Chapter 3
Caroline
My fingers flew over my keyboard as I reached the conclusion of my piece on the Paramount-Skydance merger. I usually listened to music without vocals while writing, but today I was blasting Taylor Swift so loud in my headphones that I wondered if Jackie could hear it in the office next door.
Movement at my door. Speak of the devil… Eddie was poking his head into my office. I tore my headphones off and, while still typing, said, “Almost done. Come back in fifteen.”
“What? Oh, the Paramount… this isn’t about that. I wanted to see where you’re at with the Harrison Blackstone piece.”
That name immediately knocked me out of my groove. I stopped typing. “I’ll get to it next week.”
Eddie crossed his arms. “You said that last week. And the week before that.”
“Other stuff has come up.”
He sighed, stepped all the way into my office, and closed the door. That was a bad sign.
“Look,” he began. “I get that you don’t want to write this.”
“It’s not that—”
“Caroline. Come on. It’s me.”
I felt my jaw clench. Trying to relax, I replied, “I’ll do it eventually. I’m just enjoying making him wait in the meantime.”
“You’re making some of the executives uncomfortable.”
“You mean Blackstone is making them uncomfortable?”
“He’s making calls,” Eddie admitted. “Complaining that we’re refusing to honor the auction item.”
“The fine print stipulated that we would write and publish that bullshit article within two quarters.”
“He wants it done sooner.”
I let out an annoyed groan. “I don’t care what he wants. Nobody ever tells that guy no. For once in his life, he can wait.”
I reached for my headphones, but something in Eddie’s eyes made me hesitate before going back to work.
“I’m sorry to do this, but I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”
I winced. “Don’t.”
“Everyone’s on my ass about this! The longer it goes on, the more of a pain Blackstone will be. Just take care of it, Caroline.”
“You’re using your favor on this? Really, Eddie?”
“I shouldn’t have to use a favor to make you do your job. But here we are.”
I’d worked with Eddie a long time. He was the best boss I’d ever had, and he was always reasonable. If he was putting his foot down, then the pressure coming from above him must have been strong.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“Get a meeting on the calendar today,” he replied. “And CC me on the calendar invite.”
“Fine.”
Once Eddie was gone, I called Blackstone’s office. I generally didn’t like to put things off… unless I was deliberately sandbagging to annoy someone.
It turned out that Blackstone’s schedule was completely full for the next week, with one exception. He was available tonight.
“Fine,” I said. Anything to get this out of the way.
I tried returning to my Paramount piece, but I was distracted now. I couldn’t focus. It ended up taking me two hours to write the last two paragraphs of the piece, which put me in an even worse mood.
I had time to kill once I got off work. I was meeting Blackstone at a restaurant in midtown, so I decided to go early and have a drink.
It was a nice place, with white tablecloths and a dark ambiance.
Men—and a few women—chatted quietly over drinks.
This was the kind of place where the city was really run.
“Vodka with ice and a splash of lime,” I ordered at the bar. I needed something stiff to get me through this meeting. I expected Blackstone to torture me rather than actually say anything worth putting in an article.
“Vodka with ice and a splash of lime,” the bartender repeated while placing a glass on a coaster in front of me. “Nice drink order.”
“I like keeping things simple,” I replied while taking a long sip. “Ah, that’s perfect.”
The bartender nodded politely. “Business meeting? Or drinking for pleasure?”
“The latter,” I muttered. “I’m interviewing the cockiest man in the city. And the worst part? He’s earned that cockiness.”
He leaned closer and replied, “He sounds better than most of the guys who walk in here.”
“Trust me. He’s not.” I took another sip and savored the way the drink burned down my throat. “This guy is scum. A leech on the market. No, a leech on all of society itself.”
“Ouch.”
“I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m basically being held hostage.” There was a flare of alarm behind the bartender’s eyes, so I quickly said, “Metaphorically speaking. I’m not in any danger. Aside from the danger of losing my job if I don’t appease this asshole.”
“Good luck,” he said, turning towards a new customer who had just arrived.
I slowly sipped my drink, killing time until the meeting.
I browsed the Wall Street Journal’s website, noting that my article was on the front page.
In the margin to the right of the main article, but still occupying good real estate on the front.
Eddie had probably bumped it up as a thank-you for scheduling this meeting so fast. A silver lining, however thin.
It was easy to tell when Blackstone arrived.
Conversations halted and were replaced by whispers.
I glanced over my shoulder, where his bodyguard dude led the way into the restaurant.
Blackstone was flawlessly dressed in a navy three-piece suit, his dark hair perfectly combed as if this were the first meeting of the day rather than evening.
He swept his smile around the room, nodding at someone he knew at a nearby table.
That smile deepened when it settled on me.
“Got here early, I see?” he said while leaning against the bar next to me. He draped his arm to show off the watch on his wrist, a vintage 1973 Rolex Cellini with a Tiffany blue dial. It cost more than my apartment.
“I needed a stiff drink before cringing my way through this meeting,” I replied with a fake smile.
His smile never wavered. “I don’t blame you. It can’t be easy chatting with the biggest leech on society itself.”
The comment hit me like a slap. I glanced over at the bartender, who was focused on drying a pint glass with a towel.
“You spied on me?” I spat at Blackstone.
“No.” He chuckled. “But you blabbed your mouth to the first person you saw here, who just so happens to work for me.”
I sighed. “You own this restaurant.”
Blackstone spread his hands. “I own so many, sometimes it’s difficult to keep track.”
“I’m sure that line impresses all the women you take out on dates.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “Is that what this is? A date?”
“Jesus, no. Let’s get this over with.”
He pursed his lips in a playful pout that probably made women swoon. This guy had no business being this attractive. “You’re not taking this seriously, Caroline. And after I donated so much money at the auction.”
“I’m taking this puff piece exactly as seriously as it deserves.”
His bodyguard—Blackstone called him Rafael?—led us to a private room with a table for two. As we took our seats, he stood up against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him like a suit of armor in a castle. I ordered another vodka, while Blackstone ordered a sparkling water.
“You called this a puff piece,” he said while draping his napkin in his lap. “I intended for this to be a truthful account of my life and rise to success.”
I snorted. “I can’t write a truthful account of your entire life in under two thousand words.”
“How many words would it take?”
“An entire book,” I muttered. “A long one, at that.”
Blackstone nodded. “Okay. Let’s do that, then.”
I laughed and sipped my drink. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.” The most powerful man in New York frowned across the table at me. “Let’s scrap the puff piece—your words, not mine—and do something real. Would that make you take this seriously?”
I stared at him. This sounded like a joke, but Blackstone appeared completely serious.
“Are you offering me the rights to your biography?” I asked slowly.
His smile returned. “I think I am.”