“I’m sorry?” I said. It was a question, but a drunk moron could have heard the ominous tone in the question.
“I’ve had many reports of, shall we say, inappropriate office behavior on your part in many people that I interview,” Delilah went on. Now she was the confident one, her voice steeled and steady, not judgmental, just factual. I had to admit that I appreciated that; too many journalists were smug with these sorts of stupid questions. “How would you respond to those who say you let professional and personal barriers cross over too much? That you, shall we say, play where you eat?”
The question was clear enough. What I really wanted to know was how did Delilah feel asking that question?
Did she want an honest answer? Not the kind of answer that was technically true but didn’t really say anything; I meant the raw, painfully honest answer that even I might feel just a small amount of discomfort at. Not because I would regret the variousencounters, but because I knew legally and from a public image perspective, they could cause trouble down the line.
For me to know how she truly felt, I could not ask her. Even if I had her tied up to a chair—or my bed, in both cases naked and mine to do with as I pleased—I doubted she would reveal how she felt about the question. I had to look into her eyes, observe her body language, see how she shifted in her chair.
The more I spoke to Delilah Reyes on the phone, the more the professional journalist I got. The more I spoke to Delilah Reyes in person, the more the woman I got.And would the same be true for you and her?
“Tell you what, Delilah,” I said, smiling. “I don’t think I’m going to give you the fairest answer you want if we’re speaking on the phone like this.”
“Oh?”
In the same way Delilah had forced me into a corner, now it was my turn to do the same, to leave her no wiggle room.
“I’m going to invite you back to my office to get a full interview,” I said, “and in fact, henceforth, I will only do interviews from my office or my penthouse. Think of it this way, Delilah. You want to see the real me? You want to see the details of my life? You’ll only see them this way. And you should be flattered—no other journalist has gotten this level of access.”
And no one else will be under the heat and pressure you will be, Delilah.
But you’d better tread carefully, Adrian. You’re inviting her into the heart of your world. Play it badly, and this could blow up not just in your face but in all the Vale’s faces.
As if Cassius, our beloved CEO, getting married isn’t something already blowing up in our face.
“And when would you have me do our next interview?”
I snorted. She was about to find out what I meant with my earlier thought.
“Now.”
CHAPTER 10
Delilah
Now?
Now?!
“You’re kidding, right?” I said, more in disbelief than amused. “You, the CFO of the most powerful casino entity in Vegas right now, have nothing?—”
“I have nothing that cannot be rearranged,” Adrian said. Throughout the entire call, he’d sounded on his heels, sounded like a man surprised that a woman could ensnare him in tough questions—up until about the last five seconds. “And in any case, even if I were to miss an important meeting for this interview, is that really your concern? Does it matter to you how I spend my time?”
I suppose that no, it did not. Adrian would not have been the first major politician or businessman to skip an important meeting to say a few words to me. Some truly had good reasons for it; others couldn’t help the ego stroke of thinking they were controlling the media message.
But this was the first time where I began to feel like I wasn’t in as much control as I would have liked to be. Sure, as a journalist, there was always going to be a bit of an imbalance inthat the subject had knowledge I did not, and I couldn’t always offer good press in return. But this was different.
This was extremely different.
“It does not,” I said.
That was another difference. For Adrian, clearing off whatever might be on his calendar was a personal decision, one that likely had, at most, a marginal impact on the business, if any. For me, the opportunity to have an in-person interview with the King of Diamonds required dropping everything short of a life-or-death emergency. And even then, I’d probably try to show up at his office with medics treating me.
“Then I will see you here whenever you arrive,” he said. “Do try to make it prompt. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’ll get here easily.”
“I—”
But the line went dead. My knuckles whitened on the office phone I had called Adrian from. I took in a breath.
