Re: Newspaper office: Cat/Jack
[Back home, wealth hadn't been wealth if it wasn't moldering quietly into rot, breding demonstrated in threadbare Persian rugs and ancient cashmere. Dust was par for the bloody course. Cat hadn't had a silver spoon jammed in her mouth and the place didn't reek.]
And pass up the chance to milk the poor sods for cash and circulation figures? You overestimate my ego and underestimate my bottom line. And if they could scrape three words together that were grammatically correct let alone worth a bloody read, I'd put up my own literary gravestone. [Catty, was Cat. But she looked less and less like somebody had stepped on her tail and taking pleasure in stamping on his.]
You think it's a waste of time? Says the woman who reads the romantics for pleasure. [He dug out the whiskey without comment from the back of a cupboard that looked more well-used than the rest of them. One glass, and a tea-mug that looked like it could have used a clean.]
I've got opinions but if I'm running them in public I want details. Substantiation. She writes piffle for all to see, but that doesn't make her dangerous. If she's dangerous [Pouring a liberal measure into the glass and a splash into the mug before dropping in a teabag and flicking on a kettle buried under a pile of paper]
Then that takes credibility. And I edit adverts for a living. [Point-blank challenge back.] My credibility's in the red.