Chapter 17 Georgina
GEORGINA
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
I can’t believe my ears.
I’m sitting across from CeeCee in her luxurious office.
CeeCee is seated in a white leather chair at an expansive glass desk, looking like a baller in a black pant suit and badass earrings, while I’m sitting across from her in my only pencil skirt, trying not to shriek uncontrollably at what she just said.
Holy fucking crap, CeeCee Rafael wants to hire me for a paid internship at Rock ‘n’ Roll!
“I know you had your heart set on Dig a Little Deeper,” CeeCee says, leaning back into her beautiful throne. “But if this internship goes well during the summer, who knows where it could lead.”
I babble stupidly for much too long about my euphoria and gratitude.
About dreams coming true. I ask if there’s someone at the cancer charity I can thank for the grant CeeCee has unexpectedly arranged for me, and, holy fuck, for my father’s medication, too, and she tells me, nope, she’ll forward my effusive thanks to the powers that be.
Handing me a tissue for my tears, CeeCee says, “I hope you’re not upset at Gilda—Professor Schiff—for mentioning your father’s illness to me. She only told me so that I could think outside the box in terms of arranging payment for you.”
Again, I babble into my tissue, using far too many words to say, in essence, I’m so, so grateful, to CeeCee and Professor Schiff and the amazing cancer charity.
CeeCee clasps her manicured hands and places them on her glass desk. “So, do you want to hear about your assignment for the next three months, my dear?”
I wipe my eyes one last time and put the tissue into my lap. “Oh my gosh. Yes.”
CeeCee flashes me an excited smile. “For the next three months, Georgina, you’re going to be working exclusively on a singular, exciting project.” She pauses for effect. “A special issue of Rock ‘n’ Roll devoted solely to the artists and inner workings of one record label... River Records!”
My jaw drops along with my stomach. No. This can’t be happening. The best news of my life has just turned into the worst. CeeCee is hiring me to work exclusively on an issue devoted to Reed River’s label... for the next three months? It’s a catastrophe!
“Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one writing for this issue,” CeeCee says, apparently misreading the look of panic on my face.
“I’m also assigning a couple of seasoned writers, too, who’ll contribute content and also mentor you.
Plus, I’ll write a few pieces for the issue, too.
But, make no mistake about it, Georgie, your job is to interview the shit out of as many River Records artists as you can personally manage throughout the summer and turn those interviews into fresh, fun, original content.
I want you to think outside the box and really run with it. ”
Holy fucking hell. My mind is racing with thoughts, all of them centering on Reed fucking Rivers.
Does he know CeeCee has assigned me, the woman who double-flipped him off the last time he saw her, to this special issue?
If he doesn’t already know, will he get me kicked off the project the minute he finds out?
For several minutes, CeeCee details her vision for the issue.
And, slowly, despite my panic about Reed, I begin to feel swept away by the excitement of it all.
We brainstorm ideas for a bit, our mutual enthusiasm mounting.
And, finally, CeeCee says, “And, of course, what would a special issue about River Records be without an in-depth, featured interview of the man at the helm of it all, Reed Rivers?”
And there it is. The two little words I’ve been dreading since CeeCee first told me about this assignment: Reed Rivers.
If Reed doesn’t know about me being assigned to the project, he’s going to find out soon enough.
And when he does, will he pick up the phone and tell CeeCee to send someone else—someone who didn’t tell him to fuck off and die, and then peel out in an Uber while he stood in front of his house with a raging boner poking the front of his pants?
“Is something wrong, Georgina?” CeeCee asks.
I shake my head. “No. I’m just feeling a little woozy due to excitement. This is a doozy of an opportunity, CeeCee. A doozy with a capital ‘oozy.’”
CeeCee giggles. “Yes, it is.”
“Um. Out of curiosity,” I say, “how much of this idea has been cleared with Mr. Rivers?”
“All of it. Nothing happens at River Records without Reed clearing it. You’ll find that out soon enough. He’s extremely hands-on.”
Hands-on. In a flash, my body remembers what it felt like to have Reed’s greedy hands on me as he kissed me.
I’m suddenly remembering the scent of his cologne.
The delicious roughness of his stubble. The death grip of his palms on my ass that made me delirious with arousal.
.. He wanted to tie me to his bed posts.
My cheeks hot, I clear my throat. “So, he’s already agreed to do the interview. .. with me?”
“He has.”
“But I mean... with me, specifically?”
CeeCee tilts her head like Scooby Doo sniffing out a snack.
“I mean, does he know I’m a newbie?” I add quickly. “Does he know I’m straight out of journalism school, with no experience?”
CeeCee nods. “Yes, Reed and I talked about that very thing, and he smartly recognized, as do I, that you’ll bring a fresh, exciting energy and voice to the project.
” She smiles kindly. “Don’t be nervous, Georgina.
I’m sure, after seeing Reed on that panel, you’re a bit intimidated.
And I don’t blame you. He’s incredibly successful and confident.
And his communication style is blunt and unapologetic, to say the least. But he’s a very good friend of mine, and I can honestly say he’s a sweetheart underneath all that swagger.
Plus, he trusts my judgment. And I’ve told him I’ve got a lot of faith in you. ”
A shudder of nerves sweeps through me. “I hope I’m able to prove you right.”
“You will. It was when you talked about bartending during our coffee date that I knew you’d be a fantastic interviewer.
Like I told you then, bartending is just another form of what a journalist does.
As a bartender, you’ve honed the art of talking to people.
Listening to them. Making connections in a short amount of time and getting them to open up.
Now, you’ll be taking those skills and simply putting the experience down on paper—which your writing samples, and Gilda’s high praise of you, lead me to believe you’ll be able to do with ease. ”
“Thank you so much. I didn’t really think of bartending being related to journalism in that way. But I think you’re right.”
“Of course, I am.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I’m most excited to see how you’re going to handle Reed’s interview. I have a strong feeling he’ll be uncharacteristically chatty with you.”
I press my lips together, suddenly feeling sick.
Shit. Is this my cue to come clean? To confess to CeeCee that Reed likely won’t be uncharacteristically chatty with me, because, surprise, the last time I saw the man, I kissed the hell out of him, rubbed my aching clit against his huge dick like a cat in heat.
.. and then left him standing at his front gate with not only blue balls, but, almost certainly, a firm desire to never lay eyes on me again?
“I feel like I should tell you something,” CeeCee says, taking the words right out of my mouth.
She leans back into her chair again. “For the past two years, ever since I first conceived of launching Dig a Little Deeper, I’ve been begging Reed to give me a full-length, in-depth interview for that magazine.
But he’s always said no.” She steeples her manicured fingers.
“You might not know this, but Reed’s father was a notorious white collar criminal who killed himself in prison when Reed was nineteen or twenty.
His father’s case was extremely high profile.
All over the news. And yet, Reed never, ever talks about it.
Certainly not publicly, anyway. And not with me, despite the fact that I’ve known him ten years.
And yet, I think that’s the one thing the world would be most fascinated to hear him talk about. ”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, I think I read something about that on Reed’s Wikipedia page.”
Shit. I clamp my mouth shut, instantly regretting I let it slip I’ve already read up on Reed. But, thankfully, CeeCee doesn’t seem to notice my blunder.
Without missing a beat, CeeCee says, “Of course, the friend in me would never push Reed to talk about his father, if he doesn’t wish to do so.
But the journalist in me wants you to be aware of the existence of this dynamic, just in case it happens to come up.
If, by some chance, Reed slowly opens up with you throughout the summer, and you get the chance to expand the scope of your initial interview—to ‘dig a little deeper,’ shall we say, beyond what we’d normally expect to write about in Rock ‘n’ Roll—then I want you to run with it, without hesitation. ”
I process CeeCee’s words for a moment. “Are you saying if I’m successful in getting a really in-depth interview of Reed, you’ll publish it in Dig a Little Deeper, instead of Rock ‘n’ Roll?”
CeeCee shrugs. “I’m saying I’m open to the idea.
Of course, I’ve got no interest in tricking Reed.
That should go without saying. He’s my friend and I love him.
What I’m saying, however, is that, if it turns out Reed is responding well to you, and you see an opportunity to go more in-depth with him than originally thought—with his consent, of course—then I want you to seize that chance. ”
I bite my lip, my mind whirring and clacking. “If I do get something amazing out of Reed, something that knocks your socks off, and you wind up publishing it in Dig a Little Deeper... would you hire me for that magazine?”