But something told me that wasn’t the article Bernie had in mind.
“A profile,” Bernie continued. “His PR says he’s being unfairly hounded out of office by the City and the financial pages. The old guard thinks no one should be as successful as Cove is at his age. He’s the youngest CEO in the history of the FTSE 100 and apparently, he’s being punished for being extraordinary. The establishment is blackballing him.”
CEO? I thought he’d sold his company and was just a playboy about town. I guess if I’d known I’d be asked to write an article about him, I would have paid more careful attention.
“That’s an interesting angle,” I replied, trying to sound like I was taking this in my stride. “Of course, it would be more interesting if he was a woman.” At least I knew enough about Nathan Cove to know he didn’t have a vagina.
“Yes, we don’t want an article on a white, privileged, successful, publicly educated guy who isn’t getting his own way. But I picked up the phone to his PR and apparently he’s had some bad press recently. Have a dig around, find an interesting angle. Apparently, yesterday’s story in the Sunday Mercury means every paper in town is trying to get this kind of access. Let’s make sure that we do a good job, but that doesn’t mean be a pushover.”
“Understood,” I replied. “If you think his PR picked me because they’re expecting a soft touch, I can assure you they’ll be disappointed.” Perhaps I’d always be associated with fluff. My previous role made it difficult but my mother was literally an icon of gossip. She wrote under her maiden name, but people in the industry knew I was her daughter. I’d just have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously.
“Make sure you don’t capitulate. I can’t think of any other reason why they’d request you.”
Dread chased up my limbs. There was one obvious reason. He might have requested me after meeting me at the wedding. I tried to think back to whether I’d told him what I did for a living. Had he known I was the journalist assigned to his Post profile? I suppose he could have quickly Googled me at some point during the wedding. Perhaps that’s why he’d come on so strong. He’d been trying to get me on his side. Or on my back. Oh, he’d definitely been trying to get me on my back. But had he had an ulterior motive?
“You said his PR set this up. When did she call?”
“Yesterday,” he said, gazing at his screen. “I’ll forward you the email.”
“On a Sunday?” I was sure I hadn’t told Nathan what I did for a living, and I don’t think he knew from any surreptitious internet searches either. He hadn’t asked or mentioned my job in any way—we’d had other things on our minds. Had he found out who I was and come up with the idea after we’d slept together? Or perhaps the bride and groom had given him a heads-up before? I couldn’t decide if it mattered. If profiling him gave me the break I needed at the Post, did I care if he knew who I was?
“You know these PR types. They’re no better than us hacks. No life outside work for either of us.” He started flitting through another pile of papers on his desk. “Any questions?”
I had nothing but questions. But Bernie wasn’t going to be the man to answer them.
“I don’t think so,” I said. Part of me wondered if I should confess that Nathan and I had a personal history of sorts. But I wasn’t going to let that affect my job. He wasn’t going to get an easy ride from me. That moment had passed. “I’ll get started,” I said as I stood.
“Go meet them, have a dig around, and come back and impress me.”
I left Bernie’s office and raced back to my desk, wanting to see his PR person’s request for me. I opened up the forwarded email from Gretel Sharp of Astro Holdings. Her email was sent on Saturday morning, before Nathan and I met.
I sat back in my chair. So, Nathan wasn’t trying to manipulate me, which was a relief. At least he’d wanted what I’d wanted—nothing complicated. Nothing more than a one-time meeting of bodies and minds. The request was likely his PR person’s choice, so I bet he wouldn’t expect me of all people to rock up to his office with a notepad. Gretel’s note was short, mentioned me by name, and promised exclusive access, like Nathan was Justin Bieber.
I brought up the internet and typed in Nathan’s name on the search bar. The images that filled the screen had my heart racing and my fingers sweating like I’d just logged onto a porn site at work.