She reached for it.
I held it away from her. “I think not. You’re ready to go boom. You need to calm down.”
I glanced to the couch. No Wanker. He wasn’t here when he was needed. As Erica let out a curse and then a pent-up scream before grabbing an energy drink from the refrigerator, I knew he would’ve known exactly how to handle her. He always knew if a joke would work and what type of joke, too, or if he needed to piss her off. Either way, he was the Erica Whisperer.
She slammed down the empty can. “We have to go. Now. We’re late. Why are we always late?”
I grabbed my bag and got in line behind her. After unlocking our door, she stepped through and held it open for me. When I didn’t immediately sprint behind her, her hand started waving me in a continuous spin. I frowned at her but held my tongue. A wise roommate knew when to enter a battle or when the opponent was too crazy to beat. Erica—judging from the fraying hair, wild lines around her eyes, and dilated pupils—could go off on a homeless person for sharing her sidewalk space.
I was very wise in that moment.
And I continued to be as Erica huffed and puffed throughout the entire bus ride. When she pulled the cord, I looked out the window but didn’t see the newspaper building. The ritziest hotel in the city, Seton, was there instead.
I grabbed Erica’s arm after we got off.
“What?”
I gestured to the hotel. “What are we doing here?”
“This is where the interview is being done.”
“Here?”
I fought to keep the panic from my voice. “Is he staying here?”
He couldn’t be. If he was, his sister was, too.
“I don’t know, but I doubt it. His family owns that other one—and don’t ask me why we’re not interviewing there either. When big celebs do interviews, even with us lowly newspapers, they pick somewhere they’re not staying. More anonymity that way.” Her lips pursed together. “Or I’d imagine. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m not a celebrity, and I’m probably never going to be rich, so who cares?” She grabbed my hand and yanked me after her. “Let’s go.”
I couldn’t move. I was terrified that he hadn’t held up his promise, and the cameras were going to point my way instead.
However, Erica didn’t care. She dragged me behind her, through the swinging doors and past the luxurious lobby. There were couches, gold-plated statues, a fountain, and lots of stuffy people. This seemed like a hotel where Kian’s family would stay.
Erica swept past the front desk and into the elevator. We rode it to a middle floor, and as we got out, I saw a bunch of banquet rooms. Erica slowed, craning her neck to peer into the smaller conference rooms, until she grabbed my hand once again and swung an abrupt right into one of the rooms.
“Here.”
A table was set up against the wall with water, soda, juice, and coffee along with different food choices—pizza, finger sandwiches, vegetable trays, fruit platters, and lots of other dishes that I would’ve salivated over if I wasn’t ready to pee my pants. Not the literal way, the nervous way. My stomach felt like it was still riding the Crazy Erica Train.
“Okay.” Susan cleared her throat from the back of the room. She clapped for everyone’s attention. “All eyes on me. Right here.”
When people quieted, she signaled to someone. “Can you shut the door?”
She turned back to us. “Okay. Here’s the game plan. We’ve gone over it before, but we’re doing it again. Kian Maston is going to be arriving in the next hour. I want all the teams set up and ready to go. As soon as his team walks through those doors, you’ve got cameras on him. Your recorders are primed and rolling. Pencils are at the ready. You get my drift. We’re not here for an exposure or a hatchet job. We are going to tell Kian’s story with respect. He’s loved by a nation, and we’re going to capitalize on that love. Everyone is going to be watching us and asking why we got the story they wanted. We got it because we’re a damn good paper. We’re going to prove that to the nation. We’re going to make psychopaths cry. I’m fucking Barbara Walters today. Erica?” She snapped her fingers in my roommate’s direction.
“Yes?”
“You’re Meredith Vieira. You got it? Are you channeling her?”
Erica’s jaw set in a firm line. Her eyes were determined, and her nostrils flared. “I’m ready. I woke up with my Meredith hat on this morning. We are going to do an amazing job.”
“Damn straight.”
Susan kept going, calling on each individual, getting every single one prepped and ready.
I was amazed. If she called on me, I would be too stunned to respond. This wasn’t the Susan that I’d met as Tara’s best friend, who hated me, or who wanted to keep tabs on my friendship with Jake. This was a leader. She had charisma. She stood there with confidence, and a buzz was filling the room. It was contagious. Everyone wanted to do their best work, even Erica, who hated Susan but didn’t hate her on this day. Every other day, yes, but not this day.
They were a team that day.
I almost wanted to be a part of their team, but then I remembered this was the media, and my sanity returned.
Someone tapped me on the elbow, and I looked to see a hotel employee.
He leaned close as Susan was still calling on people. “Are you Joslyn Keen?”
“Yeah.”
He handed an envelope to me. “I was asked to give this to you.”
After I took it, he left, scurrying away with his shoulders hunched forward. I frowned at him and then looked down. The envelope was the hotel’s stationery.
Erica leaned over. “What was that about?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Moving away, I went to a corner before I opened it. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Erica, but I was standing in a room of media. I ripped open the envelope, and I was thankful there were no prying eyes. A key card was inside along with a note.
I reserved this room for the day. No one knows about it. It’s intended to be used if I need a hideout from people, but you can use it, too. This day might be hard for you. They always are for me.
Room 914
—K
The doors to the conference room burst open at that moment. A heavyset man rushed inside, closing them behind him. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving up and down. Everyone quieted, waiting for him.
He said, “They’re here.”
Kian had arrived.
The room went nuts but in a controlled sort of way. They were already doing their jobs, but a quiet, intense concentration permeated the room. They were nervous.
Erica found me in the crowd. Her eyes were lit up and dilated. She clutched on to my hand, the same one that held Kian’s note, and she squeezed. “Are you ready? It’s happening. And, holy shit,”—she moved closer, lowering her voice—“he is really freaking hot. Cripes. He’s gorgeous on TV and in the pictures, you know, but it’s another thing in person.” She pulled her collar out and pretended to fan herself. “And I’m going to be alone in a room with him soon. Well,”—she nudged my elbow—“you and I will be in that room with him.”
“And camera people, right? And sound people and people for lighting? Right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Erica craned her neck as a crowd had formed around Kian by the door. “Them, too.”
Suddenly, everyone paused. The doors opened again, and it was surreal. A blanket of stillness settled over everyone, even to some server in the corner, who was sneaking a handroll from the buffet table.
Kian walked in.
Everyone in the room all seemed to be holding their breaths, just watching him.
He looked refreshing, to be honest. He was relaxed and confident. A group went to him, and I could only see the top of his head. There were a few people with him, and I tensed, trying to see if he had followed through. I couldn’t see his sister.
When Susan joined the group, they migrated to the front of the room where two chairs had been set up. The whole production was top-notch and professional. I hadn’t been joking about the lighting, sound, and camera people. Bright lights were centered on the two chairs in the front, and cords ran all over the place, leading to cameras and other video machines.