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I didn’t want to explain any of this to you in a text, but you’ve left me no choice. CeeCee was going to hire you, regardless. When I called the day after the panel, she’d already fallen in love with you and your writing samples. The only problem? She never pays summer interns and didn’t want to open a can of worms by doing it for you. On the other hand, she’d heard about your father’s situation, and didn’t feel right about offering you a standard unpaid internship. I suggested a solution that would benefit all three of us: I’d donate to CeeCee’s favorite cancer charity to get you paid, in exchange for RnR doing a special issue about my label. CeeCee countered that the deal had to include an in-depth interview of me. I said okay. She suggested you as the interviewer. I said yes, because, unbeknownst to CeeCee, that would give me a chance to try to seduce you. And that was that. A win-win-win. So sue me.
You once told me you had parallel motivations the first time we met. Well, so did I. Yes, I wanted another shot at seducing you, but I ALSO wanted to help CeeCee, and you, and your dad. I regret the way the grant turned into such a big secret. That wasn’t my intention. I didn’t say anything about it because I didn’t want to steal your thunder or make you think, even for a second, you hadn’t earned your job. Also, I didn’t want you feeling any kind of pressure to sleep with me. Yes, I wanted it to happen. Hell yes. But only if you genuinely wanted it, too. Not because you felt a financial obligation to me. That’s the truth. On my nephew. Now, stop acting like a petulant child and reply to this text so I know you’re safe.
PS I sent the Peloton to your dad’s place. If you don’t have room for it there, let me know. Also, let me know if you want your Pilates machine. It’s much bigger than the bike, so I figured it’d be better to ask before sending.
I’m assuming you’re coming to today’s team meeting, seeing as how you’re still obligated to write an article about me. Please allow me to take you to lunch before the meeting. We’ll talk and forgive. I’ll forgive you for ignoring me for two days. And you’ll forgive me for being a stupid idiot. I’ll make a reservation at Nobu. You’ll love it. Please reply to confirm. I can’t wait to see you. XO
I look up from my phone. Damn that man. He’s persuasive. I still need to talk to CeeCee, to hear her unbiased account regarding the grant. But I can’t deny Reed’s texts have made me cautiously optimistic about that. I’m sure Reed spun some of the facts to make himself sound as innocent as possible. But, even so, I’m feeling pretty sure CeeCee wasn’t my pimp, but instead leaped at the chance to create a win-win-win with her trusted friend, for my benefit, and theirs. But so what? None of that would absolve Reed of whatever happened in that garage with Isabel. Sighing loudly, I scroll to Reed’s next text, which landed in my inbox about an hour and a half ago—at 6:13 pm this evening:
Miss Ricci, I’m sending this text in my professional capacity. I’m deeply disappointed you didn’t come to this afternoon’s weekly team meeting. Even if you despise me for personal reasons, you’ve still got a job to do, and I expect you to fucking do it. You’re a writer for the world’s top music magazine and you need to start behaving like it. Whatever has transpired between us, personally, it’s time for you to put your feelings aside and behave like a fucking professional. I’ll expect you to attend next Monday’s team meeting. I’ll also expect you to respond to all business-related texts from me, going forward, including confirmation that you’re safe and sound, within the next fifteen minutes.
I look up from my phone, gritting my teeth. Reed wants me to act like a “fucking professional,” does he? Well, all righty, then. How about this? I’ll write an article about him that kicks so much ass, CeeCee will have no choice but to publish it in Dig a Little Deeper!
Determination flooding me, I hop out of bed and plop myself onto the floor next to the cardboard box and begin sifting through its contents like a madwoman. Quickly, I find the documents pertaining to Troy Eklund’s lawsuit. It was filed six years ago, against Reed and River Records, and alleges four causes of action: breach of contract, breach of the implied covenant of good faith and fair dealing, fraud, and assault.
But before I’ve gotten past the second paragraph of Troy’s complaint, Dad pops his head into the room. And the minute he sees me on the floor, surrounded by legal documents, I know I must look to him like a chocolate-smeared kid surrounded by a mountain of candy wrappers on Halloween.
