Quentin grimaces as if he accidentally swallowed lemon juice. “Damn shame. Ran into one of the heads from Entertainment Central, Ryan Shepperd. Pitched him our show for Our Picks, but he’s not giving us the time of day.”
Our Picks is a show that spotlights and reviews other shows. It pulls in incredible numbers for such a segment. Truth be told, it’s pulling about ten times the numbers our flailing show is. If we’d be featured on it, our viewership would skyrocket.
We’re barely scraping by in the rankings, but with a lot of hard work the show will climb up the charts...eventually. It’s been on air for four months, and I’ve been here for two.
After Nate moved to London, I kept working on his show with the new executive producer, but then he left too, and the one who took his place wanted to bring in his assistant. I wanted to stay with the network because the pay is above what I’d get somewhere else. Quentin here just had his fifth assistant quit on him in two months, so they gave me the job.
“So anyway, Shepperd said one of his people saw you tagged on Facebook in the wedding. They’ve wanted a scandal about the Bennett family for years for their We See You segment. Said he’d trade me: Juicy story on that family for a feature of our show on Our Picks.”
My body goes cold.
We See You is nicknamed Gossip Central in the industry—a weekly evening show where they tear apart whoever is their subject, flaunting dirty laundry and scandals for the entire country to see. It pulls in even better numbers than Our Picks.
Over my dead body will the Bennett family ever be a subject on their show.
“Was hoping you’d know something about their skeletons. Have you heard anything juicy from Nate?”
He says Nate’s name with disdain, and I grit my teeth. I don’t know why he dislikes Nate—probably because he’s made a name for himself even though he’s younger than Quentin. And Nate never got ahead by selling anyone out.
“No,” I say calmly. “From what he says, they’re great people. No skeletons.”
As if I’d tell you if they had.
“Please, everyone has skeletons. The press is dying for some dirt. A scandal.”
Blake told me once that as time passed the press became more interested in their personal life rather than the company, and that they’re always fishing for scandals.
“You sure you can’t get closer to them?”
I don’t think you can get any closer than living next to one and attending all their family events, but I shake my head, my hackles rising—no one is going to mess with that family.
“I have many press leads.” I work as much positivity in my tone as I can muster. “We’ll climb in the rankings, you’ll see.”
Quentin pays no attention, instead eying the ass of a passing assistant. I bite into my burger to hide my groan. I loved, loved, loved working with Nate. He was a great boss and mentor. More than a mentor, he was almost like a brother, and he accepted my crazy. That’s always a bonus. Of course, lightning never strikes twice, so I wasn’t dreaming I’d get another boss like him.
But is it too much to ask for a decent boss? One who does his job and doesn’t look for shortcuts that involve selling people out? One who doesn’t make my skin crawl?
Part of me regrets taking out the mortgage because I’ll be stuck here for a long while
until I can find something better. But then I think about how great it’ll be to have my own place. That puts everything into perspective. When Quentin leaves, I take out my phone, pull up the Facebook app, and change my settings to private.
***
Blake
“Mr. Bennett, the earliest we can deliver is next Monday,” the vendor repeats for the fifth time. Her voice is just as friendly as it was the first time but just as unhelpful. If I were at the store, things would move much faster. I work my charm better in person than on the phone. “The bookshelf version you requested is a custom-made piece, so it’s not just about the delivery. We have to make it first, and we take great pride in our craftsmanship.”
Time to sweeten the offer. “I’ll pay double your rush fee if you deliver it on Friday.”
“We have no rush fee.”
Well, now that’s just bad business, but to each his own. I pace in front of Blue Moon, our flagship restaurant, growing impatient. The meeting with my location manager was supposed to start three minutes ago.
“Call it a thank-you fee if you want.”
“What’s the rush? Birthday present?”
“No. Someone moves in on Saturday, and she wants the bookcase. I want to surprise her by having it here already.”