He bursts out laughing. “Wow, Harper, say it how it is.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he says as we start walking again. “Delivering a baby really breaks down barriers.”
“So, put me out of my misery. What is it aboutNotting Hillthat bothers you?”
He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I like the movie, so don’t panic. But isn’t she kind of mean to him the whole time? She doesn’t tell him she has a boyfriend and then she picks him up and drops him whenever she likes. She treats him terribly. I don’t get it.”
“She does not! She’s… aloof,” I tell him, frowning. “It’s not easy for her, being a Hollywood star. She doesn’t trust anyone around her.”
“Of course you’re on the side of the movie star,” he says with a knowing smile. “Has there ever been anyone you’ve interviewed who you didn’t like?”
“A journalist does not reveal her secrets.”
“Aha! That’s a yes, then.”
“There have been a couple who have been difficult to warm to maybe, but I always try to see things from their point of view. I mean, we’re journalists, Ryan. We’re the enemy.”
“The enemy who gives them the publicity they need to be famous and successful,” he remarks. “They act as though they hate us, but the truth is, they need us.”
“The complex truth.” I nod. “Which is why I make sure that I’m the good guy. What’s the point in dragging people down? Where does that get you?”
“Valid, but you have to be honest with your audience,” he says as we reach our building and he opens the doors for me. “If you only write good things, they’re not going to think you mean it. As Mr. Darcy said, ‘Your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth the earning.’ There’s something to that, I think.”
Once again, he causes me to halt in my tracks.
“Did you just quote Jane Austen at me?”
“My mum is obsessed with Colin Firth,” he replies breezily, continuing on past the main paper desks and giving some of his former colleagues a wave as he passes. “It’s my secret talent, quoting the BBC adaptation ofPride and Prejudice.We used to watch it every Christmas.”
Catching up with him again, I’m completely bowled over by this new information. Sometimes I think I know Ryan through and through, and then other times I realize I don’t know him at all.
“There,” he says suddenly, glancing at me and waggling his finger at my face.
“What?”
“There’s the crinkle.” He grins as he sits at his desk, placing down his mocha. “My Jane Austen knowledge is vexing you.”
Shaking my head and concentrating on making my forehead as un-crinkled as possible, I log back into my computer. Forcing myself not to look at him, I consider his theory. He’s wrong, of course. It’s not his Jane Austen knowledge that’s getting to me.
It’s him.
Our truce doesn’t last long.
It should come as no surprise that the crack in our newfound peace is caused by Cosmo, who calls us both into his office that Thursday afternoon.
“Harper, I’ve seen your email about interviewing Max Sjöberg tomorrow in Manchester—”
“It’s going to be amazing,” I say enthusiastically. “They’re currently filming series two of his detective drama there,Blue Lights,and his publicist has promised that I can have at least halfan hour, maybe an hour, and then we can send a photographer next week to do a shoot. We’ve never had the chance to interview him before; he’s a hard man to pin down. Totally iconic, obviously. He put woolly jumpers on the map.”
“I thought the detective fromThe Killingput woolly jumpers on the map,” Ryan interjects.
“She definitely shined a light on them, but Max has been sporting woolly jumpers in Scandinavian detective dramas for two decades. Plus, it’s a pretty big deal that he was asked to be in the English version of the original Swedish show, playing the same detective. I mean, when does that ever happen?”
“True.” Ryan nods.
“He’sthatgood. They couldn’t possibly ask anyone else to play that role.”
