I texted back:Yes, dear. Anything else?
His response:Only you.
A ridiculous happiness settled over me, and I sent him a thumbs-up. A knock on my door dragged my attention away from thinking about the night to come.
“Yes?”
Chase Atkinson, head of the marketing department, stood at my doorway. “Can I come in, or are you in the middle of something?”
I set the phone down. “Not at all. I was hoping to get a chance to talk with you further about how the magazine will be marketed to theUltimate NYCaudience.”
“Sure. That’s what I was coming here to talk about.”
He took the seat Armi had vacated. “What I have is a six-month marketing plan sketched out. The publisher is interested in focusing on these restaurants.” He swiveled his chair for me to see the screen of his iPad, and all the names were of places that, granted, were in the boroughs, but were already well-established, along with some pretty hefty price tags.
“Hmm. I had some thoughts about what I’d like to see.”
His tight smile came and went. “That’s nice, but this is what we’re going to go with for now. I’m sure if you show your proposals to Edward, he’ll consider them. Now we have you set up like this. I think…yes, here it is. Page sixteen.”
“Page sixteen?” I reiterated and heard my voice rising but didn’t give a damn. “I thought there would be at least a caption on page one that would take them to whatever page in the magazine.”
“Oh, we can’t do that. Not with an unknown. Maybe next year.”
Fuming, I sat through the rest of his presentation, barely listening. When he left, I hit Edward’s extension. His secretary picked up.
“Salvatore? Hi. He’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?”
“Do you know how long it will be?”
“Not very. Maybe another ten or fifteen minutes?”
“Can you tell him I need to speak with him?”
“Of course. As soon as he finishes.”
“Thanks.” I hung up and paced my office, my anger intensifying with each step. Who the fuck did Atkinson think he was? This wasn’t what I signed up for when I came toUltimate. Frisco had warned me. He said to watch out for tricks they might want to pull on me, and damn, he was right.
When the phone rang, I scrambled across my desk to answer it. “Hello, Edward?”
“Yes. You called?”
“Do you have time to talk to me? I need to ask you some questions.”
“Okay.” I heard the wariness in his voice. “Come by now. I have a meeting with Webster, but not for another hour.”
“Okay.” I hung up the phone and strode out of my office. I passed Steph at her desk on the way down the hallway to where the higher-level managers’ offices were located.
Edward’s secretary gave me the go-ahead. “He’s free.”
I knocked and barely waited for Edward’s response before opening the door.
“Salvatore, what’s wrong? You look disturbed about something.”
“I am. Very.” I sat in the same chair I took the first time I was here, but I paid little attention to the magnificent view of Midtown Manhattan.
“Tell me what happened.”
Without preamble, I launched into the discussion Atkinson and I had in my office, voicing my displeasure at the unfairness of my blog’s placement, as well as the lists of restaurants he’d shown me. Edward listened to my ranting until I ran out of steam.
