“That’s fine. That’s awesome! Thank you.” I’m practically panting down the phone as visions of my byline float through my head.
“I’ll send you the details; have our online editor get in touch to talk about word count and technical specs. We’ll see how the first column goes and take it from there. Get this man to talk about why he wants a makeover, his background and history. Oh, and make sure to get his measurements, too, so we can do a before and after graph. Can you get me the text by Thursday?”
I gulp. It’s Tuesday now, and Jeremy won’t be in again until next week. Still, I’ve got his phone number on the client sheet. I’ll get him on-board somehow. I’ve got to. “Yes, that’s fine. No problem.”
“Great. Oh, and I think it’s best if you don’t tell him you’ll be writing about him,” Leza says. ‘To let him fully engage with you.”
“Um, what do you mean, don’t tell him?” I ask tentatively. How can I interview someone without them knowing?
Leza makes an impatient noise. “You know, go undercover. Just say – well, I don’t care what you say; that’s your problem. Look, for this column to work, you need him to let down his guard and give you intimate access.”
My cheeks flush at ‘intimate access’ and I nod before realising she can’t see me.
“And sometimes, if people find out you’re writing about them, they get greedy and ask for cash. We don’t have cash. You’ll need to write under a different name, of course. Keep the clinic confidential, too. The last thing we want is another lawsuit.” She hangs up before I can say anything more.
Oh my God. Oh my God! I’m going to be a reporter for The Daily Planet. I’ll have my own column! Okay, it’s not print. It’s not paid. And since I’ll be undercover, I won’t have a byline in my own name. But I could eventually.
A thrill of excitement and nerves hits me as I think about going undercover, and an image of me in a cute fedora and trench coat goes through my mind. Serenity Holland, working incognito, to get the inside scoop on surgery . . . and stuff. Awesome.
Thank God I won’t need to get Jeremy – or Peter – to agree to this. I’m sure they both would have, of course, but I’ll keep everything anonymous. If I’m careful, there’s no way anyone will be able to identify Peter, Jeremy or the clinic. And ‘careful’ will be my new middle name. Anything’s better than Joy.
Determination floods through me, and I grip onto the desk to steady myself. This is it – the beginning of my dream.
Bring on Build a Man.
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Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts (Christmas Novella) Page 9
