The concierge suddenly took a genuine interest in me. Her eyes fully met mine and she gave me a quick once over before asking, “Mr. Johnny Kelly?”
I got the impression that she had not only just sized me up, but found me lacking. Either that, or she was immediately able to see right through me with my every hair in its perfect place, standing there in my borrowed suit and trying to disguise my sweaty palms.
I did a mental eyeroll. Yeah, okay, sweetheart. You caught me. Yes, I’m freaking out about my meeting with Trip Wiley. No, I’m not looking to compete with you for his hand in marriage. Clearly, you’ve got it all over me and I don’t need to be viewed as a threat, as Trip is only one “chance encounter” away from falling madly in love with YOU.
But I just raised my eyebrows and gave her a, “Yep.”
She was all business back at her keyboard, tapping away as she asked, “Junket or one-on-one?”
Now, I should mention here that Devin was very clear on the fact that I was only scheduled to do the junket. If you’re unfamiliar with what a junket is, let me enlighten you.
A press junket is basically a lion’s den of desperation. Normally, anywhere from five to twenty writers are crammed around a table in some stuffy room eating complimentary doughnuts and drinking weak coffee for a gazillion hours. Finally, at some point, they are granted an audience with the celebrity in question for all of thirty minutes. In that short amount of time, questions are rapid-fired at said celebrity, each writer trying to get as many of his or hers answered before an assistant comes in and excuses the haggard interviewee to their next appointment. Then the writer has to piece together the melee in order to come up with a cohesive story, all the while making their article look as though they’ve scored the exclusive of the century.
It was all rather uninspiring.
Seeing as I had absolutely zero experience with the competitive nature of a press junket, I wasn’t much looking forward to fighting it out with the other seasoned writers in the room.
So, even though I knew there was a good chance I’d be found out by Trip’s people anyhow and there was a definite chance I’d be reamed out by my editors, I took the shot.
“One-on-one,” I managed to say.
I placed my company card on the desk, refusing to worry about the consequences of the unauthorized charge. If I managed to pull off the interview, Devin would gladly go to bat for me on the expense report.
Concierge Cat tapped away on her computer while I waited to be called out for my deception. But eventually, she simply slid a room key across the desk and told me to head on up to 4816 via the elevators located just off the main lobby.
I played aloof as I signed the receipt and grabbed the keycard, casually strolled over to the alcove, and made my way into a private elevator.
The second the doors closed, however, I started dancing; punching the air and cabbage-patching like a white girl. I hoped I wasn’t being monitored.
But I had done it! I was going to turn my little sideline story assignment into a feature article! I was on my way to an exclusive, one-on-one sit-down with the fastest rising star in Hollywood. Chances were good that I’d be able to parlay the interview into a cover piece with photos and a full-length story. Maybe this would be a big turning point for my career.
I was so busy daydreaming about my impending promotion to CEO of Howell House Publishing that I’d forgotten to flip out about the fact that I was going to find myself back in the same room as Trip in just a short while. He was probably only a few doors down from my suite at that very minute, getting ready to head into the conference room at the end of the hall.
I slid my keycard into the lock box, opened the door, and was greeted with the sight of an exquisite space.
The entrance opened into a large living room area, decorated in pale, neutral tones with dark wood furniture. There was a kitchenette and snack bar to my right, with cabinets done in the same dark wood, but the counters were cobalt, offering just the right splash of color. There was a table and chairs to my left and a sitting area directly ahead, set up in front of a large window. The curtains were pulled back, allowing a flood of natural light into the room, and I couldn’t resist its pull, drawing me to check out the view of Broadway far below.
I wandered into the adjoining bedroom and walked through the huge, marble bath. The décor was the same soothing neutral, with a few added accents of blue to make it interesting.