CeeCee studies me for a long beat, her wheels visibly turning. “You really think you could interview Isabel, without breaking down and asking her about Reed?”
“I know I could. I swear to you, I wouldn’t ask her about that.”
CeeCee narrows her eyes. “All right. Go for it, Georgina.”
“Woohoo!”
“Fair warning, though. I might scrap the interview, if it’s not interesting enough. But feel free to give it the ol’ college try. With those superhero movies all over the news, it’s actually a coup for us to get this interview.”
“Do I have permission to poke around, gently, about Howard, if I see an organic opening?”
“Yes. But do it subtly, Georgina. I know you’re brilliant at that. Don’t let her know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am. Her publicist already texted me some dates. Isabel’s not available until much later in the summer, unfortunately. So, in the meantime, how about I snoop around and see if I can make any progress with some of those young actresses you’ve heard rumors about?”
“No,” CeeCee says firmly, wagging her finger at me. She shoots me a little Tsk. “I appreciate your enthusiasm. It’s exactly what attracted me to you in the first place. But the Howard exposé is too hot for a newbie to handle on her own. Get yourself some experience and we’ll revisit the idea another time. Maybe you’ll get something from Isabel that might prove helpful and we’ll circle back.”
I sigh with resignation, and CeeCee chuckles at my dejected reaction.
“Darling, you’ve got plenty to do, without running around trying to talk to actresses about their experiences with Howard Devlin. You’ve got artists to interview for the special issue. Plus, a mind-blowing article to write about Reed for Dig a Little Deeper. And who knows? Maybe you’ll wind up bringing me something fantastic about Isabel Randolph, too.”
Chapter 11
Reed
Wednesday 3:17 pm
I’m sitting at my desk at River Records, listening to some demos forwarded to me by my team. But my heart isn’t in it. Because... Georgina. Right this very minute, she could be meeting with CeeCee. And talking about me.
I’ve got no doubt CeeCee’s recollection of our initial conversation about the special issue and the grant will match everything I told Georgina in my texts. The truth is the truth. But, still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little stressed about their conversation. Is Georgie telling CeeCee that she caught me coming out of my garage with Isabel? And if so, is Georgina erroneously saying I fucked Isabel? God, I want to crawl into a hole to think CeeCee is hearing either version of the story. But I’d be especially ashamed for CeeCee to think I fucked Isabel after having the best week of my life with Georgie.
An email notification from Leonard with the notation “URGENT” on the subject line flashes across my screen, so I quickly click out of the marketing plan I’ve been reviewing and into Leonard’s email. It’s about the copyright infringement lawsuit against Red Card Riot. We filed a motion for summary judgment on Monday, and it seems the plaintiff’s attorney has now offered to dismiss the case, even before the motion gets ruled on by the judge. His only request? We have to agree not to pursue reimbursement of our attorneys’ fees from his clients, which is something we’d be entitled to do under the applicable copyright infringement statute, if we were to win the motion.
I type out a quick reply, telling Leonard to take the deal, just to put the thing behind us. “But tell that motherfucker he’d better dismiss his lawsuit within twenty-four hours, or I’m riding that summary judgment motion all the way up his ass until it’s coming out his mouth.”
I’ve no sooner pressed “send” on my email to Leonard, when my phone rings with an incoming call—and the minute I see Georgina’s name on my screen, my heart leaps and bounds, even as my palms begin to sweat with anxiety.
“Hey, baby,” I say, trying to make my voice sound casual, even though I’m freaking out. “Did you talk to CeeCee yet?”
“Yes. At length. And, please, don’t call me baby.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said she loved every idea Zasu and I pitched for the special issue.”
“What’d she say about the grant?”
Georgina pauses. “Yeah... about that. That part of our meeting was... disappointing, Reed. To say the least.”
My stomach clenches. Fuck. “How so?”
There’s another long pause, during which I feel like my stomach is turning inside out.
“Ha! I’m just screwing with you, dude. CeeCee said ‘ditto’ to everything you said in your texts.”
I groan loudly with relief. “Oh my God, you evil woman. Are you trying to make me stroke out? So, CeeCee backed up everything I told you?”
“All of it. Although she did make a few clarifying comments.”
My stomach somersaults. “What clarifying comments?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I not only forgive you for paying my salary and for all my father’s expensive medication, I thank you profusely for doing both. Thank you, Mr. Rivers. Sincerely. You’re an incredibly generous man, and I’m grateful.”
My eyes widen in shock. I look around like a cartoon character for a moment, even though nobody is here with me in my office to see the gesture.
“Hello?” she says.
“Yeah... I was waiting for you to say you’re kidding again.”
“I’m not kidding. Thank you.”
“Wow. That’s way more than I was expecting. Thank you.”
“No, no, no. Thank you.” She laughs again. “Look, I know you donated to that cancer charity because you wanted to get laid. But guess what? I wanted to get laid, too. I understand how a person can have concurrent motivations, as we’ve discussed. The bottom line is CeeCee would have hired me, no matter what. And that’s the most important thing.”
I feel dizzy with relief. “Let’s celebrate my complete vindication. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.”
“I can’t. Sorry. I’m flying to Seattle tomorrow, so I can interview 22 Goats on Friday.”
Sorry, she said. Was that a figure of speech, or is she really sorry to miss the chance to have dinner with me? “When will you be back from Seattle? We’ll do it then.” I’ve managed to keep my tone casual, I think. But, inside, my body is a riot of excitement and hopeful anticipation.
“I’ll be back from Seattle on Saturday,” she replies, her tone as breezy and casual as mine.
“Great. I’ll take you to dinner on Saturday night, and then to New York on Sunday morning.”
“Excuse me?”
My heart is racing. But there’s no turning back now. I’m taking my shot. “I promised to take you to an RCR concert this summer, remember? Well, RCR is playing at Madison Square Garden on Sunday night. Your birthday is at the end of this coming week, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, we’ll call the trip a birthday present. I’ll get tickets to some Broadway shows, too. How about Hamilton? You should see that one, if you haven’t.” I hold my breath, awaiting Georgie’s reply. For the first time since I dropped an atomic bomb onto my own happiness, I feel hopeful. I feel optimistic.