The offices ofUltimate NYCwere, as was to be expected, elegant. Everything was decorated in neutral tones of gray, cream, and pale yellow, and everyone looked the same: The women were all skinny and dressed in black, and the men wore navy or gray suits, striped ties, and white shirts. Everyone looked homogeneous and white-bread, as if they were on their way to dinner at the Yale Club.
A young blonde woman with perfectly tweezed brows and a thin, red-lipsticked mouth gave me the once-over. “May I help you?”
Shifting in my new loafers, I said, a bit too loudly perhaps, “I have an appointment with Edward Harvey.”
Those brows shot up, but she picked up the phone and spoke softly into the receiver. Her large brown eyes darted to me, and she nodded.
“Okay, thanks.” Her smile, now that I’d been validated, was slightly less frosty. “Have a seat, please, Mr. Grant, and Violet will be out momentarily.”
“Thanks.” My feet hurt, and discreetly, I tried to rub one up against the other. I wanted to text Mike and show him how the upper crust lived.
“Mr. Grant?”
I glanced up at another blonde, young woman in a black dress. I wondered if there was a room in the back where they churned out copies of them.
“Yes.”
“Come this way.”
I rose from the metal chair and followed her slim figure down the hallway until we reached a door markedEdward Harvey, Senior Food Editorin elegant gold script. She knocked once and opened the door.
Edward sat behind a long dark-wood desk, but my eyes were drawn to the stunning view of the city behind him. Floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted the incredible backdrop. It damn sure paid to be in charge.
“Salvatore, come in, please.”
The assistant who’d ushered me in slipped away, and I walked into the spacious office with my hand outstretched, as calmly as if I greeted one of the country’s most powerful men in publishing any old day of the week. “Thank you. Quite a view.”
Edward swiveled around in his chair. “Even more spectacular at night. You’ll have to see it sometime.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Let’s sit at the table. I have coffee if you prefer that to tea, or something stronger if you’re interested.” His eyes twinkled. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“I’m not one to say no.”
Still mystified as to the reason for this visit, I joined Edward at the gleaming conference table and accepted the glass of sherry he handed me.
“Salute.”
I tipped my glass to him.
“Ah. Nothing like a little nip in the afternoon. Now…” He set his glass on the table, and those keen eyes zeroed in on me. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”
“I’ll admit to being curious, yes. It’s an incredible honor for a small blog like mine to be noticed by such a respected institution asUltimate NYC.”
His smile gleamed at me, foxlike. “Considering that the editor of said small blog is not only unafraid to rip into one of my top food critics, but also took it upon himself to call me and school me on how to maintain my readers, I think I’m looking at someone who is well on his way to making his own mark in the industry.”
I shifted in my seat. “I’m sorry—”
Edward put up his hand. “Don’t make me second-guess my opinion of you. One way to establish yourself is to stand by your convictions.”
I had nothing to lose and everything to gain by being true to myself. Edward was right. “Okay. The truth is, I can’t stand people like Martinelli. He’s elitist and delights in ripping apart restaurants that don’t meet his incredibly high standards. He’s the type to have preconceived notions of what the food is going to be like before he even tastes it. He’ll never give them a chance, even if they are quality.”
“Are you sure you two have never met?”
I barked out a laugh. “Never. I’m sure I’m not the kind of person Martinelli hangs out with. This is the first time I’ve been in the city in months. I’m a homebody, and he probably lives for the nightlife and parties and fancy clothes.”
“He’s worked for me close to ten years, and I’m not sure how wellIknow him. He’s very close-to-the-vest about his personal life.”
