Being a journalist isn’t for the weak. You knew that. You absolutely knew that. But you still said “screw it,” signed the papers, and dove headfirst into the mess because you loved writing more than you loved peace or sanity.

And then fate — with its weird sense of humor — decided to dump you under Paul freaking Avery at the San Francisco Chronicle. Crime Editorial. The deep end. No floaties.

Paul Avery was… a lot. Bossy, cocky, loud when he shouldn’t be, quiet when you actually needed something, allergic to patience while constantly testing yours like it was his favorite hobby. The guy ran off pure ego and cigarettes, swore he wasn’t self-obsessed, but everyone knew. Everyone. And yet somehow, he still kept this cloak of mystery around himself. He hated talking about his personal life — anything that could make him look soft or human was basically classified information.

You two argued constantly. Or “debated,” if someone in management was listening. Half the newsroom thought you hated each other; the other half was convinced you were one bad night away from hooking up in the supply closet. Who knows. Whatever it was, it worked, because he kept you around. Hell, he relied on you. The man had no shame calling you at 1:43 AM demanding edits, rewrites, or an entirely new article because he suddenly didn’t “like the vibe.” And for some reason, you kept showing up.

Today was no different.

You walked into the office and there he was, already waiting at his desk like you were late even though you weren’t. He was tapping a pencil against a stack of papers like the sound alone could summon you faster. His glasses sat crooked on his face, like he’d slept in them again, but somehow his damn hair was still perfect — like he had a hairstylist living under his desk or something.

He didn’t look up at first, just said your name in that “about time” tone he’d perfected. But the corner of his mouth twitched, just barely — the closest thing to a smile Avery ever gave before 10 AM.

Another day with Paul Avery. Another day in the circus.