You can do this, Noelle. Just smile and nod. Smile and nod.
Steeling myself, I knock on the boardroom’s open door.
Mr. Ford unclasps his hands and turns around.
And my jaw nearly hits the floor.
The man standing on the other side of the long, polished table is nothing that I expected him to be. While some suits hang loosely on men, hiding their best assets, Mr. Ford’s does the opposite, his tailored outfit accentuating his broad shoulders and firm chest. His hair is dark, his eyes brown and large. A square jaw is covered with just the right amount of stubble—the amount that makes you wonder just what it would feel like to have that stubble scrapping along the inside of your thigh.
Heat fills my face, and I clear my throat. Words, words. I must know a few of them…
“Noelle Edwards?”
His brow furrows together. Uh-oh. Thirty seconds in the boardroom and I’ve already done something wrong.
I lift my chin, attempting to look confident. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m Ethan Ford.”
“Yes, sir,” I dumbly agree.
He unclasps his hands and gestures at the table.
“Have a seat.”
We both settle into chairs across from each other. My new boss has been looking at the floor or the table half this time, his forehead lined and a slight frown on his lips. Finally, he looks straight at me.
“I have an assignment for you.”
I blink in confusion. “W-wonderful.”
The fact that the owner of the newspaper—someone who I haven’t even seen in the office before—is here to give me an assignment is more than a little odd. Why hasn’t he just sent the task down through the chain of command?
It’s not my job to ask. And I’m also not complaining.
Picking up my pen, I look at him expectantly.
“I need you to interview the tech billionaire Zach Garner. Are you familiar with him?”
“I am.”
I catch my breath. When Mr. Ford said he had an assignment for me, I figured it would be along the lines of the stuff I have been covering. But there are no nuts or farmers’ markets here.
“He’s notorious for avoiding the media,” I point out.
Mr. Ford’s eyebrows go up in surprise, but then he gives me what can only be an admirable look.
“Excellent. So you were the right one to pick for this.”
I try to hide my pleasure. After over a week of either being ignored or treated like I don’t belong here by the paper’s employees—with the exception of a few of my coworkers—it’s nice to be acknowledged.
“What will the angle be?” I ask.
Mr. Ford leans back in his chair, which makes his white shirt stretch even tighter across his chest. I do my best to keep my eyes on his face.
“We need an inside look at his success, how he got where he was, which crucial steps made it possible… But I need more than that. I want an inside look at his life. I want to see the man behind the tycoon. Who is the real Zach Garner? What makes him tick?”
My gulp must be audible. What Mr. Ford is talking about is way beyond last-page news. This is front-page material.
And he’s assigning it to me. Someone whose journalism degree hasn’t even yet had a chance to collect dust.
“Okay.” I take in a long breath. “What’s my word count?”
“As much as you need,” he quickly answers. “Don’t hold back. Whatever you end up with, we’ll accommodate.”
My pulse is pounding, and I feel like I simultaneously want to dance and throw up. This is big. Career-making.
But the potential for failure is just as big.
“What do you know about Zach Garner?” Mr. Ford asks.
I think quickly.
“I know that he made his first million less than a year out of college, that he built his tech startup, Zarner Technologies, from scratch, working out of a studio apartment here in San Francisco, and that he now is worth somewhere around ten billion…if not more.”
“Very good.” Mr. Ford’s eyes study my face in a way that makes a pleasurable tingle go down my back.
“He’s also one of the biggest recluses in the city. He doesn’t make public appearances, doesn’t schmooze. Only a couple pictures of him have ever been printed, and none of them even have his full face in them.”
I’m getting excited now. I’ve made it my part-time job to know who’s who in this city, as that’s what my job partly depends on. Getting to finally show off some of this knowledge is nice.
“He could be working at the coffee shop on the corner part-time, and no one would know it was him. He has given maybe two interviews in the last five years.”
“You’ll be able to get it.”
Mr. Ford stands, signaling that this meeting is over. I rise as well.
“But…what if I’m not able to?”
He smirks. “The interview is already arranged. My secretary set it up.”
I can feel my eyes widen. “All right. Wonderful.”
“You’ll be great,” he huskily says. Again, his voice has a visceral effect on me.
He starts to step around the table, but I can’t help myself.
“Mr. Ford, one more question.”
He pauses, eyebrow cocked.
“Why me? Why not have one of the more experienced staffers interview Mr. Garner? I’m sure you know this, but this is my second week here.”
He folds his arms and studies me. “You’re fresh, that’s true. But you also just displayed that you’re sharp and well-informed. Not to mention you have other assets.”
I slowly nod, buying myself some time to come up with the right response.
“Thank you. May I ask what those are? I would like to be informed so I can use them to the best of my advantage.
Mr. Ford smiles, displaying dazzlingly white teeth.
“I’ve been watching the whole staff the last week, and you’re the only one who is truly suited to this job. Zach Garner should have no problem opening up to a pretty young thing such as yourself.”
Hold on. What?
I gape, certain he’s only a few seconds away from asking if my red hair is my natural color.
My boss basically just told me to use my looks to get a story… He also just committed an act of what most companies would consider sexual harassment.
This isn’t right. I should say something. I need to say something.
But I also need this story. If done right, it will propel my career quicker than ten years of typing up news bites and festival recaps.
“I can do it,” I say, hiding my cringe.
“Good, because your first meeting with him is tonight,” he grins, and I nearly choke with surprise. “I’ll have the information sent to your desk, but you’re meeting him at seven. Good luck.”
With that, he leaves the boardroom. I can’t move a step, though. I’m too busy processing everything that just happened.
I have an assignment. A real assignment.
And my boss just suggested I use my looks to get the scoop.
Apparently, no one has thought to tell Mr. Ford this isn’t 1925. Women have been working in journalism for a while now, and they’ve proven they’re just as good at it as men.
Saying something to him, standing up for the good of women everywhere, would be the right thing to do. But, then again, maybe using his sexist angle is the right thing to do—in this case, anyway.
Sometimes you have to take one small step back in order to get two big steps ahead. Let Mr. Ford suggest my greatest attribute is my looks. Once I get this story in the bag, it’s only a matter of time before I’m onto with the next one. And then he won’t be suggesting that my beauty is my greatest weapon. He and everyone else at this paper will have no choice but to acknowledge how skilled of a journalist I am.
I glance over my shoulder, catching sight of Mr. Ford’s retreating back. A quick heat wave surfaces between my legs. What would it be like to be touched by Ethan Ford Jr.?
/>
“Nope,” I say out loud, gathering my things. I’m not going there. Crushing on a boss is bad news.
And, besides, I have a job to do. I might know the basics on Zach Garner, but if I’m going to interview him tonight I need to take it upon myself to know as much about him as possible. Since the man is so anti-social, finding out what he likes will be a great help. If there’s something we have in common, I have a much better chance of forming a connection and getting the information I need out of him.
Plus, I need to write my list of questions… I need to make sure I have time to freshen up before the interview…
And I need to get the image of Ethan Ford’s sexy smirk out of my head.
Chapter 2
A quarter to seven and I’m at the front of Zarner Technologies, a building that is at least sixteen stories tall. Not that I’m pausing to count. Instead, I’m smoothing down my hair and sending up a quick prayer to the journalism gods before pushing my way through the revolving doors.
The front lobby is pristine, decorated in marble and off-white. A receptionist with hair pulled back in a tight bun sits behind the long front desk. I give her my name and reason for being here, then she points at the sitting area and asks me to wait.
I do, and it’s harder than it should be. My feet want to tap against the cold floor and my hands want to nervously twist around each other.
Despite spending all day long doing research, I don’t feel prepared for this interview at all. I scoured the internet looking for information on Zach Garner—clues that might give me at least a hint as to what he’s like, but other than the basics, there was nothing.
He graduated from an Ivy League school, then went on to make his billions. Other than the facts I already gave Mr. Ford, that’s it. There’s nothing else online about Zach Garner. He could have grown up on Mars for all I know.
I’m horribly unprepared for this interview, and I couldn’t feel worse about it.
At least I have my questions. I wrote them down in a lined notebook, which I keep my hands furled around as I wait. With the article due in three days, I need to get all of the information I can tonight. Garner is no doubt a busy man, and isn’t going to agree to a second interview. Just how Mr. Ford managed to get me this first one is a mystery.
A few minutes go by, and then a few more.
It’s ten past seven, and still no one has come down to get me. I crack open my notebook and go over the questions. I can’t help but glance periodically at the clock on the wall, though.
At seven thirty I get up to ask the receptionist if everything is all right. She gives me a smile that manages to be both sympathetic and condescending, and assures me that Mr. Garner knows I am here.
I go back to my seat, defeated. What if he never comes down? How can I be expected to return to the office empty-handed? My first big story, without so much as a word to show for it…
The minutes continue to tick by. I check my email to see if there’s a cancellation message there, but no one has gotten in touch.
Another twenty minutes. And another. I stare out the window, watching the light dim. This whole time, people have been going in and out of the lobby—mostly out. I feel pathetic sitting here, like a girl who’s been stood up by her date but who just refuses to leave the restaurant.
“You’re from the paper?”
I whip my face from the window to take in the man standing over me. Tousled, sandy-blond hair. Hazel eyes. Rolled-up white button-up sleeves. Hands in his pockets.
The clock behind him says eight. I’ve been waiting for an hour.
“Yes,” I answer, standing and offering my hand for a shake. “I’m Noelle Edwards.”
He accepts the handshake, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’m Ryan. Zach’s assistant.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I smile.
The anxiety I’ve been feeling all day isn’t lessened at all by this man’s appearance. He can’t be more than thirty and has a laid-back beach look mixed with businessman confidence. I’ve only just set eyes on him, but he’s already knocking it out of the ballpark in the made-for-female-fantasies department.
What’s with all the hot men today?
A year of a handful of pathetic dates in this city, and suddenly my life is full of hot, successful men. Not that any of them are asking me out, but still, just admiring is fair game…
Ryan’s jaw is tense. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Garner won’t be able to meet with you tonight.”
I can feel my face fall. “Oh. That’s all right. Is there some time in the next few days that we can reschedule for?”
Like, maybe tomorrow morning? I really, really, don’t want to ask for an extension on my first big article, even if having to do so is no fault of mine at all.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Garner had to fly out to the East Coast on an urgent business matter. Something came up last minute, and the date of his return isn’t certain. He could be gone all week.”
“Oh.” My voice is small, almost as small as I’m currently feeling. “That’s… unfortunate.”
“But I would be happy to help you.”
“You would answer some questions?” I hopefully ask. It’s not the same as an interview with Zach Garner himself, but it’s better than nothing at all.
“If I can,” he nods.
There’s a confidence about him, an assuring air. I feel I would be hard-pressed to say no to this man under any conditions.
“I’ll even pay for dinner,” he smiles when I don’t answer right away. “Or, I guess I should say, Zarner Technologies will pay for dinner.”
I laugh, and he does the same, showing off two matching dimples.
“I do need to write this article soon,” I admit. “It’s due in three days.”
“Then let’s not waste any time. There’s a tapas bar right down the block. We can start off there.”
“Great.”
“You ready?”
I nod, and he leads me to the revolving door, waiting for me to go through first. A delicious spring breeze picks up as we exit onto the sidewalk, and I self-consciously tuck some hair behind my ear when Ryan isn’t looking.
“Have you worked at the Tribune for long?” Ryan asks.
“This is only my second week.” I would love to sidestep the topic of my inexperience, but there’s really no way to.
“This is an ambitious story.” He gives me a glance as we walk side by side. “Taking it upon yourself to interview a man who is known for not doing just that.”
“Well, he agreed to this article,” I point out. “Didn’t he?”
Then again, he did leave town without bothering to reschedule. Perhaps he intended on having his assistant talk to me the whole time.
“He did,” Ryan evenly answers. “Here we are.”
He opens the door to the tapas bar for me. The act makes it almost feel like a date—at least in my hopeful, romance-deprived head it does. The last three dates I went on, the men acted as if they were doing me a favor by being in my presence.
“Shall we sit at the bar?” Ryan asks. “We can start with drinks, and then you can pick a restaurant for dinner. Or we can stay here, if you like.”
“That sounds great,” I smile.
I perch on the very last stool and get to it right away, flipping my notebook to the page with my questions and opening the recording app on my phone. “I hope you don’t mind if I record this.”
“Not at all.”
We order drinks, Ryan asking for something I don’t even recognize, but that I think might be a kind of whiskey. Heart thudding, I skim my questions. Since Mr. Garner himself isn’t here, some of them are going to have to be modified.
In the middle of my research crisis this afternoon, I decided I would have to use the lack of information to my knowledge. Since the man Zach Garner is so elusive, there’s only one option for the article: to write an exposé on the person behind all of the success, to pull back the curtain and show a side that no one knows about
.
It’s ambitious. Optimistic, maybe. But, then again, so am I.
“How long have you been working for Mr. Garner?” I ask.
“Five years,” Ryan immediately answers. He has no problem with eye contact, and has barely looked away from me since we arrived at the bar. It’s distracting, to say the least.
My gin martini arrives, and I take a grateful sip, the small amount of alcohol warming my system. Here’s hoping it will help put me at ease.
“And what has your experience been during that time?” I question. “Has it been mostly positive, or…?” I trail off, waiting to see if he’ll take the bait.
Ryan grins. “If you’re looking for dirt on Mr. Garner, you’re not going to get it from me.”
Darn.
“Anyway…” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What did you say the objective of this interview is?”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Ah.” He gives me a knowing look. “So you want the secret, insider stuff.”
“What journalist doesn’t?” I volley back. I’m trying to act confident, but he’s unnerved me. This guy is smart, one quick step ahead of where I thought he was.
“I’m afraid Mr. Garner is a very average man. He just happens to be one that owns a multi-billion-dollar business.”
My annoyance builds, and I do my best to stop my lips from pursing.
“Surely that took a lot of hard work, a lot of gumption and perseverance… I would love to get a look at the kind of man who is that strong.”
They’re honest words, and for a moment something flashes in Ryan’s eyes—a softness, or something like it. “Didn’t you work hard yourself?” he asks. “You have a job at a pretty reputable paper. Was that just handed to you?”
“I didn’t get it by association, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It is.” He hooks his arm on the back of his chair and turns to face me straight-on.
I’m not sure what to say. I feel like I should be aggravated, but I’m not. Although some people’s direct manners are annoying, Ryan’s are pleasing. There’s a gentleness to his honesty.
“This interview isn’t about me,” I point out, quickly taking a sip of my martini so that I don’t have to look at him.
His Eternal Flame Page 45