Chapter 92 Reed
REED
We’re back from the tattoo parlor now. Sitting in our comfy clothes at my kitchen table, eating Amalia’s delicious meal and drinking Cristal from crystal flutes.
And, as Georgina eats and talks and repeatedly brings her fork and champagne flute to her lips, I can’t help staring at those tiny letters inked along the inside of her left ring finger.
.. ReRiGeRi... and, to my surprise, thinking, over and over again, It’s not nearly enough.
What’s wrong with me? Matching tattoos should be more than enough!
Especially considering Georgina got hers on that finger.
The one reserved for a wedding ring. The one that tells the world she’s taken, for life.
But, nope. I don’t feel the surge of pure elation I thought I would. I don’t feel sated. I still want more.
Georgina puts down her champagne. “I finished writing my article about you while you were gone.”
Shit. My gaze jerks from Georgina’s tattooed finger to her eyes, as my spirit thuds into my toes.
To be honest, I’ve been dreading Georgie’s article about me for weeks.
I’ve asked to read her early drafts, seeing as how she let me do that with her Gates article, but she’s always said no.
“I want to surprise you,” she’s told me.
And now, holy shit, the “surprise” is finally upon me.
“I’d like to send it to CeeCee tomorrow,” Georgina says, unaware of the intense anxiety brewing inside of me. “I’d love it if you’d read the article tonight and let me know what you think about it.”
“Sure thing.”
“I had such a hard time writing this one. You know, getting it right. I kept going back and forth on what information to include. What to exclude. It was important to me that the piece has journalistic integrity and a strong voice. I didn’t want it to be nothing but a sappy love letter to my boyfriend. ”
She smiles. But I can’t muster one in return.
Now that I love Georgina more than life itself, now that her dreams are mine, how could I possibly nix a single word of this damned article—even if she’s included information about me I don’t want to share with the world?
If I’m forced to choose between supporting Georgina’s career and ambition, versus guarding my own need for privacy and control, how could I possibly choose anything but what Georgina wants?
She stands, her excitement palpable. “So, can I grab my computer now?”
I take a deep breath. “Of course.”
Hooting with glee, Georgina bounds out of the kitchen like a gazelle.
And a moment later, she returns and places her opened laptop before me on the table.
“Promise you’ll read it with an open mind, okay?
Fair warning, parts of it are almost certainly going to freak you out, at first. But if you give it a fair chance, and read it with an open mind, I’m sure—”
“Enough,” I say, more harshly than intended. “We’ll let the article speak for itself.”
As Georgina resumes her chair, wringing her hands, I exhale a long, slow breath, place my elbows onto the table, on either side of the laptop, and let my eyes settle on the title of the article that’s surely going to hurtle me into a massive existential crisis.
It reads, “Reed Rivers: The Man with the Midas Touch Unexpectedly Has a Heart of Gold.”
I look up, frowning sharply. “What the hell is this?”
“The article I wrote about you.”
“I thought you said you want your article to have journalistic integrity, and not be a sappy love letter to your boyfriend.”
She winks. “How about we let the article speak for itself? Read to the end before providing commentary, please. Thank you.”
Exhaling with annoyance, I return to the screen, and, after reading only a few paragraphs, easily surmise this article is a fucking travesty.
A fluff piece. Shameless propaganda. Georgina describes how “brilliant” and “hands-on” I am, in every aspect of running my “empire.” She says I’m “gifted,” not only at holistic marketing, scouting, and negotiations, but also, at assisting my artists with “honing, maximizing, and developing their unique talents.”
She writes, “But Reed’s greatest talent lies in something that’s hard to encapsulate in words.
Something that’s awfully hard to perceive about him, unless you’ve spent days observing him in his natural habitat.
As crazy as it might sound to a casual observer, Reed Rivers is genuinely inspirational.
Through more than his words—though his example, his persistence, his drive—he inspires the people around him to reach for their best selves and conquer the world. ”
Georgina goes on to admit I’m not perfect.
I can be “shockingly harsh” and “grouchy.” “At the office, annoyance and impatience are Reed’s default modes.
But all of that’s okay with his team,” Georgina writes, “because Reed’s artists, and everyone who works for him, understand and respect his mission.
” Which, she goes on to explain, is fundamentally built on an “uncompromising commitment to greatness.” Georgina further writes, “Everyone who works with Reed is well aware he only commands from others what he commands of himself. Excellence. And that makes them respect the hell out of him, both personally and professionally.”
I look up from the computer, scowling. “CeeCee will never publish this tripe in Dig a Little Deeper, and you know it.”
“Which is why I’m submitting this for Rock ‘n’ Roll. For the special issue.”
I pull a face like that’s the most moronic thing I’ve ever heard.
“CeeCee explicitly assigned you to covertly try to unpeel my onion and bring her something on-brand for Dig a Little Deeper. Come on, Georgina. You’re still vying for a spot at Dig a Little Deeper.
Don’t dim your light for anyone. Not even me.
You know very well an article about me in Rock ‘n’ Roll isn’t an A-plus result for you. ”
Georgina shrugs. “A’s are overrated. C’s get degrees, dude.”
I stare at her blankly, incredulous. I’ve told this shark of a woman every fucking thing about me, every embarrassing, sensitive, excruciating, torturous thing.
.. and this piece of shit is what she decided to write about me?
I’m flabbergasted. Shocked. Annoyed. “You’re sincerely proud of this.
.. article? And, yes, I’m using that term loosely. ”
She laughs. “Yes, I’m very proud of it. Keep reading, please. No further commentary until you’re finished. Thank you.”
My pulse thumping in my ears, I return to Georgina’s screen and continue reading at the point where I left off.
It’s the turning point of the article, it turns out.
The place where Georgina gets to her true thesis: “But Reed isn’t merely a wildly successful and brilliant mogul-innovator-influencer-genius, he’s also, surprisingly, a truly good, generous, and kind human being, as well.
” According to Georgina, I’m a “devoted son” who plays Scrabble and does yoga with his “beloved mother.” A loyal big brother who put his little sister through school and adores his nephew.
“Reed is loyal as the day is long,” Georgina writes.
“A man who’s had the same best friends since college and who grew up to hire his childhood nanny as his housekeeper, as soon as he could scrape together the funds to do so. ”
To drive her thesis home, Georgina quotes several of my employees, including Owen, all of whom babble about whatever exceedingly nice thing I’ve done for them, or their family members, over the years, without fanfare or taking credit for it.
Owen, in particular, goes on and on about my over-the-top generosity.
“He’s a dream boss,” Owen is quoted as saying.
“There’s never a dull moment with that guy.
I learn something new every day by watching him. ”
“This is hideous tripe,” I spit out. “I feel like I’m reading my own fucking obituary.”
Georgina giggles with glee. “Read to the end, stronzo. What part of that instruction do you not understand?”
Begrudgingly, I return to Georgina’s screen, only to discover I’m not only a “philanthropist” who “generously” supports such and such causes, I’m also a guy who “regularly” helps good friends and family, and their friends and family, with whatever they ask of me, while never seeking acknowledgment or praise for any of my covert good deeds.
“Not true,” I mutter under my breath. But I know better than to look up from the screen again.
I continue reading: “Why does Reed help so many people, without seeking credit or adulation? As far as this writer can tell, he does it simply because he can. Because helping people gives his life purpose. Because he’s a genuinely good man who likes watching other people soar.
Of all the wonderful things I’ve discovered about Reed this summer, I think that’s the thing I like best about him.
The thing that made me fall in love with him the most.
“Yes, you read that right. This writer has fallen hopelessly and totally in love with Reed Rivers. I didn’t mean to do it.
In fact, I tried very hard not to give him my heart.
But it couldn’t be helped. He’s irresistible.
Thankfully for me, though, luck was on my side.
When I gave Reed my heart, he gave me his in return.
And let me unpeel it, down to the nub. And that’s why I’m able to tell you, with certainty, The Man with the Midas Touch truly does have a heart of gold. ”