SCOOP OF THE DECADE
Josh Ulysses's office was a testament to his decades-long career in journalism. The walls, painted a warm, honey-brown color, were lined with framed front pages of major newspapers, showcasing some of the biggest stories of the past few decades. There were also numerous awards and plaques, commemorating Ulysses's own contributions to the field. The furniture was sturdy and traditional, with a large, wooden desk dominating the center of the room. Ulysses's leather chair, worn and creased from years of use, seemed to mold itself to his body as he sat. The air was thick with the scent of old books and pipe tobacco, a reminder of Ulysses's fondness for traditional habits. On the shelves behind Ulysses's desk, rows of dog-eared books and dusty reference volumes seemed to stretch on forever. There were also a few personal touches, including a faded photograph of Ulysses's family and a vintage typewriter, a relic from his early days as a reporter. Despite the clutter and the old-fashioned decor, there was an unmistakable sense of authority and experience that permeated Ulysses's office. This was a man who had spent his life in the trenches of journalism, and who had earned the right to sit back and survey his domain.
Josh Ulysses tapped his foot impatiently on the floor, his eyes narrowing at the lackadaisical reporter standing before him. Bentley Jackson, the so-called "ace" reporter of the "Celebrity Scoop" segment, seemed utterly unbothered by the fact that he had yet to deliver any meaningful news on the biggest story of the year: Charlee Tyre's miraculous resurrection and subsequent rise to superstardom. Ulysses's mind seethed with frustration. He had handpicked Jackson from Los Blancos University, expecting the young reporter to bring a fresh perspective and a hunger for success. Instead, Jackson seemed more interested in indulging in donuts than in getting the scoop.
"What have you got, Jackson?" Ulysses growled, his tone harsh and unyielding.
Jackson's response was a lazy drawl, accompanied by a careless bite of his donut. "Sorry, boss. Nothing yet."
Ulysses's eyes flashed with annoyance. He couldn't fire Jackson, not when he was the best he had on the "Celebrity Scoop" team. But he could certainly make life difficult for the young reporter.
Josh Ulysses's face was a picture of rage, his bright red hair matching the deep crimson hue of his face. He choked on his own saliva, swallowing hard as he struggled to contain his fury.
With a curt motion, he summoned his assistant, who scurried over to hand him his drinking bottle. Ben Jackson watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, a grin spreading across his face as Ulysses spluttered and choked.
The outburst was sudden and intense, with Ulysses's voice rising to a deafening yell. "You Fucker!" he bellowed, his words echoing off the walls. "What the hell's keeping you from getting my story, eh?"
The assistant, clearly intimidated by Ulysses's fiery temper, turned tail and ran, abandoning her post as she fled from the "flaming dragon" that was her boss. Ben's grin only grew wider as he watched the drama unfold, seemingly entertained by Ulysses's antics. Josh Ulysses's face turned a deeper shade of crimson as he struggled to contain his rage. He spluttered and choked, his eyes bulging with indignation. The girl who had rushed to his side with his drinking bottle scurried away, clearly intimidated by the fiery outburst.
Ben, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. He watched with an amused grin as Ulysses's face turned redder than ever, his anger reaching a boiling point.
"Chill, old man," Ben said, goading Ulysses further.
Ulysses's eyes flashed with fury, and he took a step closer to Ben, his fists clenched. But before he could unleash another tirade, Ben dropped a bombshell.
"I tried to get an inside scoop, but Charlee ain't talking to anyone," Ben said, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Not since her resurrection, anyway. But I did manage to get some dirt from the mortician at St. Francis in New York. She told me that Charlee faked her own death to get more publicity. It was just a stunt, and I've got the pictures to prove it."
Ben's words hung in the air like a challenge. Ulysses's eyes snapped shut, and he took a deep breath, slowly counting to ten as he struggled to calm himself down. Each breath was labored, and his chest rose and fell with effort. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes and turned to face Ben.
"Fine, Jackson," Ulysses said, his voice still tight with anger, but controlled. "I'll run with the story about Charlee faking her own death. You're off the hook for now."
Ben's eyes lit up with relief, but Ulysses wasn't finished yet.
"But let me make one thing clear, Jackson," Ulysses continued, his voice dripping with menace. "You're not off the hook for good. I expect you to get me something else, something big, if you want to keep your job. Else, you're out."
Ben nodded hastily, a mock salute springing to his lips. "Yes, boss," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity.
As Ben turned to leave, he let out a silent sigh of relief. He had bought himself some time, but he knew it was only temporary. He would have to come up with something big, and fast, if he wanted to keep his job.