One, I don’t publish articles on my website, since I don’t have one. Two, it’s not a book.
Still, I did the work, so I take the money and thank him. “What are you going to do, sir?”
He shrugs happily. “I’m retiring. Sometimes you just have to get out of the business.”
I leave in a daze, my feet heavy, my heart leaden once more. I feel useless again. Used.
And confused.
Stepping into the elevator, it’s as if everything I knew about my business has been turned inside out. Bob Galloway was the exemplar of journalism. He was the man I admired. But even he couldn’t keep his ship afloat during trying times.
The elevator chugs downward as my insides churn. I didn’t expect to leave today with my original fee and a pending byline. I always knew I’d be leaving empty-handed.
But the part I’m struggling with is that I was fighting for a chance that was never going to materialize. The job here was smoke and mirrors. My actions were meaningless. I didn’t even need to confess my sins, since they had no bearing on the story after all.
When I reach the lobby, I take a deep breath and try to make sense of what to do next.
This is a twist I didn’t see coming, and even though I’m two hundred dollars richer, I’m walking out the door with more questions.
Where should I go next? What should I do? What sort of work should I pursue?
I’m tempted to head to the nearest coffee shop and fire off clip after clip to other editors. But before I do that, I reflect on last night.
On Flynn’s words outside Gramercy Park.
Let me be there for you.
Out on the street, I stare up at the looming skyscraper, the plucky heroine with the new job opportunity no more.
But as I furrow my brow, the wheels start turning. The dots connect. And I can see a way through.
I can see a whole new path.
Maybe the story was never pointless. Maybe the story was always meant to be my way to Flynn.
It’s a strange way for me to look at things. I’ve always been a practical woman. I’ve always been work-focused, seen things in the context of responsibility.
And yet, even if it was all for nothing, I believe what I went through was all for everything.
I believe it with my whole heart.
This job was never my future.
Because my future includes Flynn.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s something else that I can do. I don’t have to figure it out alone.
Yes, I have Courtney. Yes, I have Kevin, but now I have someone who is supposed to be by my side as I navigate what’s next. I do something that feels crazy, but completely right.
I call my boyfriend to see if he has a few minutes to chat.
33
Flynn
I shoot her a skeptical stare. “Sabrina told you to come here?”
“My daughter sure did,” her mom says, striding up to me and tapping her long red fingernails against my chest. “She said you could help me out.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Did she now?”
Her mom shimmies her shoulders back and forth. “Yes, she did. She said you were so generous, and she knew you’d be willing to help the mom of the girl you love.”
“Is that so?” I arch a brow.
Her mother smiles—a big fat grin. “She did.”
“And what is it that you need, Ms.—” I stop, since I don’t know if they have the same last name or not.
“Ms. Maureen Lancaster.”
“Nice to meet you.”
A voice cuts in. “Everything okay, Mr. Parker?”
I nod to Claude. “I’m all good.” I turn back to Sabrina’s mom. “You’re saying Sabrina told you to come see me today?”
“She sure did. I saw you two kissing like lovebirds on the street, since I was coming to town to visit her. And after my sweet girl and I caught up once you left, she said you’d be so willing to help me out. That all I’d need to do was come see you and give you the details.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. This is a brand-new pitch for me. A proposal I never could have expected. “She did?”
Maureen nods, chewing gum and smiling as if it’s the last thing she plans to do today. “She told me where you worked, and how generous you are, and how you always like to help her family.”
“I do love to help her,” I say, studying Maureen’s face, trying to see any signs of love for her daughter, for her son.
“And since you’re some kind of billionaire, she said it would be easy-peasy for you to give me ten thousand dollars for a new business I’m trying to start. Since that’s what you do, right? You start businesses?”
“Is that what Sabrina told you?”
“Of course, and I read all about you on the internet.”
“Then you’d know I’m not a billionaire.”
She laughs lightly. “Billionaire, multimillionaire. What’s the difference?”
“A comma. A very important comma.”
She parks a hand on her hip and juts it out to her side in what is likely supposed to be a sexy stance. “What do you say to helping the woman who gave life to your new lady?”
A hundred thoughts run through my head. Someday, I’m going to write them down and pen a book—All the Wild Pitches.
And this pitch would take the top spot. Win the gold medal. The Academy Award.
It would win it since there was once a time when I might have believed this woman. A few months ago, maybe even a few weeks ago. Not because she’s believable, but because I trusted no one. I’d been burned by women. My old habits would have died hard in this lobby, and I’d have suspected Sabrina was up to no good.
But I’m not that guy anymore.
I know who to trust. I know who to believe.
“Ms. Lancaster, you want to know what I say to your offer?”
“I sure do,” she says, giving a coy little twirl of her hair.
I straighten my shoulders. Draw a deep breath. Speak the truth. “I would say that you have an amazing daughter and an incredible son. Maybe you ought to focus a little bit more on them.” I take a beat, hoping to give weight to my last words. “Because she’s amazing in spite of you, not because of you. Have a great day.”
I walk away, letting Claude know he can see her out. That’ll make him happy, since he’ll be doing his job.
I need to do mine too. The job of being a great boyfriend.
Once I’m upstairs in the office, I make phone calls. I pull strings. I call in favors.
“Can we get that done by the end of the day?”
The woman on the other end hems and haws. “That’s going to be hard.”
“I’d really appreciate whatever you can do to rush this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I don’t want to wait to give this to Sabrina. I want to give it to her tonight.
When I hang up, my phone rings, her name flashing on the screen. I answer immediately, and she asks if I have time to meet her.
“Absolutely.”
34
Sabrina
I can’t help but grin when I see Flynn at the coffee shop by his office.
Here he is looking business handsome in dark jeans and a simple white-and-green-striped button-down that doesn’t look like it costs a million bucks. It looks like it costs maybe sixty or seventy dollars and I kind of love that he doesn’t have to flaunt anything except his big brain. I do like that part of him.
We order tea and coffee and grab seats at a small table.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks.
“I was thinking about your big brain.”
“I was hoping you were thinking about my big dick.”
“Trust me, I’m thinking a lot about that too, but right now I’m thinking about something else.”
His voice is kind when he says, “Is it your mom? She stopped by this morning.”
A bolt of tension slams into me. This is my nightmare—my gold-digging mom fishi
ng for Flynn. “What? She stopped by to see you?”
Please say no, please say no.
He reaches across the table for my hand. “She asked for money.”
I gasp, covering my mouth with my free hand. A fresh, hot wave of embarrassment crashes over me, threatening to pull me under. Mortification has a new definition—me. Flynn detests being used. I can’t bear that he might have thought I played a part in her appearance. “I’m so sorry. She showed up this morning out of the blue. I had no idea she was going to do this. I didn’t tell her to find you.”
“I know.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, Angel. I told her no. In fact, even when she tried to pretend you’d sent her over, I knew she was lying. I didn’t fall for it.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shake my head. “This is a new low for her.”
“Want to know what I told her?”
“What did you say?” I ask cautiously, as I take a sip of my tea.
“I told her that you’re amazing in spite of her, not because of her.”
My eyes leak. Twin tears stream down my cheeks, and I don’t even bother to stop them. I set down my tea, reach across the table, cup his cheeks, and kiss him hard.
Passionately.
Till my tears stop.
When I let go, his lips look bruised and swollen, and his expression is dazed. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
Courtney was so right. Flynn is a once-in-a-blue-moon man. That’s one of the many reasons why I tell him my new plan. There’s something incredibly freeing about having a partner to share ideas with.
“I think it’s brilliant. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”
That’s a brand-new position for me to be in, but I like it. I like this feeling a whole hell of a lot as I head downtown.
35
Sabrina
I’m early for my meeting with Kermit. I read till he arrives.
He’s on time, showing up at three on the dot, and I close my e-book.
The spitting image of Seth Rogen down to the glasses, the unruly beard, and the curly hair, he sits across from me at a coffee shop. “It’s about fucking time,” he barks.
Be cool. Be professional.
“Hello, Kermit. You wanted to meet with me, and I’m here. But the first thing you need to know is I’m involved with Flynn Parker. It’s that simple, and my story isn’t going to run in Up Next.”
“Obviously, since they went under yesterday.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, they did. That means if you were going to try to hold the piece over my head because of something you know about Flynn and me, that’s not possible.”
He laughs derisively. “You think I have time for that shit?”
His response surprises me, but I stay the course. “I don’t know what you have time for,” I say, keeping it cool.
“I couldn’t care less who you screw.”
I blink. “Okay. Good. That’s how it should be,” I say, as evenly as I can.
He cracks up, scrubbing his hand over his beard. “Is that why you thought I wanted to see you? You can be blowing Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates at the same damn time for all I care. I don’t give a damn about your personal life.”
He really is a dick, but I weirdly admire it. He makes no bones about it. But even though he’s gruff, I like his standards—I’m thrilled that my personal life holds zero interest to him.
“Good,” I say with a professional smile. “I wanted to get that out of the way because I have a pitch for you.”
He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Go on.”
“I believe you were interested in covering Flynn Parker.”
“That’s fair to say.”
“I happen to have a fabulous story on him that’s well-researched, well-written, and, as you would say, absolutely fucking awesome.”
His brown eyes spark with laughter as I swear. I’m talking his language now. “Is it fucking awesome, Sabrina? Because I think I should be the judge of that.”
“Of course you should judge it. I have it with me if you’d like to read it and consider it for your media empire.”
He makes grabby hands, and I take the printed copy from my purse, handing it to him.
Ten minutes later, he raises both hands in the air. “Sold.”
“You didn’t even finish it.”
“I don’t need to finish it today to know I want to buy it. That’s why I’ve been emailing you. Not everyone has the guts to come up to me at a party and say they want to work for me. In fact, most journalists don’t. That’s why I gave you a hard time that night. One, because I enjoy giving people a hard time, and two, because I wanted to see if you had thick skin. Seems you do, and after the party, I looked up your work. You’re good,” he says, and he admits it begrudgingly. I suspect it’s hard for him to give compliments.
“Thank you.”
He heaves a sigh. “Look, I know I’m an asshole. But I’m good at what I do, and I know talent when I see it, hear it, and read it. You’re ballsy. I’ve been reading your stuff. That’s why I reached out to you.”
“And you’re fine, then, with running my piece on Flynn, as long as we disclose I’m involved with him?” I ask once more, doing my job to fact-check his offer on my pitch.
He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah. Fine. Disclosure. Good. But I want more than a piece on Flynn Parker. I want you working for me.”
Must get hearing checked. “Excuse me?”
“News flash. I wasn’t emailing you for any other reason. I’m not holding on to old-school notions of journalism. People meet these days in a million ways, including reporters who bang CEOs at parties. I hope you get good stories on Flynn, but the world is much bigger than Flynn Parker.” He stabs the paper with his finger. “I want to run this piece on the site, I want you to turn it into a long-form podcast interview, and I want a ‘top ten takeaways’ piece in video form.”
My lips twitch into a grin. “You do?”
“Yes. And then I want you to do that every other week on someone else.”
“You want me to do that regularly?”
“Yes. Insurance. Bennies. The whole nine yards. I want you to interview business leaders. I want them raw and unfiltered. I want to run them in their entirety. And then I want you to produce video reports on them too. I want you to work for me because these dinosaur newspapers and magazines are done. They’re toast.”
“And what about you? Are you un-toast?”
“I have money. I have advertisers and, most important, I have an audience.”
An audience. I nearly salivate.
“And you,” he adds, pointing to me. “You’re a determined Padawan. Will you work for me? I have another meeting in a half hour, and it would be awesome if you’d say yes right about now.” He taps his watch.
“What’s the pay?”
He answers, giving a highly reasonable rate.
I don’t know that I like him.
But I don’t really think it matters. I like that he’s so straightforward. I know where I stand with Kermit the Douche. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I hold out my hand.
He shakes.
“I accept.”
36
Sabrina
Flynn opens the door for me. I steel myself, prepared to be dazzled.
When I step into his apartment, my eyes turn into planets. “It’s a palace.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not. Stop it.”
Gawking at his home, I correct him. “It is. This is the entire floor. Your home is the entire top floor of the building.”
It’s stunning. The living room is the size of a museum gallery, a wide-open space with beautiful wood floors, a navy-blue sectional couch with tons of pillows, and framed photos of cities around the world hanging on the walls.
Floor-to-ceiling windows gaze upon Gramercy Park. I spin around to see his sprawling kitchen. It would be the envy of any chef, with stainless-stee
l pots hanging from hooks above the counters and a white sink so big I could practically bathe in it. “This is insane.”
“It’s just home.”
For the first time, I’m keenly aware of the differences between us—I live in my cousin’s shoebox on the first floor. He lives in his own castle overlooking the city. Everything I have—memo: nothing—is paltry compared to his digs. But I’m not jealous. I’m simply impressed and amazed at its beauty.
He grabs my wrist and pulls me close. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”
“What? Uncomfortable? No. It’s beautiful and stunning, and I’ve never seen anything like it. Why would it make me uncomfortable?”
He shrugs. “I just picked up on a vibe from you. I want you to like being here.”
I run my fingers up the buttons on his shirt. “Flynn, you’re here. That’s why I’m here. You can show me the rest of the place or you can just kiss me, and I’ll be happy either way.”
He hauls me in close and kisses the breath out of me. I am happy. I’m happy either way with him. Especially because he’s made me dinner, a veggie pasta dish that looks delicious.
I set the white wine I brought on the table, and he brings over the plates. We sit, and he asks how everything went with Kermit as he opens the bottle.
I give him the overview, ending with, “And he’s running the piece.”
“So it wasn’t all for naught?”
“It was definitely not for naught. It was all for naughty if you think about it, since it led me to you,” I say with a wink.
Laughing, he points the opened bottle at me. “Nice wordplay.”
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