He thought about it. “The problem with you, Jo, is that you think like an amateur. Fans in a private meeting? Every single person in that room will have already tweeted a half dozen pictures.”
“You wanted me to get closer. I have.”
“That’s what’s so frustrating. You’rerightwhere I want you.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“You, Jo. You’ve gone native.”
I chortled. “Native? Seriously?”
He thumbed toward the office where reporters with bloodshot eyes scanned their computer monitors for any sign of a lead. “You find yourself in a position all of them only dream of and you’re not taking advantage. You’re hanging out with Micah, but I can’t count on you to bring me anything you might learn about him. Or his sister.” He pinched his fingers together. “I’m this close to sending you out to cover the airports.”
“No. Andy. Not the airports.” I’d lose my mind.
“I think you might need to take a step back, regain your focus. You’ve been wandering around, haphazardly stumbling across half stories.”
“I got you the L.L. Stylez story.”
He gave me a what-planet-are-you-from wide-eyed stare. “You got me the raw materials. I had to mold it into something provocative.” His shoulders relaxed with a sigh that seemed somehow calculated. “I’m giving you opportunities to grow. I just need you to give me something I can work with.”
“I’m trying, Andy. I honestly don’t know what more I can do.”
He pushed his tablet toward me. “Did you see this?”
It was a picture from the set I’d taken at Hervé’s party five days before. I raised my eyes to meet Andy’s. “I looked through all the pictures.”
“Right, but did you see this?” He laid his finger and thumb on the photo and spread them to zoom in further. As soon as he did, I knew which picture it was. The group in the original photo was of no interest, but Andy had brought the scene in the background forward, cropping out the people who’d been in frame. The resulting picture showed Adam standing behind Eden with his arm wrapped around her. His hand lay on her stomach. My stomach dropped.
“I’m not sure what you’re seeing.” If he ran a story about Eden’s pregnancy now, she’d never speak to me again.
Andy tapped his finger right on top of Eden’s belly. “The ring. Adam’s wearing a wedding band. Look.”
I exhaled and looked closer. Sure enough, there was a band on the fourth finger of his left hand. “I see.”
“How did you miss that?”
“I wasn’t looking for it.”
He stared at the photo, chewing on his upper lip. Finally, he put down the tablet, and said, “This would be a huge story, if we could prove they secretly married.” He tapped his finger absently on his desk. “I’ve been through all the pictures, trying to get a good view of her ring finger. I can tell she’s got a ring on, but is she wearing two? Is she wearing an engagement ring and a wedding band? I can’t quite tell.”
I wanted to tell him it was none of his damn business, but sweat beaded his lip. He looked like a junkie in need of a fix. If I didn’t intervene, he might start digging through their trash and find out even more than he’d bargained for. I needed to throw a stick out for him to chase after.
“I’m going to see her today. I’ll look at her rings. Okay?”
He lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temple as he worked through his options. His lizard-like tongue ran over his lower lip, and he came to a decision. “Okay, sure. I’ll give you another shot. If you can bring me that story, I’ll let you keep your freedom, maybe even let you keep reporting on the Sinclairs. But if you can’t do it, you might as well head straight to JFK after lunch.”
Caught between two terrible options was no way to live. But what other choice did I have if I wanted to keep my job?
“I’ll get the story,” I promised.
Chapter 16
Ifound an empty table outside the restaurant. The day had turned overcast and cool, but still nice enough to enjoy the open air. Eden walked up a few minutes later. She moved through the New York crowd as though she were cloaked in invisibility. Considering what I did for a living, it always amazed me how unfazed New Yorkers could be when lower level celebrities passed in their midst. They’d perk up at someone really famous—like Chris Hemsworth. I’d wager that Adrianna LaRue would turn some heads.
Eden waggled her fingers in a gesture so girlfriend friendly that it made me forget to get a closer look. She reached me and laid a hand on my arm. “So good to see you, again.”
As soon as she sat down, a lady wearing a visor and a fanny pack stopped at our table. “Excuse me. Aren’t you Eden Sinclair?”
