Sighing, Kassy sat down at her editor’s desk. Unfortunately for her, she was on the wrong side of it. The “bad” side. This would mean one of two things. One, he was going to reprimand her; two, she was getting another assignment. She hoped to god it was the latter.

“Carissa Enland.” Swallowing hard, she barely breathed as her editor swiveled in his black leather chair to face her.

“Yes, Mr. Clement?” Kassy said, surprising herself when she found that she still had a voice.

“I’d offer you to sire, but I see you’ve already taken the liberty.” George Clement was an interesting man. He was young, in his late 30’s, maybe, and very good-looking with his dark brown hair and hazel eyes. But he was demeaning. The way words came out of his mouth made others seem beneath him.

Kassy stuttered, her blue eyes fighting to stay their normal size rather than go as wide as saucers that would represent her fear.

“Do you know why your hear?” Mr. Clement asked before she could say anything understandable intelligible. She quickly snapped her mouth shut and shook her head silently. “Lets cut right to the chase. You’re here on assignment. So far, your articles for Rolling Stone have been outstanding, but we’re looking for spectacular.” He got up out of his chair and sat on the corner of his desk closest to Kassy, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. We have to downsize. I have to ‘test’ every single one of my writers and find out which ones I have to let go. If you fail at this next assignment, you’re gone. I don’t want to do that, but I will if I have to. It’s my job.” Kassy took a deep breath.

“What’s the assignment?” she asked. She was usually given interviews, mainly with people like Kid Rock, Fred Durst, or Marshal Mathers.

“There’s an upcoming concert at the Electric Factory,” the editor said. “It’s a private Backstreet Boys concert, seating no more than 1,000 lucky little girls. I want an article about it and I want details.” Kassy had to refrain herself from raising an eyebrow. The Backstreet Boys? She’d heard of them and maybe seen a few articles, but other than that, she didn’t know anything about them: what they looked like, how old they are, nothing. “Ms. Enland.” Kassy snapped out of her stupor to see Mr. Clement’s hazel eyes boring into her head. “Do you think you can handle it?”

“Yes.” She was so nervous she could barely hear herself speak. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes. When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”