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 hisexample, 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 inDig a Little Deeper,and you know it.”
“Which is why I’m submitting this forRock ‘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 forDig a Little Deeper.Come on, Georgina. You’re still vying for a spot atDig a Little Deeper.Don’t dim your light for anyone. Not even me. You know very well an article about me inRock ‘n’ Rollisn’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... andthispiece 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, andtheirfriends 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 giveshis 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 hardnotto 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.”
And that’s it. The article ends that way, without any mention of my father—not even the golf story I explicitly gave her permission to use. She doesn’t bother to mention the fact that I play all that Scrabble and do all that yoga with my “beloved mother” in a mental facility. Similarly, there’s no mention of my parents’ divorce or Troy Eklund or Stephanie Moreland. For crying out loud, Georgina’s article is sooppositea hit piece, so unabashedly—andexplicitly—a sappy love letter to her boyfriend—I mean, for fuck’s sake, sheliterallydeclares her love for me!—it’s an embarrassment. Not only tome,but also to Georgina.
And then it hits me.She’s playing a prank on me.Ha! I look up, chuckling. “Good one. Youalmostgot me. Now, show me the real article.”
Georgina smiles. “This is the real article.”
“No more joking around, sweetheart. I’ll cherish this forever. It’s sweet. But, please, show me the one you’re actually planning to submit to CeeCee.”
“This is it. I swear on my mother.”
I pause, utterly floored. Not to mention, disgusted. “Are you insane? You can’t submit this!”
