Come As You Are
“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 fishing 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.