AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I hoped for our nation’s sake Gretchen would do a better job being the White House’s press secretary than selling this woman to me. My desire to ever meet Poppins again just plummeted to below zero.
Putting my phone away, I refocused my attention on the pile of oxygen-wasters who were employed byDiscoverymagazine.
Everyone sat around the table and discussed what should be the theme for next year’s first issue.
“Yemen’s the place to be right now,” Harmony, the art director, suggested. “Send Riggs and Steven out in the field.” Steven was a world-famous journalist, and not one to get high on his own supply.
“That’s a good idea.” Emmett jerked forward, scribbling something in his notepad. He looked like Edward Cullen’s accountant. Sickly pale, with reddish eyes and a hairline that receded all the way to Uruguay. “But I have something else for Riggs, so let’s see if Fred’s available for photography. Anyone else?”
As long as I didn’t stay in New York for a period exceeding two weeks, I was a happy camper. My repulsion with monogamy ran beyond human interaction. It also applied to cities, states, food, music, and TV. I loved switching things up.
“Meeting adjourned.” Emmett, who thought himself personable, used a squeaky toddler hammer to bang on the table.
Everyone trickled out of the room.
Emmett turned to me, cutting straight to the chase.
“Alaska,” he said.
“Gold mining. Sourdough. Sarah Palin.”
“Huh?” He frowned.
“Thought we were playing an association game.”
“Why would I do that?” He blinked, evidently confused. Did I mention the man wasn’t in possession of a sense of humor?
“What about Alaska?” I sighed.
“I want you to go there.” He reclined in his seat, channeling his inner Italian mobster from an eighties film.
“No,” I answered flatly.
“Be a sport, Bates.” Emmett went from tough to whining in a nanosecond, sitting up straight. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”
“Don’t need to. There’s only one place on my short list of won’t-travel-to—Alaska.”
“Before you make up your mind ...” Emmett slammed his notepad shut. “It’s a great opportunity, both for the magazine and for you. We’re collaborating with a new streamer, Planet-E, on a documentary about deep Alaska. This thing could win us Emmys, Riggs. The producer didWhale Tale, that film about whales in captivity?” He ignored my rejection, giving me his pitch anyway.
“The one that got slammed in reviews as a mouthpiece for oil companies?” I elevated an eyebrow. He and Gretchen were a match made in PR hell. Collectively, they wouldn’t be able to sell ice to the residents of hell.
“This one’s different.” Emmett waved me off, huffing. “No one’s funding it.”
“Shit, Em, you’re really selling it to me. A low-budget documentary produced by a washed-up sellout has always been my dream.”
Right after becoming a space cowboy, of course.
“You’ll be getting into the thick of it. I’m talking eight months of nonstop filming—”
“Here, buy yourself some Q-tips.” I threw a five-dollar bill on the desk between us, then stood up and tucked my wallet in my back pocket. “Your hearing’s impaired. As I said, I’m not going there. Not for eight months, not for eight minutes.”
Emmett jerked his head back, as if I’d punched him.
“The production company told me it’s you they want. They put it as a contingent—”
“Should’ve checked with me first.”
He closed his mouth. Opened it again. “Is there any specific reason why you’re so revolted by the idea of Alaska?”
