for the program to make a few easy bucks. I took what they had redesigned and added a few key features of my own . . .”

“Wow. That’s fantastic. I bet professors like it.”

“They love it. Or at least, the three universities that have already purchased the software to try in their classrooms love it,” Justin told her. “And I’m supposed to pitch it to UNC this afternoon. Kind of ironic, right? UNC dropout sells innovative software to university system.” He chuckled to himself. “Anyway, that’s not my endgame.”

Their orders arrived, and Liz waited patiently for the waitress to leave again, digging her fork into her food. “So, what is your endgame?” she asked.

“I want to own my own company.”

“What do you want to do when you work for yourself?”

“I’m working on creating some way to put in place a filtering mechanism on YouTube videos, so I could get past all of the stuff that people watch that isn’t actually good and get straight to the good stuff. I designed the reviewing process myself, primarily to see how easy it was to find my own videos through it. I want to take it a step further and give it a social media component, form a central rating system, and then connect that to people’s YouTube accounts.”

“And you can do all of this? I seriously thought you were just a video expert,” she asked, surprised by his genius.

Justin shook his head. “I was majoring in photojournalism because I was already a programmer. My dad’s a programmer and I grew up on a computer.”

“Well, I think you should go for it.” She smiled back at him encouragingly.

“Will you help me?”

“Wh-what?” she stammered. What could he possibly want her help with? Sounded as if he had it all pretty much covered.

“I want to include a blogging component to the site and I need a writer. You and I both know I’m not that good with writing. I can’t express my ideas like you can. I know how much influence your pieces have in the paper, and I know you get A’s in all of your writing classes. I need someone that I trust to help, to keep people interested, to feed the buzz.”

He wanted her to help him with the start-up company he hadn’t even started? She didn’t know when she would ever find time for that amid her busy schedule.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she said.

“Come on. You’re perfect. And I trust you,” he said earnestly.

“Justin, I appreciate you considering me for this, but I’m swamped at school. There’s no way I could dedicate the amount of time you would need for this kind of project.”

“It wouldn’t be that much to begin with.”

“Next year I’ll be editor.” The words thrilled her when they left her mouth. She hadn’t said that out loud yet, and it felt right. “I’ll have my internship for the Morehead scholarship. It’s too much . . .”

“Just think about it. There’s plenty of time.”

“All right, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.” She didn’t like turning him down when he seemed so set on the course of action, but she didn’t think she could make it work.

The topic shifted away from Justin’s new projects as they finished their meal, but her mind was running a thousand miles a minute. She wished she had more time.

Justin picked up the tab even when she insisted that they split it. He just laughed and paid with a business credit card. They walked out together and he offered to drop her off at the paper, which she declined. It was a short distance, and he had to prepare for his meeting with the university.

She reached the newspaper without remembering anything about the walk. Massey had already left for the day, but Savannah was still milling around the office. Liz waved as she plopped down into the seat across from her.

“Lost in thought?” Savannah mused, typing away at her computer.

“Yeah. Just thinking about something I was talking to a friend about,” Liz told her. “Did Massey get through the reports for Monday?”

Savannah laughed. “Hardly. I don’t even want to look at the in-box.”

“Great,” Liz said, as she began working.

People filtered in and out of the office throughout the remainder of the afternoon, but Savannah was a constant presence, sneaking downstairs to get coffee and commiserating about the amount of work left over. Someone turned the television on at some point, but Liz didn’t even bother to pay attention to it. She dissected news venues daily in her classes.

But Brady Maxwell’s voice snapped her straight to attention. God, how long had it been since she had heard his voice? It had been blissfully quiet up until his induction into Congress at the end of January, and she had managed to avoid him entirely by keeping her TV turned off.

Her eyes followed his chiseled features, those dark brown eyes, the curve of his smile, and the assurance in his black suit, crisp button-down, and blue tie. He was without a doubt the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on, and she couldn’t stop staring. She swam in a mist of emotion that clouded her brain, keeping her rooted to the present, but still trapped in his penetrating stare . . . as if he could see her right now.