“Good. Now off you go, sit outside my office and my assistant will meet you once she’s organised security clearance. Then you’ll need to go across town to Press HQ, where the tabloid and broadsheet are both based.”
She frowned. “So the newspapers aren’t based here?”
“Hell, no. This is the headquarters for my entire business conglomerate – all of our clients and advertising partners come here, and I don’t want them being subjected to hordes of angry protestors, do I?”
Eleanor’s stomach lurched with nerves. “Angry protestors?”
Robertson waved his hand dismissively. “It’s just because of the nature of what we do. Some people get a bit touchy, huh?”
Eleanor nodded slowly. What the hell did that mean?
Robertson gestured to Matthew. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Eleanor, I’ve got some record company issues I need to discuss with your boyfriend.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “And later I’m having dinner with the Mayor and the Chief of Police. Should be a fun and productive day all round.”
Eleanor stood up and thanked him. As she click-clacked in her heels towards the heavy imposing mahogany door, she prayed she hadn’t just signed up for the biggest mistake of her career. If this was her dream, why did it feel so wrong?
Chapter Four
Joseph strolled down the corridor of the News Scape offices trying to come up with some witty replies to the dull questions that Robertson was inevitably going to be firing at him in a few minutes’ time. But it was hard to focus on anything other than this dazzling corridor. It was so ostentatious. The corridor was wide, the ceilings were high, and the windows were huge. He glanced down at his distressed-leather biker boots and realised he was leaving a trail of imprints on the thick immaculate carpet. The potted palms and bright lights gave the corridor a Hawaiian feel, and it was easy to forget it was actually Thanksgiving in two weeks. Joseph half-expected some grass-skirted dancing girls to appear and offer him a lei.
He chuckled at the sexual innuendo. Perhaps he could say that to Robertson when he met him – it would sound like a compliment but would actually be an insult. Eleanor’s daily banter had trained him well in the art of back-handed praise.
He strode around the corner and halted as his muscles surged with joy. There she was, sitting on a huge black leather couch, outside what must be Robertson’s office – looking like a naughty schoolgirl. She was engrossed in her iPad, and she’d removed her high heels. Joseph pushed away the desire to remove the rest of her clothing, slowly and sensuously with his teeth.
He propelled himself forward, making her glance up.
He threw her his best grin. “Hi, Ellie.”
She glared. “Oh… you.”
“How did the interview go?”
“I got the job, thank you very much.”
“Congratulations. I’m pleased for you, seriously.”
“Oh... Thanks.”
He sat down on the couch without waiting to be invited. “So when can we expect to see articles by Ellie Davison in The New York Guardian?”
“It’s Eleanor… and I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Well…” She winced. “Here’s something for you to gloat about. Robertson wants me to write a front-page story for The New York Spin.”
A smirk beyond Joseph’s control appeared on his lips. “The tabloid?”
“Yes. It’s hilarious, isn’t it?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, it’s a surprise… Now there’s a headline for you: Investigative journalist sells out big time!”
“Shut up… I know.”
“Whatever happened to your duty to report the news – to educate, enlighten, and… what was it?”
A scowl of contempt appeared on her beautiful face. “It’s just one story, okay. If I can do this, then he’ll let me work for the broadsheet. I’m a good writer and I want to use my talent to expose the truth. I know the value of good journalism.”
“Oh yeah? Then why the hell are you sitting outside Blair Robertson’s office? You know it’s all just a machine, right?”