Page 102 of The Grumpy Billionaire
“When the reports didn’t air, I had Lee call your station to find out why,” he explained. “They told him you’d been fired because you refused to do the stories on me. And that you stole the video.”
He lifted a brow, waiting for an explanation.
“Yes and no. I did steal the video. And I wasn’t fired. I quit. I didn’t want any part of exploiting you, or… us, or whatever.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because… that’s not how you treat someone you love.”
Now both Reid’s eyebrows shot up. He leaned forward and opened his mouth to say something, but the floor director’s voice cut him off.
“One minute. Quiet on the set, please. Your mics will be live in thirty.”
The nightly news show’s familiar music swept through the studio, raising goose bumps on my arm.
This whole experience was surreal. I was in New York City, on the set of News Night America, about to go live on network TV. To interview the man I loved, who may or may not still love me.
Who might, in fact, hate me.
The studio audio dropped out, and I listened through my IFB to the host’s smooth voice welcoming viewers. She gave a preview of the night’s top stories, and then she was introducing Reid and me.
“Mara Neely, formerly of our affiliate in Providence, Rhode Island, joins us to conduct the interview. Welcome to News Night America, Mara.”
“Thank you for having me, Geena.” I smiled into the camera lens behind the teleprompter. Turning to Reid, I said, “And thank you for joining us tonight, Mr. Mancini.”
“Good to be here.” He smiled, looking relaxed.
As I read over the obligatory facts about Reid and his background, his vast success, video rolled on the studio monitors, showing us what the rest of the nation was seeing. There was Reid at his company headquarters, out on his boat, walking along the beach behind his mansion—alone.
And finally came the moment of truth. I had to ask it—the question—because you just couldn’t start an interview like this any other way.
“You’ve never spoken about the inspiration behind StillYours.com. There’s been a lot of speculation, but you’re the only one who can answer that question with authority. So tell us… what inspires someone so young to create a social network whose purpose is to reunite lost loves?”
Reid looked down and paused a few seconds before answering. It felt like an hour to me. He lifted his eyes to meet mine.
“I think it’s pretty obvious.” He grinned. “It was a girl. I loved her. I lost her. I had to get her back. And I realized there were a lot of people in this country, in the world, actually, in the same boat as me. I built StillYours.com for them.”
He looked down and laughed softly, then looked up at the camera. “But I can’t lie—I mostly did it for me. I was hoping the site might help me find that girl, that she might see my profile and want to reconnect with me.”
And a nation swoons. Handsome billionaire bleeds from the heart on national television. Every woman in the country was probably licking her TV screen.
This woman, however, was doing her very best not to pass out.
Breathe. In and out. You’re on live television, Mara.
“And did she?” I managed to get a bit of air and ask the natural follow-up question.
“No,” he said. “Not until recently. Sometimes these things take time, so don’t give up, everybody. There’s always hope.”
Reid laughed, his gorgeous white teeth and sparkling turquoise eyes surely winning over any remaining holdouts out there in living-room-land.
The interview continued, with Reid answering questions about his childhood, his personal interests, his charitable giving, which he still seemed reluctant to discuss. He talked about loving the ocean, the historic charm of Providence and Eastport Bay. I could picture the Rhode Island state tourism office erupting into cheers.
When the director gave me a two-minute warning in my earpiece, I started to wrap up the interview.
“People have called you everything from ‘reserved’ to ‘arrogant’ to a ‘cut-throat businessman.’ But with a business built on love, you sound like something of a romantic to me.”
Reid grinned bashfully and held his hands out to the side in a mock-surrender. “You got me.”
