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 4116 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 Devin would finally see that I could actually write more than just boring old advertising copy. 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 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 just the right splashes of blue to make it interesting.
I settled myself into the beautiful, well-appointed living room and grabbed my bag. I dug out my cell phone and put in a quick call to Trip’s publicist, letting her know my room number, and crossing my fingers while I heard her rustle through a sheaf of paper. I exhaled when she gave me the first appointment time following the junket for the half-hour between 12:30 and 1:00, only one short hour from then.
I set up my recently acquired digital tape recorder on the coffee table and took a seat in one of the blue plush chairs next to it. I reminded myself not to fidget as I became aware of my growling stomach. I didn’t think I had enough time to order room service, and besides, I was already pushing the limits of my company card by being in a room in the first place. I thought that I sure could have gone for one of those complimentary doughnuts right about then. I rifled through my purse and managed to come up with a flattened and crumbled granola bar, which I scarfed down without any semblance of grace.
I had to check my teeth in the bathroom mirror, so I used the opportunity to pee and then readjusted my entire outfit and fixed my hair. Again.
I sat back down in the chair and checked the time.
Damn. Still had half an hour to wait.
I reviewed my notecards, found a decent music station on the TV, rigged the door to stay open a crack, peed again and went through my outfit adjustment/hair touchup for only the millionth time that morning. Then I started to wonder what was in the minibar. I took a quick peek in the fridge, but decided against indulging in a drink, even though my nerves were pretty well shot.
I still had some time to kill, wondering if movie stars actually held true to their schedules, when the room phone rang loudly, startling me enough that I actually jumped.
It was Trip’s publicist on the other end, letting me know that they were on their way over to my suite.
I hung up the phone and ignored the lurching in my stomach, trying to acquire my long lost sense of cool. Get a hold of yourself, Warren.
I took a deep, steadying breath and tried to remain calm. But my zen ritual was interrupted by a knock on the door, before it was whisked open by a pretty and efficient-looking Sandy Carron, holding a clipboard and wearing a bluetooth headset.