The Interview

by Alice Ward

  “You know what I think?”

  “If I do, can I have a cookie?”

  I grinned and kissed the top of her head. Her voice was still adorably quaky, and her fingers were twitching in my chest hair. “You can have a cookie either way.” I took a deep breath to calm my stimulated nerves. “I think this is what morning is supposed to be.”

  “Hmm.” She closed her eyes, and she didn’t reply for so long that I started wondering if she’d fallen asleep. Just when I was about to tilt her face up to me to find out if I’d lost her to post-coital slumber, she went on, “I think you’re partially right.”

  “Yeah? What part needs changing?”

  “The morning part.” I started stroking my nails along the ridge of her spine, and she wriggled to indicate her enjoyment. “I’m pretty sure this is actually what always is supposed to be.”

  I nodded. “You make an excellent point, Miss Theater Critic.”

  “I was overdue.” She propped her chin on my ribs to look up at me. “So, does this mean we’re a thing again?”

  “No, sweetheart. We’re the thing.”

  She looked up to the right like something had caught her attention. I followed her gaze but saw nothing, then turned back to her to realize she was exaggerating deep thought. “That sounds a little perverted, I have to tell you.”

  My crotch grew stiff again, and I chuckled. “You want to see perverted? You got it.”

  I flipped her onto her back in a flash, causing her to yelp. Shimmying down her body, I kissed a trail to her nipple. She bit her lip, cast me a sultry look from beneath her lashes, and shook her head. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I grinned down at her. “Another interview right now?”

  She grinned back. “You’re right. The interview can recommence later. Right now, I just want you again.”

  I drove in deep, her body enveloping mine, connecting us body, mind, and soul.

  “I love you, Mr. Finnigan.”

  I kissed her. “I fucking love you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Sadie

  My world had exploded.

  Tate’s interview with Jenna had become a piece of journalistic history, which had developed a cult following of sorts, and I finally fully understood why he’d been so reluctant to venture out into the public.

  Following the exposé, my editor had requested an unmasking of Tate’s mystery woman via Jenna’s gossip column. Once my name was out, and subsequently my picture, all bets were off. My apartment was swamped during waking hours by fans hoping to spot Tate with me. The paparazzi were there around the clock, attempting to get whatever scoop they could dig up by photographing me when I brought home bulging grocery bags or pummeling me with questions as I toted my coffee to work in the morning.

  To ease the problem to an extent, Tate had started sending Phillip to pick me up and drive me wherever I wanted to go — when I wasn’t already at the penthouse, that is.

  That’s where I was that evening, and it was a special night. I put my comfortable jeans and tailored pencil skirts away for the moment to don a flowing gown suitable for a red-carpet awards event, and Tate was in a tuxedo that James Bond would envy. He was saying goodbye tonight.

  Exactly a month ago to the day, there was a press release that rocked Broadway to its core. Tate announced he was going to be taking an extended hiatus from Concrete, much to the shock of the theater community and fans across the country. More mind-boggling was his reason, which was none. He hadn’t even told me. Every time I asked, he replied with a grin and a coy, “You’ll know when you’re supposed to know.”

  It was another secret, but it was a secret of a different caliber, one I was eager to learn rather than anxious to uncover.

  I finished touching up my makeup, then headed into the living room. Tate was already there, sitting on the couch, and beside him was an equally sharply dressed man with an excited glow in his cheeks.

  “Wow, you clean up great, Artie.” I cast the younger of the brothers a bright smile.

  He flexed and situated his lapels. “You say that like I’m not always stunning.”

  “Oh, no, you’re always a vision to behold. It’s just that you’re nothing short of a god in that getup.”

  “Thanks.” One of his endearing smiles broke over his lips. “Actually, these clinical trials have been working miracles. I haven’t felt this good since I was a hairless little chap.”

  He did look better. His face had filled out and given him a youthful roundness, and his eyes weren’t buried so deeply in his skull. The bony form he’d sported when I’d first met him had transformed into a healthy lankiness that reminded me of the pictures I’d seen of Tate in his teens.

  His sandpaper voice was fuller and more tonal, and even his walking speed had improved. And it was all due to the exposé. After reading about Artie’s medical situation, doctors in Sweden had reached out to him and asked if he was interested in participating in trials that had thus far shown excellent results. He had accepted, Tate booked his brother’s flight to Sweden, and Artie’s health had been on the upswing ever since.

  Tate cleared his throat. “I guess no one would like to comment on my appearance.”

  “We’re trying to be nice.” Artie smirked. Tate elbowed his brother and narrowed his eyes at me, and I giggled with a mocking shrug.

  “Nice to be loved.” He rolled his eyes and stood. “All right, brother, we’re going to go. See you at the Imperial?”

  “If you’re lucky.”

  They clapped their hands together, then embraced. Once they broke apart, I hugged Artie before allowing Tate to pull me away.

  ***

  “An old favorite.” I nodded with approval as we strolled into Coin. We were to have dinner together before the show. I’d wanted to extend an invitation to Artie, but Tate had been adamant that the meal was meant for two. I was suspicious this was because he was going to break the reason for his hiatus to me while we ate, and it was one I wouldn’t necessarily approve of, but I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t want to assume.

  “Quick, before Michel sees us.” He started speed-walking between the few tables toward the back of the tiny restaurant.

  I tried to keep pace with him, but my heels slowed me down. “Why? What are we doing?”

  “Shh!” We reached the back, and I realized he was taking me up to the roof. When we reached the stairs that were as steep as the Aztec ruins, he picked me up just like he had the last time and started hiking.

  It wasn’t until we were actually on the roof that Tate put me down and seemed to calm a little. It was still early enough that the sky was full of light with the horizon boasting a pinkening accent. I put my hands on my hips and looked him dead in the eye. “Tyler Finnigan, what is going on?”

  “It’s my last night on the stage for a while.” He kept one of my hands tucked in his, and he met my gaze evenly. “I love the theater, and I was grateful to have the opportunity to return to it. But you were what has made this latest stint on Broadway the best one I’ve ever had.”

  Warmth started spreading from the hand he held, up my arm, and into my chest. I smiled sheepishly. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  “No, it’s true. I wanted to get a little nostalgic and take you up here again, where we came on our first official date.”

  I tried to keep the warmth from entering my cheeks and making me as pink as ends of the sky, but I couldn’t stop it. “Okay. I like that.”

  “Do you want to sit on the edge like we did before?” He motioned to the ledge where we had overlooked the city with the stars above us and the traffic below. I briefly considered whether it would be wise to reenact that romantic moment while I was wearing a dress, but the romance was too wonderful to pass up.

  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  I started walking toward the edge, already smoothing my gown over my thighs and bum to prevent any voyeurs below sneaking a peek of my panties, but I realized there weren’t footsteps behind me. I turned aroun
d… and froze. Tate was on bended knee with a velvet box held out in his hand.

  My heart stopped completely. I was lucky I wasn’t at the edge of the roof, or there was a chance I would have fallen to my death. “Oh my god…”

  “I love you, Sadie.” His voice was thick with emotion. “And I’m going to love you every day from now until forever. Will you marry me?”

  There was no thought. There was no consideration. There was only an answer.

  “Yes!” I threw myself at him, and he caught me in his arms with a laugh. His mouth found mine, and I kissed him with everything I had. My heart was so full of love I thought I was going to implode, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. When our lips separated, I looked up at him through tearing eyes. “Is that why you took the hiatus?”

  “Of course.” He beamed. “I needed to take time off to help plan a wedding and a fantasy honeymoon, didn’t I?”

  I roped my arms around his neck again, and his hands slid down to my waist. This time, we kissed slowly and deeply, the passion rolling between us like soundwaves. My body fit against his perfectly.

  Life had finally pulled back the curtain on my future and standing center stage was Tate…

  Tyler…

  The man of my dreams.

  THE END

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  A Sneak Peek

  THE BLIND DATE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Juliana

  Some days, following my passion was easier than others.

  I loved the days when I was able to get a former couch potato to turn their life around and realize that healthy eating and moderate exercise wasn’t a death sentence. I relished whenever a client came in and told me that not only were the numbers on the scale down, but they had more energy than ever before or could finally walk up a flight of stairs or run a block without getting winded. It always brought a tear to my eye whenever I got an unexpected hug from someone who finally “got it” when it came to nutrition.

  Today was not one of those days.

  I sat on the overstuffed sofa in my office at the Healthy Steps Nutritional Center, part of the Children’s Hospital of New York. Across from me was my newest client, a sullen thirteen-year-old named Emily who’d just been diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes.

  “I don’t know, Miss Hurley.” The girl’s voice was shaky, less than a whisper, and she hadn’t been able to make eye contact with me since I gave her the news that if she wanted to shake this diagnosis, she would need to change her relationship with food.

  “Call me Juliana,” I offered, trying to make her feel more at home. “Or Jule.”

  “Juliana.” She tested the name shyly. “I’m sorry, but I love to eat. I just can’t help it.”

  I didn’t let any discouragement show on my face. “What’s your favorite foods?”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, but only for a moment before they fell to her twisting fingers again. “I’m not giving up my Heigh-di-Hos. I honestly don’t think it’s possible for me to have the willpower to do something like that. I love them too much.”

  Ugh, Heigh-di-Hos. Enough sugar and carbs to kill a week’s worth of dieting as well as rot every tooth in a person’s head. Plus, you could practically taste the chemicals in them. Not to mention that to some people, like Emily, they were as addictive as crack cocaine. Simply the worst, number one offender on the nutritionally empty Foods to Avoid list I’d just presented to her.

  Emily’s mother, Mrs. Aker, a skinny nightmare of bleached blonde perfection, crossed and uncrossed her legs. “Oh, yes, you are certainly going to give them up, young lady!” She huffed and leaned in my direction. “We told her that she can’t eat anything she pleases,” she whispered, as if her lowered voice couldn’t reach the girl sitting just inches away. She takes after his…” she snarled the word, “mother, if you know what I mean. They’re all big-boned, hefty people. They so much as look at a cake and they put on weight. I told her she might never have the metabolism of the rest of the family, and she needs to make accommodations. But does she? No, I can’t keep her hand out of the sweets drawer.”

  Why do you even have a sweets drawer?

  I inhaled a deep breath. “Have you tried keeping the temptation out of the house?”

  She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I have two other children. None of us has a weight problem. Why should all of us suffer because one person does?”

  I frowned as the girl, cheeks pinking, looked at her lap. Not at her lap, probably, but at her thighs, which were spreading out of the daisy duke short-shorts all the young girls were wearing. She winced and covered them with her hands.

  I knew that dangerous, self-loathing look very well because I’d been there, sitting with that same posture, and what I’d thought then was far more dangerous than thinking about Heigh-di-Hos. I wish I had a knife… I’d cut all the fat right off me.

  “Emily,” I said gently, reaching over to touch her hand. “What about other activities to fill your time, instead of eating? Are you active?”

  She shook her head. “I used to dance, but not anymore.”

  Mrs. Aker sighed and whispered, “All the girls make fun of her.”

  I looked down at my clipboard. Emily Aker, seventh grade. Just turned thirteen. Five-one, one-hundred and eighty-nine pounds. She’d been steadily putting on weight since she was nine years old, and after ruling out all kinds of disorders, her doctors had finally diagnosed her with type 2 diabetes.

  As a chunky teen who loved nothing more than filling my stomach with Heigh-di-Hos and Twinkle Toes and all kinds of packaged deliciousness, I’d been there.

  “Girls can be cruel at that age,” I acknowledged, tapping my pen on the hard surface of the clipboard. I looked directly at her mother. “Or any age, for that matter.”

  Mrs. Aker didn’t even blink. It was because she didn’t see herself as being critical, I knew. I’d seen it before. Heard it before. They just offered “tough love” or “constructive criticism.” They refused to acknowledge that their verbal wounds were painful.

  “But there’s nothing saying you can’t find another activity you like. Something solitary, even. Swimming. Jogging. Even just walking around the neighborhood. Any activity is a step in the right direction.” I grinned and waited until the girl looked up and met my eye. “You can even dance in your bedroom until you’re more comfortable dancing publicly. It’s your choice how you move as long as you move, sweetheart.”

  The girl nodded, and a hint of a smile dawned on her pretty face. She was actually quite beautiful with pale, luminous skin, jet-black hair, and warm brown eyes. “I like to swim, and we have a pool. I just don’t like the way I look in a ba
thing suit.”

  My heart ached at her fragile words.

  Mrs. Aker just threw up her hands, apparently fed up with the conversation and the struggle. “It’s impossible to get her to go shopping with me.”

  I wonder why, I thought bitterly as Mrs. Aker lifted a lock of the girl’s pretty dark hair.

  She dropped it and made a tut-tut noise with her tongue. “Oh, Emily. You’d be so pretty if you were thin.”

  My nostrils flared. “She’s pretty now.”

  For one tiny second, Mrs. Aker looked ashamed, but that softer emotion fled, replaced by a hard mask. She could dole out criticism but certainly couldn’t take it.

  I wasn’t a mother so I couldn’t profess to know what it was like. I was sure it was hard. But sometimes, I wanted to smack sense into the mothers who came in here with their kids.

  Loosening my grip on the ink pen before it snapped in my hands, I addressed Emily again. “Who says you have to wear a traditional swimsuit in your own pool? Have you seen the cute boardshorts that are all the rage?”

  Emily’s eyes widened, and another smile played on her lips. “Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

  I nodded. “Yes, they are. Maybe you can wear those to swim in?”

  She flicked a glance at her mother. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

  Mrs. Aker nodded. “That’ll be fine for home, but she’ll want to wear something more traditional for our vacation.” Mrs. Aker gave me a look that she probably thought was compassionate but was as condescending as any mean girl in Emily’s school. “She’s getting to that age where she’s beginning to be interested in boys. And I know she’s only setting herself up for heartbreak.”

  Emily’s eyes drifted to her thighs again, and she sucked in her cheeks, the tip of her nose growing pink.