“New York is home. But I have family in London, so it’s my adopted city. Don’t ask me to choose.” Bob didn’t need to know that I’d barely seen London beyond the stretch of city between my apartment and Blake Enterprises.
The waitress came and took our orders. As Andrew predicted, we both ordered steak.
“Shall we have some wine?” I suggested. “The 2001 Redigaff merlot caught my eye.”
Bob’s gaze slid to mine and the corners of his mouth turned up just a fraction. “Excellent choice, Ms. Rossi. Why not?”
I ordered the wine and we handed the menus back to the waitress.
“Please, call me Sofia. If we’re going to do business together, I have to feel we have a connection, you know?”
Goode nodded. “I do, Sofia. I do. Business is a people sport, as they say. But you look far too young to be out trying to buy companies. Tell me your story.”
I shrugged. “Not too much to tell. I’m a Columbia grad. I’m ambitious and driven, and I’m lucky to have some very rich people’s money to play with. My investors believe in me and I believe in Verity.” I paused, giving Bob time to respond. It would be easier if he was doing the talking, but he passed on the opportunity so I continued. “Truth is, I’ve always loved celebrity gossip. Grew up on Perez. Still buy all the tabloids, even though most places in the UK don’t even carry People.” I tapped my nose. “I have my secret list of sellers. And now I’m in the UK, I can get Hello and of course, Verity, Inc.”
“So your plan is to buy it from me and run it yourself.”
It was a good question and honestly, one of the few I hadn’t rehearsed. “I want to start that way. Ultimately, I want to put a great manager in charge who shares my vision for the business, so I can go out and expand.”
“Your vision?” Bob asked.
“Tell me yours. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for so long and now I’m here, I’m doing all the talking. I’d love to know if we see Verity, Inc. going in the same direction.”
It was as if Bob had been waiting for his cue. He regaled me with stories of how successful the magazine was, despite the slowest circulation of the magazines in the space. He explained how he wanted to keep the paper presence but really focus on the online platform as the medium to break stories. Nothing he was saying was groundbreaking, nor would his strategies pull the magazine out of the massive hole it was in. The market was dominated by online versions of Page Six and Daily Mail. Pushing a paper version of Verity, Inc. was a vanity exercise. Andrew might not like Bob, but Bob wasn’t a fool. He was holding back. He wasn’t telling me everything.
“Have you ever thought about a subscription model?” I asked.
He lifted his chin slightly, as if I was challenging him.
“What am I saying—of course you’ve thought about it. You’re one of the most successful men in magazines. Well, you asked me about my vision for Verity, and that’s where it starts. I want to see subscribers sign up for breaking news and blind items. We make the product more exclusive, differentiate ourselves from our competitors, and at the same time, smooth out cashflow.”
Bob nodded, looking me straight in the eye as if it were crunch time and he had to make a decision about whether or not he could trust me.
“I wonder if we should swap the merlot to champagne,” he said finally. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be doing business with each other.”
My stomach rose like a wave and then tumbled into a crash.
The rest of the lunch was spent with Bob regaling me with tales of celebrity encounters. At one point, he asked me about my financial backers and as quickly as possible, I told him I had family money. The fact that he didn’t dig any deeper told me that he knew exactly who my father was. It was a relief. Andrew and I had a more in-depth cover story, but I was serious when I’d said to Andrew that the fewer lies I told, the better. The fact was, my father was rich. He just wasn’t my investor. Bob had put two and two together and come up with seven. Worked for me.
“Sofia, it’s been a pleasure, but I really must head out to another meeting. Shall we catch up for breakfast on Monday?”
It was Friday. Monday was three days away.
“You’re in town for a couple of weeks, from what my assistant told me.”
“Absolutely,” I said, setting my napkin on the table and standing to say goodbye. “On one condition. You tell me whether that recent wedding at the Four Seasons between my favorite Mexican actress and the Avengers star was a love match or an Oscar grab.”