“Ah,” I said. I blinked hard. “Right.”
My phone rang. I looked at it and then wished I hadn’t.
“It’s Clarence,” I said.
“Don’t answer it. You’re busy writing an article, and he’s going to call you in to sharpen all of his pencils. Or reorganize the magazine awards on his wall. Or something.”
“I have to answer it!”
“Reason number five you haven’t found Mr. Right,” Jess said, as I picked up the phone. “You pretend to be independent, and then you let guys step all over you.”
“I don’t—hello? Yes?” I gritted my teeth. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”
“Told you,” Jessica mouthed to me. I threw a gummi bear at her head, and she caught it expertly in her mouth. “Thanks for the candy.”
“Take them all!” I called back to her, as I headed down the hall to Clarence’s office and certain doom.
“But I hate reality TV!”
“Doesn’t matter.” Clarence clicked his pen shut, a sure sign that the conversation was done. “We need a replacement column and there’s nobody else who can write, edit, and proof within the day. This one is yours, Lisa.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. I put my clipboard on my knee and balanced my coffee cup on top of it. “Does it have to be an interview with some reality TV host?”
“It’s not just some reality TV host, Lisa. It’s Piers Letocci.”
“Who the hell is Piers Letocci?”
“Oh my gosh!” Jessica exclaimed, poking her head through the door of Clarence’s office. “Are you meeting with Piers Letocci?”
“No,” I said, at the same time Clarence said “Yes.”
“Why don’t you give Jessica the interview?” I asked Clarence. Jessica perked up her ears, but he was already shaking his head.
“No. Jessica’s on the fashion show in Midtown tomorrow.”
“Sorry, Jess,” I said, leaning back over my chair. “I tried.”
“Ooh, you’ll have so much fun!” she said. “Get me his autograph, will you?”
“Sure,” I said. When she stepped away, I turned back to Clarence. “No, I won’t. Because I’m not doing this interview.”
“What else do you want me to put in the entertainment section?”
“Thanks for asking. I have a great idea, actually,” I said, flipping through my clipboard. “A couple of great ideas.”
Clarence leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
“Why did I ask?”
“There’s a girl who’s been fighting in Syria for—”
“No.”
“No what? You haven’t even heard the pitch.”
“Syria? Lisa, really? It’s an entertainment column.”
“Okay,” I said, flipping another two pages. “Okay. How’s this? Ellen Degeneres is hosting a charity concert in Central Park to help prevent teen suicide—”
“No.”
“—even if the band playing is Talismen?”
Clarence squinted at me suspiciously.
“Can you get an interview with them?”
I took a sip of coffee and realized that I couldn’t get away with a lie.
“Well, no,” I admitted. “But the head of the charity—”
“No. No, no, no. Why am I even listening to you? We’re running with this. It’s a new reality TV show and we finally got Piers Letocci to agree to an interview with Moi.”
“Finally!” I let the sarcasm drip off my tongue. “I’ve been waiting for eons for an opportunity like this.”
“Don’t fuck this up, Lisa. Piers Letocci is the face of America.”
“Isn’t he British?” I frowned, tapping my pen on the clipboard.
“That’s why Americans love him. America loves British guys.”
I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of this. One interview wouldn’t kill me, even it was with some airhead reality TV host. I lifted the coffee mug to my lips and pretended to deliberate.
“Fine. You owe me,” I said to Clarence, for what seemed like the millionth time.
“Didn’t you hear what Jessica said? You’re going to have so much fun.”
“Kill me now.”
Clarence ignored me.
“Here’s the address. He’ll be ready for you at three o’clock.”
“Three o’clock tomorrow? That gives me, what? An hour to write the dang article before we go to press? Maybe an hour and a half?!”
“I know it’s short notice. That’s why I chose you. You can think quickly. And you write well under pressure.”
“Don’t try to flatter me, Clarence,” I grumbled.
“Okay. You should probably wear a different outfit when you head downtown tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s wrong with this outfit?” I looked down at my black pants suit, which was my only clean suit for the week.
Well, kind of clean. My white blouse had a little bit of a Pop Tart stain on it. I licked my thumb and rubbed at it fiercely. Mmm, strawberry. “See? All good.”
Clarence raised both hands in the air in surrender.
“Just get me the column by five,” he said.
I sighed.
“Photographer?”
“We’ll pull a stock photo of him from our files.”
“Oh? We have photos of him?”
“We have several thousand photos of him, yes, Lisa. He’s kind of a big deal. Can you treat this assignment seriously?”
I rolled my eyes.
“What’s the name of the show?”
“The Billionaire Dating Game.”
I didn’t spit out my coffee, but I came close.
“You’re not serious.”
“Get down there, Lisa. Get me a great interview with Piers Letocci. And maybe I’ll be able to fit your Syria thing in next month if we have the room.”
“Sure,” I said, pressing my lips together. “Great. Will do.”
The Billionaire Dating Game, I muttered under my breath as I walked away from Clarence’s office. This is what ten years of working in journalism gets me. The Freaking Billionaire Dating Game.
Chapter Five
The next day, I headed downtown to the building where they were having the first round of auditions for The Billionaire Dating Game. I’d spent the whole morning writing up my article about finding Mr. Right, so I hadn’t had time to do much research on Piers Letocci. I clutched Clarence’s list of mandatory questions in one hand and a large double mocha latte in the other. Twisting sideways on the subway, I tried to adjust Emma’s pencil skirt that fit a bit too tightly around my waist. I was already going to be five minutes late, and the interview slot was only a half hour long.
Clarence had wolf whistled at my borrowed outfit when I arrived that morning, so at least I had that going for me. If I never found my Mr. Right, I could always date my skeevy, controlling boss. Unless he fired me for being late for this opportunity-of-a-lifetime interview. Then I’d be out on the streets in my too-tight skirt.
Slutty Lisa Forrester, I thought grimly.