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Sarah leaned back in her chair.
"Well, I believe you're the perfect person for the job. You are friends with his younger brother, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am, but..."
"No buts, you can get the juicy deets. No one else can. Go and get me a story. I know you can do this."
I appreciated her confidence in me, but I didn’t feel the same way.
Whenever I spoke to Alexander, it seemed like we were oil and water, never agreeing on anything, and I didn't know how to change that dynamic.
The first step was research. I’d have to spend hours reading about Alexander Hartman to understand the man behind the billionaire facade.
He’d built a real estate empire from scratch, molding himself into the intimidating businessman he was today.
My boss leaned forward, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"That's the beauty of this situation, Elizabeth. You’re friends with the younger brother. We want you to leverage that connection to get close to Alexander Hartman, the older brother. This could be your chance to shine, to break through as a top-notch journalist."
Excitement and apprehension swirled within me as her words hung in the air. The thought of interviewing a billionaire real estate tycoon was thrilling and terrifying.
I nodded slowly, feeling a surge of determination coursing through my veins.
"I'll do it. I'll write the profile piece on Alexander Hartman."
My boss grinned, clearly pleased with my response.
"Excellent, Elizabeth. This could be your big break. This article could open doors you've only dreamed of."
Walking back to my desk, my mind raced with possibilities.
I pulled up a photo of Alexander Hartman on my computer screen. He had a commanding presence, his steel-blue eyes piercing through the camera lens.
I wondered what he was like; beyond the headlines and extravagant parties, Allan never talked about him much, and he and I were never friends, even before the massive fortune and fame.
My fingers danced across the keyboard as I researched Alexander's life, digging deep into his business ventures, philanthropic efforts, and interests.
The more I learned, the more intrigued I became. He wasn't just a cold-hearted tycoon; there had to be layers to him for me to uncover.
Sitting back in my chair, I gazed out the window, lost in thought. The weight of the opportunity I'd been given pressed upon me.
A reminder of the stakes involved, but as fear threatened to paralyze me, I took a deep breath; I reminded myself of the journey I’d taken to get to this point in my career.
Everyone knew stories of Alexander's determination, rise from humble beginnings, and unwavering commitment to transforming cities with his architectural visions.
My article wouldn’t be about the man's actions but who Alexander Hartman was.
Monday 5:00 p.m.
Iclosed my laptop and gathered my things, ready to call it a day at the office. As I stepped outside, the warm evening air greeted me, and I hailed a taxi to take me to Allan's art studio and gallery in Soho.
It’d been a long day of writing and researching, and I was looking forward to catching up with my best friend.
The taxi pulled up to the curb in front of Allan's studio. I paid the driver and stepped out, eyes scanning the vibrant surroundings.
The art displayed in the windows was an explosion of colors and shapes, a testament to Allan's boundless creativity, or so he would like to say.
I tended to think most modern art was pretentious. The world needs new Michealangelos and Van Goghs.
