Shana emailed me an hour ago, asking if I could meet with her privately before the party. Tonight is our last night in Rio, and after we land in Miami tomorrow, everyone will be going back to their lives for the rest of the summer. Quinn was out with her group, and Bryce and Nate both were unavailable to help me through my freak out, so I called my mom.
She spent thirty minutes being her normal sense of reason and convincing me this was another chance for me to shine with Shana. I left my room with confidence. Now, that confidence has vanished.
Shana barks orders into her phone and yanks the printed pages out, reciting some statistics. Finally, she sighs loudly and tells the person she’ll call them back. Her phone lands on the bed, and she gives me a wiry look.
“Let me guess, you’re a neat freak?”
I bite my lip, trying to think of what to say.
“Don’t hold back. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Um, you don’t have to be a neat freak to be more organized.”
She looks at me and throws her head back laughing. “It may look like a disaster, but I’ve organized it in my own way. I can find anything in a second.”
I nod, not wanting to insult her.
“You don’t believe me. My boss didn’t at first either. She’s like you—OCD, neat, organized. Color codes her files, notebooks, and even production schedules. Her office looks like a rainbow threw up, but hey—whatever works.”
I wring my hands and shift in place. My eyes look around the room one more time then lock with Shana’s. She’s still smiling widely. I shrug and admit, “Nothing wrong with color coding. It helps with project organization, and it’s also been proven that color stimulates the brain.”
“Ha! I knew it. You’re exactly like her.” She points, wagging her finger jokingly.
Finally, I fully relax and laugh along with her. “Well, it can’t be all that bad. She is your boss after all.”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. And I adore her. She’s actually the reason I asked you to come meet with me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, have a seat.” She motions to the only empty chair in the room. I sit and watch in horror as she scoops up loose papers and shoves them to the side with no regard to organization.
“Tell me about him.” Her question takes me off guard.
“Who?”
“The boy… the guy… the man in your life. The person who you’ve been texting for six weeks. I’m perceptive, Devon, and good at my job. You’re easy to read, too. For weeks, you’ve been surrounded by some good-looking men, both athletes and peers. Not one has even turned your head. But the second that phone in your pocket dings, your face lights up in anticipation. I know a woman in love. So tell me, who is he?”
“He’s my fiancé. His name is Bryce Randolph. He’s in the Navy and the most thoughtful, wonder—” I stop my gushing and inwardly curse myself.
“It’s true. You do have it bad. From what I heard, he’s got it bad, too.”
“Wait? What?”
“I knew who he was but had to hear it from your mouth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I like you, Devon. Not until I joined the network was I ever challenged with peers. No one had the ambition I do. That may sound cocky and arrogant, but it’s true. When my mind is set on something, nothing stops me. Like you mentioned in the locker room that day, I was twenty-one when I led my first rally. We were young and misled, but the feeling of making a difference set my course for life. Nothing and no one would get in my way.”
“That’s what makes you one of the most respected women in journalism. People aspire to walk in your shoes and carry the influence and responsibility.”
“Maybe, but that’s not why we’re here. This is completely overstepping my bounds, but, Devon, I see so much of myself in you.”
The words sink in slowly. Did I hear her correctly? “You do?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Wow, I don’t know what to say. That could be the best compliment I’ve ever received in my life.”