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She looks at me blankly. “In situations like what?”
I take the pan Amalia hands me. “You know, whenever Reed has a house guest for an extended period. He mentioned he sometimes invites bands to stay here for weeks, even months, at a time, right?”
“Well, yes. But he’s never once asked me to roll out the red carpet for a band the way he did for you. Quite the opposite.” She chuckles. “When it comes to musicians staying here, Reed pretty much always says, ‘They’ll take what I give them and like it.’”
I chuckle with her. “That sounds like him.”
“Yes, it does. Which makes what he said about you all the more remarkable.” She stops scrubbing the plate in her hand and looks at me. “Honestly, this is uncharted territory for me. Reed has never once asked a woman to stay here with him for an extended period. And he’s certainly never asked me to roll out the red carpet for one.”
My lips part in surprise.
“Oh, goodness. I hope I’m not out of line telling you that,” Amalia says.
“No. Not at all.” My heart resumes beating again. “Thank you for telling me. It’s a wonderful thing to know.”
“You’ve obviously made quite an impression on him.” She flashes a sweet smile. “And I can certainly see why.”
Color rises in my cheeks. “Thank you. Reed has made quite an impression on me, too.”
Amalia clearly likes that answer. Smiling, she resumes her work at the sink. “What do you do, Georgina? Are you in the entertainment industry? An actress or model?”
“Oh, no. I’m journalist.” My soul swells with pride to be able to say that sentence. “I write for Rock ‘n’ Roll. The magazine about music?”
“Yes, I know it. How wonderful.”
“I’m working hard to get onto the writing staff of this other magazine owned by the same company, a publication devoted to in-depth interviews and investigative journalism.”
“Oh, how exciting. Good luck.”
Imposter syndrome suddenly hits me hard. “Actually, I should clarify: I’m only a summer intern at Rock ‘n’ Roll. I just graduated from UCLA, and this is my first real job. But I’m going to work very hard, and do everything in my power to nab a permanent writing position after the summer.”
Amalia hands me a plate to dry. “I have no doubt you’ll get whatever position you desire.”
Oh, God. Is Amalia putting two and two together right now—piecing together the facts that I’m a summer intern at Rock ‘n’ Roll, a music magazine, and, huh, what a coincidence, I’m also staying with Reed, the head of a music label, for the entire summer? Crap. When I said I was going to do “everything” in my power to nab a permanent position, did Amalia secretly snicker to herself and think, Everything, including Reed.
“The magazine assigned me to do an in-depth interview of Reed,” I blurt, feeling the need to make it clear to Amalia I got my job because of my writing skills—and not because of any help from Reed. “I’ll be following Reed around and writing about him for my article, so he invited me to stay here for the summer to make things more convenient.”
She smiles kindly. “Well, that makes perfect sense.” She peels off her yellow rubber gloves. “I hope everything works out for you and your career, exactly as you’re hoping, Georgie. May I call you Georgie?”
“Yes, I love being called that.”
Shit. Now, I feel like I went overboard making Reed and me seem like nothing but interviewer and interviewee. Clearly, she knows there’s more to it than that, seeing as how Reed has invited me to stay here for the entire summer, and he’s never done that before. I don’t want her to think I’m a liar.
“But, you know, besides the interview, Reed and I have also clicked personally,” I say quickly. “He’s been so sweet.”
“I’m so glad,” she says. And there’s no judgment whatsoever in her tone. She puts her sponge and gloves and dishwashing soap away, and moves to the refrigerator. Which is where she begins pulling out ingredients and putting them onto the island. “Don’t feel like you have to stay here with me, Georgie. I love the company, but I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“I’m not, actually. I’m just waiting for Reed to finish his calls. What’s all this for?” I motion to the items she’s placing on the island.
“I’m making a big pot of Reed’s favorite chicken tortilla soup for dinner tonight. He asked me to make ‘dinner for two.’”
I blush at the knowing look in her eye. She’s sweet and nonjudgmental, but she’s no fool. She knows exactly what’s going on between Reed and me. Of course.
“Would you like some help making the soup?” I ask, my pulse pounding. “I’m a terrible cook—the absolute worst—so don’t get too excited about my offer. But I can certainly help chop vegetables, if you don’t mind a random finger in with your chopped onions.”
