Derek slapped his palms down on the desk and leaned forward, his smile taking on an edge. “I will be reading all of your articles over the next four weeks, and whoever has stirred the most public interest at the end of that time will be given the promotion.”

“Thank you for the opportunity,” Aria said, pressing her palms together nervously. “I’m sure we’ll both do our best.”

This was it. Her chance for redemption.

Johnny nodded to her. “May the best man win.”

“We need to meet. Now.”

Aria recognized the voice on the other end of the phone immediately. “Hello to you too, Eliza. What can I do for you?”

She’d called Eliza Brown and a few other contacts earlier, looking for a good story to start earning her promotion. Eliza had murmured something typically vague and hung up. One of two real estate agents based in Aria’s hometown, Itirangi, Eliza was grey-haired and stern, reminiscent of a school headmistress—it certainly wasn’t her bubbly personality or welcoming smile that sold houses. Eliza was efficient. Frighteningly so.

“I need to talk to you. I have some news you might be interested in.”

Regardless of how desperate Aria was for a juicy story, she had a four o’clock deadline and two articles to finish. “Now doesn’t suit. How about first thing tomorrow morning?”

“Now, Miss Simons.” The words were sharp. In another life, Eliza Brown would have made an excellent drill sergeant. “It will be worth your while. Meet me at the bakehouse.”

Aria glanced at her watch. Just past one o’clock. She could finish her stories at home and email them in. If Eliza’s story could help her win a promotion, she’d be a fool to ignore her. “I’ll see you soon.”

New Zealand-famous for its award-winning pies and magnificent backdrop, Itirangi’s bakehouse was built on a terrace above Lake Itirangi and looked out over an enormous body of azure water that stretched into the distance, ending at the foot of the Southern Alps. Suspended glacial sediments produced the rich blue of the lake. ‘Itirangi’ translated to ‘Little Sky’ in Maori, and the reason for the name was obvious to anyone who visited on a fine day. For then, they would see a perfect reflection of the heavens upon the water.

Eliza was yet to arrive, but Aria’s friend Emily Parker, the local florist, was sitting at a table by the window. Redheaded and lovely, Emily was Itirangi’s businesswoman of the year. Aria took a seat next to her and checked the time. A full three minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked.

She turned to her friend. “Hey, Em.”

“Hey there.” Emily greeted her, looked up from the newspaper and grinned. “I’m just reading the article you wrote yesterday about the increase in local housing prices. Interesting stuff.”