Chapter 18
Laine
The next morning, a gentleman opens the door to the Fairmont Pacific Rim for me, and I walk in, toward the grand staircase to the Botanist. He continues to follow me up the stairs. He’s good looking and likely used to women fawning all over him. His eyes wander over my black pants and the cashmere sweater I borrowed from Trish. Ew . No thanks.
Thankfully, he keeps going when I stop to give my name to the hostess. She leads me to a table where Frank King is already waiting. A beautiful woman stands beside the table, chatting with him. Frank is understated big money. He’s wearing dark designer jeans, and I recognize the subtle interlocked Gs of the Gucci logo on the sleeve of his T-shirt and his gray cashmere baseball cap. He’s also younger than I expected.
“My meeting is here,” he tells the woman as I approach the table. “I’ll see you later, Sabrina.”
She gives me a cursory look and moves on.
“Frank King,” he says as he stands and extends his hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
I give him my professional smile. “Laine Seymour. Thank you for meeting with me on a Sunday.”
“Are you kidding? I’m so glad you were available. I loved the articles you wrote about what happened with Jack in Sudan. How did you manage that story?”
“I know the head of media relations at the hospital, and Jack and I also knew each other, though we’d been out of touch for a while.” I have no idea how well Jack knows this guy, but I don’t really want to get into my personal life. “I felt like this was a compelling story that could also do a lot of good. I’m so glad to have been able to write it.”
Frank nods. “I have to say, Mike Jenkins tried to do a spotlight on Jack for years, and he always resisted. Mike finally got a small article, but what you wrote was much more compelling. I had to meet the woman who got Jack talking.”
I shrug. “It was pure luck—and someone pushing him from the hospital.”
Over our brunch, Frank asks me questions about my background and writing experience and the kinds of work I like to do. Then he shifts gears and tells me how they manage the newsletter in-house. It seems the previous writer has just under a dozen newsletters lined up, and he’s established several regular channels for generating content. He sends out questionnaires to all the new staff and volunteers and collects information to introduce them in newsletter articles. He also wrote about WMC projects over the world as he traveled for pleasure. Frank assures me that he’s only leaving the job because he truly wants to retire.
I ask how much flexibility they have going forward and how committed they are to continuing the newsletter exactly as it is, and Frank says they would encourage a new look and new perspective. Having three months’ worth of newsletters ready to go should give me some time to discover what works and what I might want to adjust or add. I really couldn’t ask for a better setup.
I nod. “I think this sounds great. How many people are you interviewing for the position?”
“Just you,” Frank says with a shrug.
“You haven’t opened it up?”
He shakes his head. “We were just starting to talk about it, and once we saw your article, we knew we wanted to at least start with you. The question is, can you take on a job this size?”
“Well, I think so. I’m freelancing right now and would love to have something more consistent. So, I probably have all the time you need. What are the next steps?”
“We haven’t talked money,” he points out. “And I should tell you that you’d certainly be able to do freelance work if you’d like to continue with that. We’re flexible as long as quality newsletters are being produced.”
“Okay, thank you.” I smile, but my gut churns a little. I worry that’s code for “we’re not going to pay you enough to be a living on its own.”
“We’re a nonprofit, but because this job falls under our marketing and public relations department, it’s paid under their umbrella,” he explains.
When he tells me what they can offer, it’s nearly twice the amount of money I made at the Herald. I can’t even believe it. And it also includes benefits, not to mention no cranky editor. I’ll review content with some of the department chairs at WMC, but I’ll mostly be my own boss.
“So, what do you think?”
I nod. “I’m definitely interested in the next step.”
“Well, then I’d suggest you say yes. The job is yours if you want it.”
I sit back and fight the urge to jump up from the table and wrap my arms around his neck. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. When can you start?”
Wow. When can I start? “I’ve been working part time at a coffee shop while I freelance, and I don’t want to leave them in the lurch, so I should give notice.”
“Great. No problem. Let me know.”
“If you need me to come in in the meantime, it would just need to be in the afternoons.”
“Take the time you need,” he assures me. “You can start as soon as you’d like, but we’ll hold the job for you for a month.”
“A month? Okay. That should be plenty of time. I don’t think Steaming Mugs will need more than two weeks. I’ll just check a few things and get back to you before the end of the week.”
He nods. “Once you let me know, I’ll have a contract drawn up. And we do ask for a year commitment at least.”
I smile and offer him my hand. With this level of flexibility, this could be my forever job, but I won’t tell him that just yet.
Once we’ve finished lunch, we say our goodbyes. Frank stops to speak with someone on the way out, so I continue outside.
I’ve just stopped to contemplate my good fortune and my best approach for getting home when I see someone waving from a familiar Acura NSX at the curb. Jack smiles as I walk over. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Are you stalking me?”
His grin disappears. “Is that what it feels like? I’m sorry. I’m not used to this much free time, I guess. I finished with Abdo and found I was really eager to hear how your meeting went, so I thought I’d give you a ride home.” He grimaces. “Was that a terrible idea?”
I’m floating on air, so I’m probably not the best judge of what’s a terrible idea right now. “Well, I’m perfectly capable of transporting myself. And there are these things called phones that help people communicate…”
He has the decency to look sheepish. I think his heart is in the right place, so I give him the benefit of the doubt. “But you’re here already, so let’s do it.”
He opens the door for me, looking relieved, and I slide in.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he says as he pulls away.
“The job is mine if I want it.”
“What? That’s fantastic! And do you want it?”
I nod, feeling giddy. “I do. It seems like a wonderful setup with lots of freedom to be creative and also do important work. I need to give notice at the coffee shop, but other than that, I’m going to start as soon as I can.” I tell him all about how Mike Jenkins, the current editor, has structured the newsletter, and that I can likely revamp it however I want.
“I can’t believe it. That’s great. We should celebrate.”
“Yes! Can we go by so I can tell Trish?”
Jack puts his blinker on, and we start crossing town toward her house. I practically race in when I arrive.
“I got the job,” I announce as soon as she opens the door. I launch myself into her arms and only then notice Phillip standing in his boxer shorts. I quickly step back. “Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry.”
Phillip excuses himself.
I cover my mouth with my hand. “I’m soooo sorry. I should have called first. I was just lecturing Jack about that.”
Trish waves that away. “Don’t worry about it.” She looks behind me. “Looks like you have something else to share.”
I turn and look at Jack, who’s leaning against the door jamb. “He was waiting for me outside the restaurant after my interview.”
Trish shakes her head and covers a smile. Phillip returns wearing more clothing and makes coffee for all of us as I tell them about my interview.
“They aren’t even interviewing anyone else,” I announce.
Trish shrugs and clinks her mug with mine. “It makes total sense to me. You wrote the white whale story they’ve been looking for. You’ve already shown them that you can do exactly what they want. This is fantastic. Maybe you’ll finally get out of that nasty apartment.”
Jack nods. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks she needs out of there.”
Phillip looks at Jack. “Where did you go last night?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Trish says. “But I now know.” She looks over at me.
I hold up my hand. “Nope, that’s not it. Jack just gave me a ride home after Kent was hoping for more than I was offering.”
“Yes, I stopped her from trying to walk home,” Jack adds.
Really? Everyone needs to know that?
“That’s a bad neighborhood,” Phillip admonishes. “They have a methadone clinic down there. You could have stepped on a needle.”
I roll my eyes. Jack said the same thing last night. Did they rehearse this?
“If that ever happens again, you tell the bouncer you need a ride,” Phillip adds. “We have a driver and car specifically for that.”
I nod. “Thank you. But now that you no longer own The Lion’s Den, I doubt I’ll ever go back. That isn’t exactly my scene. I’m more likely to stay at home and read a book.”
“I blame you for that,” Trish points at Jack.
“What did I do?”
“Before you, she’d go out and have a great time. She was never reckless, but she never wanted to read a book at home.”
I laugh. “Actually, I did. I just went along to keep you happy.”
Trish looks at Phillip. “This is why she’s my ride or die.”
“I already knew that.” Phillip cracks a smile.
We chat for a while longer, and Trish and I take a minute to review our plans for the party coming up at Phillip’s place. “Oh, Phillip has a couple new iPhones and fancy accessories we can use for prizes,” she reports.
“Prizes for what?” Jack asks.
We tell him all about our plans for the stag and hen weekend.
“What do you have for prizes beyond what Phillip is giving you?” he asks.
Trish shrugs. “Chocolate, of course.”
“You could ask everyone to bring a prize,” he suggests. “You might find you end up with a lot of fun things. Abdo has me discovering board games. I could donate Twister, Kinky Truth or Dare, and I’ve seen a few other good ones.”
Trish claps excitedly. “I love it! This is going to be so much fun.”