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)
It was highly likely this shift had been heralded by her nailing that interview with his mother.
But she hadn’t gone down the route Samantha had opened for her.
She’d shut it off and done her own thing.
He didn’t want to admit it, but it was there.
He was impressed.
That last obstacle cleared, he’d made the decision.
He was going there with her. He was sticking until she was out of his system.
Then, like he always did, he was going to move on.
It was after his run, his shower, and then he got dressed and did something with his hair so he didn’t look like a beach bum on camera.
Elsa and her team would be there in fifteen minutes, and he was ready.
That was when the text came in from his friend, Jamie (he was actually more Tom’s friend, but the whole family had claimed him, since he was also Judge’s dad, not to mention a tremendous individual).
I told you I didn’t like it and Kateri likes it even less. She wants to look into it. And considering what it is, I’m not too proud to beg you to let her do it.
Hale felt his mouth get tight.
The “it” Jamie was referring to was just a crackpot with a keyboard. He’d shared “it” with Jamie because he’d gotten a call from his head of security about it while he and Jamie were out having drinks the other night.
He should never have said anything. Jamie was a good guy. Jamie was also a dad. Naturally, he’d worry.
But if it would make Jamie feel better, he’d let him sic his investigator Kateri on it.
Unleash her, he texted.
Jamie’s reply was Wise.
His friend was overreacting, but with the parents he’d had, one thing Hale was very aware of was the fact you treasured it when people cared about you. That care might sometimes be annoying. But it was care.
And the alternative was far worse.
CHAPTER 4
BUDDING LOVE
Elsa
Considering the splendor that had accosted us in the foyer, I shouldn’t have been blown away by Hale Wheeler’s penthouse.
But I was.
Fliss made a noise like she’d been punched in the gut when we walked in, which was how I felt.
In the last couple of years, I’d had to rely less on my lovely little ferrets who fed me gossip tidbits. This was because I now received invitations to everything that happened in this city and some of what happened in other cities, particularly LA.
Having millions of viewers helped a book launch or movie premiere or the introduction to a new perfume or makeup line. And if you wanted a mention, it would behoove you to have your PR person put a bug in my ear.
I’d carefully curated my contacts.
Now, with Zoey on board, simply having an assistant gave me the prestige to make bookings I’d never be able to make if it was me on the other end of the phone or email.
There were those who came to my little studio who got it. They knew what it was like to claw your way to where you wanted to be. They knew it looked like that when it started, but if it worked, it ended the opposite.
There were those who came in with nasty twists on their lips after they rolled up to be interviewed in a warehouse in Brooklyn.
But they then had the choice of Perrier, San Pellegrino or Fiji water, with triple-filtered ice. Chilled Veuve and fresh pomegranate juice. Cîroc or Hendricks or Rémy Martin XO, if that was their jam. And always a spread of glistening fruit, gourmet cheeses, fresh French bread with European butter and cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery.
And then there would be Fliss, who had her own following that was far from small, who would be there to do their hair and makeup if they didn’t bring their own stylists.
It might not be class without, but within, it absolutely was.
In other words, I hobnobbed with the rich and famous, went to events on both sides of the country that organizers had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to make memorable, and sat down to interview people who thought they were better than me.
But I had never seen anything like Hale’s apartment.
Three-sixty views. Open space. A fireplace. Expansive living room. Twelve-seater dining room table. Chef’s kitchen. And a swirl of a staircase that took you up to a second floor.
It was mammoth. Modern, with warmth. Massive mushroom-colored sofas. Inviting cream bouclé chairs. Subtle area rugs. Interesting light installations. Warm throw rugs scattered. Full potted trees in corners.
And the view of the East River and beyond was phenomenal.
I got a better view when I heard Fliss say under her breath, “Whoa,” and I shifted my attention to Hale, who was sauntering to where we were standing outside the elevator that opened right to his pad.
He wore faded jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. Simple white Adidas Superstars with black stripes on his feet. His dusty brown hair had some product in it to keep it off his forehead and tamed.