Something Tangible

The Hot Seat

"That was quite impressive. Thank you for the lesson in geopolitical affairs," Steven said in an effort to divert her attention back to him. Katarina wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or sincere.

"No problem. I doubt I told you anything you didn't already know," she replied, feeling inexplicably flustered. She averted her eyes from his intense stare and tried to pretend the blackness on the other side of the window was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. It was easier to be confident when he was being a rude Adonis, rather than an inquisitive one.

"Actually I'm not as knowledgeable about world affairs as you clearly are, so it was very enlightening. It's a seven-hour flight so I'm tempted to take advantage of your company to get caught up on everything else happening in the world," he said earnestly.

Is he flirting with me? Katarina shoved her schoolgirl fantasies out of her head and relied on her grown-woman avoidance techniques. "Oh lordy don't get me started. You definitely wouldn't want to hear a seven-hour lecture from me!" He did, in fact.

"OK, maybe not the entire world then. How about just one region? What's the key to peace in the Middle East?" That should keep her going for seven hours.

"If I knew that then I'd be flying first class because I'd be a wealthy woman," she smirked, trying to give him another out by turning toward the window. He was about to physically spin her head around if she didn't tear herself away from that damn window.

"How did you get into journalism?"

He must really be bored. Screw it, Katarina thought, the can of worms had already been opened and truth be told she enjoyed hearing herself talk about herself. If he likes it too, then that's his problem.

"I really was horrible with numbers, so that ruled out anything related to math or finance. Writing always came naturally to me, so it wasn't rocket science. I fell into journalism in college. I was never aggressive or curious enough to become a reporter, but I loved foreign policy, was detail-oriented and knew how to make bad writing better, so I became an editor," she explained, suddenly shy by how much she was divulging.

"So why do you do what you do?" she asked, trying to shift the focus back onto him.

He'd never heard it phrased that way — almost childlike in its innocence.

"I was always good with math and figures, so I suppose it wasn't much of a leap for me either. I'm not risk-averse, so I prefer the aggressive approach of hedge fund management. I also enjoyed being a venture capitalist, watching fledgling businesses take shape. I had a natural instinct to pick out the winners and losers, which translated to the assets I currently manage."

"So do you do it more to watch other ideas grow or to turn a profit?" Once again, her directness both unsettled and intrigued him. "To make money if I'm being completely honest," he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Nothing wrong with that," she reassured him. "Usually the people who have a problem with other people making money are the ones who don't make it."

"An astute observation."

"Broke people tend to have a lot of epiphanies," she deadpanned.

"But you must love what you're doing. You sound very passionate about it."

"I was," she said, pausing. Now it was her turn to squirm in her seat. "I ran a small newspaper that specialized in foreign affairs. But with the industry being what it is — out of date and out of money — we had to close our doors. So I'm starting from scratch. I've been trying to do a blog since all the news is online anyway, but it's slow going. Everyone and their mother is a writer nowadays," she scoffed bitterly.