Riley stood and stared at the closed door for a solid five minutes before he could force himself to move. When he did, it was to go back to the couch and collapse.
He’d sworn he wouldn’t do any interviews until the album was done and he knew it was perfect. Now what was he supposed to talk about? How he couldn’t write? Couldn’t play? Couldn’t sing?
Yeah, the fans would love that.
Unfortunately, he knew he was screwed and there was no way out. So he’d give the interview—a superficial one. No one said it had to be deep and meaningful. And it wasn’t written anywhere that he had to be sincere or enjoy it. The label wanted this? Fine. He’d do it. But Riley would do it on his own terms, not theirs.
Jumping to his feet, he almost felt like some sort of evil genius. He’d say all the right things and smile at all the right times. They could take their pictures and think they were getting a glimpse into the real life of Riley Shaughnessy.
But they wouldn’t.
They never would.
There was a time when Riley loved these times—the interviews, the press tours—they were always fun. Now it sounded and felt like a chore—one more thing to piss him off and make him resentful toward the talent that had deserted him.
He walked back over to the window and looked down at the city. Somewhere out there was some reporter thinking they’d struck gold by getting the chance to sit down with him. He had a reputation for being a great subject. Well, news flash, that guy was gone and no one had seen him in about a year.
God, he was sounding morbid.
Maybe it would work for him. Maybe—rather than being a phony during the interview he would be just…difficult. Morbid, depressing, angsty. Or maybe just indifferent.
Well shit. Now he was more confused than he was a minute ago.
There was only one thing for certain right now: He honestly felt sorry for whoever Tommy Vaughn was giving this interview to.
* * *
“Change of plans.”
Savannah Daly looked up from her laptop to see her boss standing next to her desk. Before she could inquire about what plans specifically, Tommy continued.
“You are interviewing Riley Shaughnessy.”
Normally Savannah enjoyed a good challenge, but this was not one she was willing to take on. “You promised me the story on Coldplay. I’ve been researching and planning the whole thing for a month. I’ve talked to their people and I’m scheduled to go on the first three California stops of their upcoming tour with them—which starts in two weeks! I don’t have the time to deal with Riley Shaughnessy.”
“Like I said, doll…change of plans. Blake’s taking the Coldplay story. I need you on Riley’s.” Tommy Vaughn was a rock and roll legend back in his time, and now at the age of sixty-two, he ran one of the biggest music magazines in the business. At six-foot-four, he wasn’t someone you would say no to.
Or at least you shouldn’t say no to.
Savannah chose to ignore the memo. “No,” she said firmly. “You promised me Coldplay. This was going to be my big piece. The cover!”
“Riley’s story will be even bigger, I guarantee it. You’ll still get your cover…it will just be after Blake’s Coldplay one.”
She let out a very unladylike whine. “Come on, Tommy,” she pled. “What’s the point in giving me your word if you’re just going to take it back?”
He leaned in close. “Sweetheart, I didn’t give you my word. I offered you the story, you accepted. There’s nothing written in stone and you know it. Now, you can sit here and whine and complain and do the damn piece, or…” He paused and straightened. “You can pack your stuff and go back to cutting hair at the local salon for all those soccer moms who seem to be everywhere. Your choice.”
She couldn’t believe it. He was threatening her? Seriously threatening to fire her if she didn’t take this stupid story? Unable to simply accept it, Savannah took a different approach. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why me? Why do you think it has to be me—specifically—who writes this story? You have dozens of reporters on staff, some who are real fans of the guy. Why would you think I’m the right fit?”
Tommy studied her for a long minute before sitting down on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Savannah, when you and I first met, you were a journalism graduate who was paying her bills cutting hair, do you remember?”
Seeing as how it was only a little over a year ago, she did. Rather than give him a snarky comeback, she simply nodded.
“That day we were doing a story on some local band who had recently hit it big, and you happened to be one of the stylists on the set of the photoshoot. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but their usual stylist got the flu and you were called in. I remember watching you. You weren’t starstruck and you didn’t get overly chatty with the band, you just did your job.”
“Tommy… I don’t…”
He held up a hand to stop her. “When the guys walked away for the shoot, you and I stayed back and talked. It didn’t take long for me to realize you had a good head on your shoulders. You weren’t some naive chick and you weren’t easily impressed. I was the guy there to write the story, but you were the one who essentially gave me the interview.”
She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean? You never said—”
“I was there—just like you—because someone had called in sick. Another reporter was supposed to do the interview so I was there with very little prep time and wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted this piece to say. But you,” he said with a smile, “you seemed to hone in on these guys and figured out their personalities pretty quick. And you were spot-on. Had I not talked to you, I would have looked at them as four morons who happened to get lucky. What I had by the end of the interview was a pretty deep piece showing a side of a band no one had explored before.” He shrugged. “That’s why I hired you.”
“Riley Shaughnessy has done dozens of interviews over the years, Tommy. Believe me, you’re not going to find anything deep about the guy. He’s a pretty-boy rock star. That’s it. You ask me? He got lucky.”
“You don’t think he’s talented?”
Now it was her turn to shrug. “It really doesn’t matter what I think. Obviously millions of people think he is.”
“But you don’t,” Tommy concluded. “This is why I want you on this story.”
“Because I don’t like the guy?”
“Because you won’t be easily swayed.” He looked around the newsroom and lowered his voice when he focused on her again. “Riley Shaughnessy is one of those stories you have to be careful about who you send in there to do it. Some of the girls on staff? They’re going to go and flirt and write some bubblegum piece more suited for a teen magazine. Some of the guys on staff? They’ll go in there and make it a pissing contest and then I’ve got a story that is off-balance.” Then he smiled. “But you? You’ll go in there and try to figure him out because it’s what you do. You want to write a story that makes people think and will show off your skills. And you know you’re not going to get that if you write fluff.”
“So basically you’re saying I’m the only writer on staff who can be trusted to write a story on this guy?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m not buying it. You can try and stroke my ego all you want, Tommy, but I don’t believe you.”
With a huff, he stood and motioned for Savannah to follow him. When they reached his office, she stepped inside and watched him as he shut the door. “A year ago, Riley got turned down for some legends of rock documentary. Word around town is it messed with him. He can’t finish his album, he’s in a funk.”
“So he’s pouting,” Savannah stated.
But Tommy shook his head. “I think there’s more to it. I think it’s something deeper. The guy’s been spewing out hits for years. Technically, he’s too young to
be considered a legend and he didn’t really belong in the documentary—you know it. I know it. Hell, even his record label and agent know it. So what’s his deal? Why the retreat?”
“Like I said, he’s pouting. It’s ego. He wanted something and he didn’t get it. End of story.”
“No, Riley Shaughnessy was a publicity machine. The guy knows how to work the paparazzi, reporters, the late-night talk show hosts…everybody loves him. Then a year ago, he just clams up? I’m telling you, there’s a bigger story here and I want you to get it. Call it ego stroking or whatever you want, but you and I both know you’re the only one on this staff who is going to give this piece the kind of in-depth attention it needs.”
“But…but…Coldplay. Chris Martin…”
Tommy patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll still get you backstage for one of the shows, but Blake’s doing the piece, Savannah. That’s final.”
She crossed her arms and frowned.
“Now who’s pouting?”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” she grumbled.
“Hey, it’s not like I’m sending you on tour with some boy band or something.”
Just the thought of it made her stomach clench. She’d been there, done that, and had the heartache to prove it. Not that she’d ever share that bit of information with Tommy.
Or anyone.
“You might as well be.” She sighed and sat down in the chair closest to him. She took a minute to get her thoughts together. “Okay, say I decide to take this on.”
Tommy’s bark of laughter almost shook the walls. “Seriously? Did you just make it sound like there’s a possibility you won’t?”
Savannah shrugged. “Maybe I miss cutting hair.”
“Yeah, okay. And I miss eating ramen noodles ten times a week. Cut the crap, Savannah. You and I both know you’re going to do it.”
She acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “If I agree to this piece, how do you propose I get Riley to agree to an interview? He’s been turning down people left and right for a year. I heard he turned down Ellen! And you really think I’m going to be the one to convince him to sit down for a conversation? You’re crazy!”
Tommy smirked as he slowly walked around his office and sat down behind his desk. Then he took his time getting comfortable and folding his hands in front of him. “Sometimes it amazes me how little you think of me.”
She rolled her eyes.
He held up a hand dramatically. “No…no. It’s all right. Let me enlighten you on how I make things happen. For starters, I know everyone in this business. Everyone. Secondly, Riley’s people are just as anxious to get him back out in the spotlight as his fans are. So much so they’re guaranteeing he’ll agree to this interview.”
“You mean…”
Tommy grinned. “They’re probably breaking the news to him as we speak.”
“He’ll never agree to this,” Savannah said hopefully.
Tommy shook his head at her. “We nailed the exclusive. You’ve got an all-access, monthlong pass to work with Riley Shaughnessy.”
“A month? Tommy, I’m writing a piece for the magazine, not his autobiography.”
“Yeah, well…from the way I understood it, Riley may be a little gun-shy so this isn’t something you’re going to accomplish in a couple of sit-downs. Hell, for all I know, you may get enough information to make it a multi-edition story, and I’m okay with it. But we’ve got a basic timeline. All you have to do is reach out to him.” He handed her Riley’s number.
Stuffing the paper in her pocket as she stood, she glared down at him. “You know, you can be a real jackass sometimes, Tommy.”
He stood and chuckled. “Only sometimes? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Dread filled Savannah as she walked to the door. Turning around, she pleaded one last time. “Come on, Tommy. Seriously. Someone—anyone—else would do a better job on this story. Please reconsider.”
He leveled her with a hard stare. “I hear there’s a sale on hair dye at Walmart this week. You won’t even need a coupon. You interested?”
Heat crept up her cheeks at his implication. She was screwed. There was no way out of this nightmare of a story no matter what she tried to do. Without another word, she walked out of Tommy’s office. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the defeat in her eyes.
Back at her desk, she sank down in her chair and sighed. In the past year, she’d done more than her share of lackluster interviews. It was supposed to build character, Tommy had told her. Only she had hoped by building her character, she’d start getting the assignments she really wanted. Better yet, she’d get first choice of incoming assignments.
No such luck.
While she knew she owed a lot to Tommy Vaughn—hell, she probably would still be cutting hair if it weren’t for him—it didn’t mean she had to like him.
And right now, she didn’t.
The decision to stay and work or leave and vent warred in her head. Tapping her keyboard, she watched her computer come back to life and immediately began a Google search on Riley. Instantly there were dozens, if not hundreds, of pictures, links, and blurbs about him. Not that it was surprising, but Savannah wasn’t one who subscribed to the motto of more is better. Her first hit went to Wikipedia.
Riley Shaughnessy is an American singer-songwriter, record producer, philanthropist, and actor, best known as the founder and front man of the rock band Shaughnessy. During his career, he released four studio albums with his band, which to date have sold over fifty million albums worldwide, making them one of the world’s bestselling music artists. Currently Riley is embarking on a solo career.
“Bor-ing.” Savannah sighed and then clicked through photos of Riley throughout his career. Tall, lanky, dark hair…all things she normally found very yummy in a man. So why did it make her almost want to sneer when it was this particular man? He had the look—the sexy grin, the earring, and probably had a tattoo. She snorted. “Typical rock star.”
She skimmed the rest—four brothers, one sister. Mother dead, father alive. Grew up in North Carolina. No marriages. Just the basics.
With Riley doing his solo thing, Savannah did a quick search to see what the rest of the boys in the band were doing with their time. “Hmmm,” she began, unconsciously reading out loud, “Matt ‘Matty’ Reed is writing the music for a Broadway musical and starring in it. Not bad.”
Scrolling down a bit, she continued. “Dylan Anders, the partier of the group, has been popping up onstage with various other artists…drunk. Lovely.” Scroll, scroll, scroll. “And last but not least…Julian Grayson.” She sat back and almost smiled. “Just got married and has a baby on the way. He’s taken up photography in his downtime and has no musical plans at the present.” She nodded with approval. “Good for him.”
Okay, maybe this assignment wouldn’t be the worst thing…
“Hey, Van,” Blake Jordan said as he sauntered by her desk—using the nickname he knew she hated. “Tough break about the Coldplay story. I promise I’ll give Chris and the boys your regards.”
Once he was out of sight, she flipped him the bird. “Bite me.”
Now she was even more ticked off than she had been five minutes ago. Knowing she wasn’t going to accomplish anything here, she closed her laptop and packed it up—along with a few other items—and made her way out to the parking lot. The sun was shining as she fished around in her oversized purse for her sunglasses. Sliding them on, she hastily combed her long black hair out of the way and trudged to her car, cursing Tommy, Blake, and Riley Shaughnessy the entire time.
Once she climbed into her Jeep, Savannah secured her computer bag and purse and then pulled a clip out of the glove compartment and clipped up her hair. Driving such an open vehicle had become a love-hate relationship. Deep down, she loved her Jeep. It was her to a T. It just wasn’t conducive to her long hair. Lu
ckily hers was pin-straight and it didn’t matter if the wind blew it or she clipped it up or threw a baseball cap over it, it was still going to look the same. And really, doing all those things was for her own safety—she’d learned relatively quickly that long hair, wind, and open sides on a vehicle were not a good combination.
Never let it be said Savannah Daly needed a ton of bricks to fall on her.
Pulling out onto the main strip, she began to drive aimlessly. It seemed too early to go home, but there wasn’t any place in particular she wanted to go. With a muttered curse, she forced herself to just drive for a while—to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city. Not that downtown L.A. was anything spectacular, but it had the potential to be a good distraction.
An hour later, traffic was becoming more of an issue and Savannah decided she’d pretty much cooled off enough. She could go home and think about this new assignment without feeling an immediate urge to strangle someone. The next right turn would lead her to the freeway, which would—in turn—take her home. Her stomach growled loudly and she cursed again. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I was supposed to food shop yesterday,” she said.
Knowing that shopping for groceries was even less appealing than doing research on Riley Shaughnessy, she stayed on the road and opted to find someplace to grab takeout.
“All the usual suspects,” she murmured as she flew by restaurants and cafés. Did she really want to go home and eat? Shaking her head, Savannah knew at this rate with traffic, any food she purchased would be cold by the time she arrived at her home. That left a sandwich or salad to go or dining alone at the restaurant of her choice.
Suddenly, the thought of a sandwich became really appealing. No need to go for anything fancy. She could grab a sandwich and maybe hit the beach. She’d driven far enough that she was minutes away from Hermosa Beach. “Okay, for once, my aimless driving has paid off.” Slowly, she drove through town and found a place to park. Grabbing her bags, Savannah felt at peace. The sun, the sand, the surf…and a sandwich. Not a bad way to spend the early evening hours. She was thankful for the currently cool California weather.
Mistletoe Between Friends / The Snowflake Inn Page 28