Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
As I thought all of this, Hale watched me.
He then said, “If you’re that bent out of shape about it, I’ll relocate you at my expense while the work is being done.”
If I was that bent out of shape?
“Thank you so much for that offer, which I will accept, considering it’s the least you can do when you’re shutting me out of space you’re contractually obligated to allow me to use for the purposes I’m using it,” I returned. “But allow me to register my complaint at terminology such as ‘bent out of shape’ about you feeling you can allow or disallow me to work at all.”
Hale ignored that and declared, “And we’re filming our interview on Saturday. Forward the questions you intend to ask me tomorrow so I can have a look at them.”
On the one hand, I wanted to jump at this. It was the perfect excuse to get out of dinner with my family. Even Mom wouldn’t turn her nose up at me missing dinner because I was interviewing Hale Wheeler at his father’s penthouse apartment.
On the other hand, as big as this interview was going to be—and it was going to be huge, he might have his office make statements to the press, but he’d never sat down to an interview like the one I intended to capture—after this friendly tête-à-tête, I didn’t want to be in his presence again for oh…I didn’t know. Twenty years, at least.
“I’m booked on Saturday,” I lied.
He studied me.
I held his stare and fought the need to cross my arms on my chest protectively.
Then he said, “We either do this shit on Saturday, or it doesn’t happen at all. We made a deal. I don’t renege on deals. You’ve ignored my communications or sidestepped making plans for an entire fucking year. If you can’t do Saturday, I’ll accept that as you reneging on our deal.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I couldn’t lose this interview.
An interview like this could add another zero to the negotiations I was currently in.
Seriously.
I should have done it months ago.
A year ago.
Dammit!
“Fine,” I bit off.
“Excellent,” he drawled.
“But the deal was, no pre-approved questions. Just pre-approval before broadcast,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t say I was going to approve them, I said I wanted to have a look at them.” He tilted his head toward the studio. “I take it it’s just going to be you and that guy out there?”
I hated it that he’d witnessed the wizard behind her curtain.
But he had. No sense dwelling on it.
I nodded. “Chuck will do the filming and set up the lighting. I also have an assistant who might be there. Her name is Zoey. Do you need me to arrange for hair and makeup for you?”
He stared at me like I was insane.
“Please tell me you’ve heard about the Kennedy-Nixon debate,” I said.
“I’m not running for office,” he replied. “I don’t want to do this at all. But we made a deal. And you kept up your end of it. So we’re doing this. And then you and me are done.”
Why his last words felt like a tiny, poison-tipped arrow penetrating my heart, I didn’t know (yes, I did, he was just that pretty…and he wanted to save the world, and had the means to do it, which was ludicrously attractive).
Even so, as evidenced by our conversation, he owned this building. He’d also purchased the building where my apartment was located. So, until he sold them, we’d never be done done.
I’d be under his thumb, always. Even when I signed one of those contracts, with his money and power, if he wanted to keep me under that thumb, he could.
“What time do you want us there on Saturday?” I asked.
I hoped he’d say five at night. The city lights I was certain he was afforded from his apartment would make an amazing backdrop for the segment.
It’d also be my get-out-of-dinner card.
“Nine,” he answered.
“At night?” I asked, my brain still taken up with hopeful thoughts.
“No, of course not. In the morning,” he replied.
“An evening interview would be a better visual and offer a cozier atmosphere for viewers,” I pointed out.
“I don’t want to get cozy with you, Elsa. I want to get this done so we can be done.”
I fought a flinch and managed not to point out he was about to embark on some expensive upgrades to the space I rented from him (and really, what was that about?), so it didn’t sound like he spoke truth.
“Right, we’ll be there at nine,” I agreed.
“You come in the front. The concierge will be expecting you. Your guy comes in the back. There’s a freight elevator there where he can load in the equipment. There’ll be someone waiting to assist him.”
And now he’s offering assistance.
I didn’t comment on that.
I nodded.
“I’ll be in touch about your alternate space. Get me those questions by five tonight.”