Page 36 of The Grumpy Billionaire
Stilted? If that had been stilted, I’d hate to see enraged.
“Um, yeah,” I agreed, going with it. Anything was better than Rob knowing what had really happened and kicking me to the curb.
“And he told me about your idea to spend a day with Mancini first before filming, to let him acclimate to you. Then you’ll be allowed to interview him and shoot video not only at his business, but at his estate, on his yacht—unprecedented access.”
Rob was practically hopping in place. “Man, it makes me wish I was a reporter again. This isSixty Minutes,Datelineterritory here. I’d die for that kind of in-depth interview with someone like him.”
I felt a little like dying myself. A whole day? Alone with Reid. Before we even got any video?
After the way things had gone this morning, what more could he possibly want with me?
And after the way things had ended between us eleven years ago, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less.
I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them and pasted on a smile for my boss.
“Great. I’m glad you’re happy.”
Because I’m about to spend a day in Hell.
ELEVEN
A Day in Hell
Mara
“Name please?”
“Mara Neely. With Action News.”
“Yes, Miss Neely. He’s expecting you.” The guard at the gatehouse waved me through.
My dashboard clock read straight up noon on Saturday, as scheduled. I continued on the long winding drive from Oceanview Avenue to the massive stone-covered waterfront home Reid reportedly used only on weekends.
I’d heard he spent his weeknights in a high-rise condominium in downtown Providence, to be closer to work, though Eastport Bay was only a forty minute drive from the city.
Well, if you could afford two luxury residences in the same tiny state, why not?
I parked in the circular courtyard in front of the house and got out. It felt like a world away from Providence. It felt like home.
Seagulls squawked overhead. The light breeze smelled of fresh-cut grass and ocean air, my favorite scent. I got out of the car and walked toward the massive front door, my heels clicking on paver stones that had no doubt been imported from some ancient European city.
The house itself was beautiful—large but not obscenely so—holding true to that particular way the New England rich seemed to have of demonstrating their wealth with tasteful restraint.
I smiled bitterly to myself as I rang the doorbell. It seemed everything about Reid had become more restrained since I’d known him. There had been no trace of the cute, playful boy I’d known in that uptight, bitter-faced man I attempted to interview several days earlier.
I saw a figure approaching through the cut glass panel of the wooden door. A flurry of panic went through me. Reid and I hadn’t been able to tolerate a few minutes in each other’s presence either time I’d seen him recently. Why would today be any better?
It occurred to me that maybe he didn’t want it to be better. Maybe hewantedto make things hard on me after the way I’d treated him.
Well, if he wanted to punish me for daring to show my face in Rhode Island again, he couldn’t have come up with a better plan—force me to spend a day with him when my life’s goal had been never to lay eyes on him again.
The door opened, and there he was—wearing jeans and a vintage Patriots t-shirt, running shoes… and a wide smile.
“Mara. Hi. Hi, thanks for coming. Come in. Please.”
He stepped back and waited for me to enter the foyer. Its stone floors gleamed, the high walls accented by paintings and interesting art objects.
Clearly he’d hired a decorator. The Reid I’d known couldn’t have cared less if he were surrounded by bare white walls or was living in a museum. But I loved every piece here, as much as if I’d selected them myself.
