“I completely understand. I wanted you to know that we’ll be doing a live broadcast on every social media platform at six tonight. We’ll discuss Black Pinnacle’s intention to gentrify South Shore, and I’ll also be reporting on some of the other communities they’ve made almost unrecognizable and wheresome of those people are now.” She paused, clearly waiting for Marina to jump in. When she stayed silent, Adriana continued. “I’m anticipating this being an ongoing series as we reach out to more and more people and the situation in South Shore progresses. If your client wants to get a word in, now would be a good time to do it.”
Marina sent a text to Cari.Find out who this Adriana journalist is NOW.
“Again, I can’t speak for my client. However, I’ll be sure to let them know of your intentions. How do we get hold of you, should they want to make a comment?” The likelihood of Sheila giving some rando reporter the time of day was about as likely as Rob wearing a parka to a tea party.
“You’ve got my number now. Call any time. You could even come on down tonight and join in.” There was a smile in her tone, like she was already playing a game. “See you soon.”
Marina hung up, foreboding pushing her to her feet.
Cari came in and went straight to Marina’s computer, tapped something in, and then waved her over. “Have a look.”
Marina looked over Cari’s shoulder. On screen was a young, pretty, dark haired woman holding a microphone. She wasn’t in a living room in her sweats. She was on a military base, reporting on the deaths of a boatload of refugees.
“Wait. She’s an actual journalist?”
Cari nodded. “She’s one of the new variety. She’s got contracts to report via a bunch of social media channels for the big stations. Like this one,” she tapped the keys, “for CNN’s TikTok page.” She looked up at Marina. “She has over fifteen million followers.”
Marina pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m guessing she’s not one of the Bro-fund money grabbers.”
“Nope. Left wing all the way. Who is she after?”
“Black Pinnacle. Specifically the South Shore project.” Marina bit her lip. “I’d better give Sheila a head’s up.”
Cari vacated Marina’s chair. “What do you need from me?”
Marina sat, contemplating her next move. “I’m not sure. Let me contact Sheila and then I’ll let you know.”
Cari waved and Marina picked up the phone. She hadn’t spoken to Sheila since the ballet, and the brief reprieve had been nice. But this was the job.
“Marina. I thought I’d hear from you earlier. But no sense in appearing too eager.” Sheila’s voice, as usual, was glass covered in snow.
“I got a call from a journalist, and I wanted to let you know. She’s doing a story on the South Shore gentrification project?—”
“I assume you didn’t say anything.”
If Marina had been a cat, her hackles would have risen. “Of course not. But you should know she’s high profile and says she has information and interviews from your other projects. I wondered if you wanted your team involved from a press angle.”
There was a moment of silence. “Her name?”
“I’ve texted you a link so you can see her for yourself. She’s kicking off the story in South Shore tonight at six.” Marina ignored the tiny flicker of hope that she’d have to be there and maybe have a chance to drool over River a little more, though she wouldn’t talk to her. But looking was acceptable. She could hear the journalist’s video playing on Sheila’s end of the line.
“She’s an upstart, a nothing looking for a bit of attention.” She sighed heavily. “I’ll send a few people working on the project down there to be my ears. Thank you for your loyalty. You know how much I value that.”
Ick. She forced a smile into her voice. “Just doing my job. Hopefully it won’t gain any traction and we’ll move ahead.” Somehow, she had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. How had the journalist even come across the project anyway?It was a tiny piece of real estate in the vastness of Chicago. The woman reported from war zones. Why would she care? Someone in the community must have a connection…
River. Instinct told her she was right. How a local ghost-whisperer knew someone with that kind of pull she couldn’t imagine. But then, River was more than that, wasn’t she? Strong, sexy, confident, kind…who knew what women had graced her bed? The thought was both arousing and disturbing.
“I’m setting up a dinner for you the day after tomorrow. Some of my friends from the ballet would like to speak to you about legal matters and becoming a client of yours. I assume you don’t object?”
The words were straightforward enough. So why did it feel like Sheila was handing her a package attached to an explosive? “That would be perfect, thank you. I’ll make sure my assistant keeps my schedule clear.”
“I’ll expect a better thank you than that at some point.” Her voice had gone low, husky. It was probably meant to sound sexy. Instead, it sounded like gravel had taken up smoking.
“A fruit basket it is. I’m sorry, I have to run to a meeting. Talk to you soon.” She hung up, knowing full well she was supposed to have waited for Sheila to dismiss her. There’d be a snipe fest in her future, for sure.
“Let’s go.” Cari popped into her office. “Let’s go to the thing in South Shore tonight.”
Marina frowned. “You want to work after work?”
