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I’d told my agent about the upcoming exclusive with Hale, and she was over the moon. Further, she confirmed my thoughts about how this would positively affect negotiations, and we both knew after I nailed Hale (in an interview that was…ahem), more opportunities would come.
And it might be a pain in the neck to get there, considering I could walk to my current studio from home, but it wouldn’t stink to go into Manhattan every day to work, even if it was only for a week.
No, it wouldn’t.
It’d be awesome.
I hadn’t yet told Mom or Dad about the interview. I wanted to throw that tidbit out at dinner, when Oskar was bragging about some big case he was on, his wife Anoushka was manifestly avoiding carbs while explaining her complicated schedule of leaving their children to their nanny and going to yoga classes, and my sister was doing everything in worship save going down on her surgeon boyfriend whose god complex made Kanye West look humble.
Oh, by the way, I’d say,I just completed a one-on-one, exclusive interview with Hale Wheeler.
I could see it now.
Dad would be proud.
Oskar would be derisive, but this would hide his fury that I’d managed to one-up him for once.
Anoushka would ask if I could introduce her to Hale.
Mom would inquire if Hale asked me out on a date.
Emilie would be green with envy.
A mixed bag.
I’d take it.
It was on this thought I was closing in on the address Brandi gave me, which was near 30 Rock, when a shiny black Escalade came to a stop and Hale exited the backseat.
He instantly caused a stir, partly because he was famous, mostly because he was glorious. Even if he didn’t have piles of money, people would gawk, that was how gorgeous he was, how confident, how magnetic.
I stopped dead on the sidewalk.
“Watch it, lady,” some man groused as he sidestepped me. “Newsflash, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
Ah, New York.
How I loved thee.
I got out of the way and Hale looked right at me, like I had a homing beacon.
He then came right to me.
I opened my mouth to say something flippant, but the words died when he took hold of my elbow, muttering, “Good. You’re here. Let’s get this done.”
“Um…” I mumbled, pretty certain I would have remembered if Brandi told me Hale would be showing me the space personally.
Hale, using my elbow along with his natural charisma, guided me into the building, and to my alarm, I believed I saw not one, not two, but three people taking pictures of us with their phones as he did it.
“Hale—” I started.
But, as was becoming familiar, I was not able to finish.
This was because a woman with a helmet of teased hair and lips that had to have been recently injected, wearing a Chanel suit, fell on us the moment we made our entrance.
“Mr. Wheeler, right on time!” she said. She then looked at me and her eyes grew huge. “Oh my God. You’re Elsa Cohen.”
This had started happening about two years ago. At first, I was thrilled. Then, I was concerned, because it seemed weirdly unethical that someone who could be considered a minor celebrity was reporting on celebrity news.
