“Why? Do I owe him a Father’s Day card? Or perhaps he owes me some allowance?”
“Because he’s your boss as well as mine. He owns us.”
“No one owns me.”
“Yeah, whatever. He’s dying to meet you. I was amazed when he said you hadn’t yet been introduced. I mean – other than his tabloid newspaper – you must be his most valuable commodity.”
“I’m not a commodity.”
Matthew ignored this. “So, in exchange for him seeing Eleanor today, I’ve promised that you and the boys will perform at his fiftieth birthday party next week. Just a few songs – it’s going to be a huge celebration. Best behaviour, please.”
Joseph flicked his gaze at Eleanor. He knew how desperately she needed this break as a journalist. If she could work for Robertson’s broadsheet newspaper, her career would be fixed for life. He nodded. “Right, okay.”
“And I want you to play a new song,” Matthew said, strolling towards the exit.
“None of the new songs are ready yet.”
“Well you’d better make them ready, hadn’t you? Look, we can argue about this later. But for now, you simply need to be at Robertson’s office at two o’clock so he can meet his current bestselling product. Don’t be late. Come on, Eleanor.”
Joseph sighed. Matthew was ruthless and would do anything for the band to get publicity. He was ultra-controlling, which was difficult considering he was working with three young men who weren’t in the business of being ordered about. When he’d first got his hands on the band six months ago, he’d fired the original drummer and replaced him with someone better looking, who Joseph didn’t really get along with. But that was Matthew’s style of management. It was true that Joseph was now rich and famous beyond his wildest dreams. But what was the point if he didn’t have any freedom – artistic or otherwise?
Matthew turned at the door and wrapped his arms possessively around Eleanor’s shoulders. “You’d seriously better start behaving yourself, Joseph. I made you; I can destroy you just as easily.”
Joseph suppressed the desire throw Matthew through the soundproof glass. He shrugged. “I guess you didn’t hear the news, Matthew, but behaving like a dick won’t make yours any bigger. But of course you’d be lucky to find yours – it’s shoved so far up Blair Robertson’s ass.”
Matthew’s expression surged to fury. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
Eleanor grabbed his arm. “Let’s go – you don’t want to face Mr Robertson with a black eye.”
She threw Joseph a sympathetic glance as she bundled her fiancé out the door. Matthew was shouting furiously now, but the door swept shut behind them and they were gone. And Joseph’s world immediately dulled.
Chapter Three
Eleanor smoothed down her pencil skirt as she sat in Blair Robertson’s lavish office, trying not to let her intimidation show. The News Scape headquarters took up this entire eighteen-storey glass building in Times Square, and Robertson’s office was at the top, overlooking the city through massive windows. It was the biggest executive office Eleanor had ever been in – furnished with a cream carpet, high walls, and thick drapes. Roberson sat arrogantly behind his varnished desk, emitting an unpleasant aura that invaded Eleanor’s personal space and crushed her like a flimsy soda can. The leather chairs that she and Matthew were sitting on were the softest and most comfortable she’d ever seen. And judging from some of the hunting trophies on the wall, Robertson’s reputation for loving the finer things in life was accurate. Eleanor was desperate to impress the man she’d always wanted to work for.
Well… truthfully, she’d always wanted to work for The New York Times. But the universe was offering her News Scape, and she didn’t plan to decline. She sat bolt upright and listened politely as Robertson chatted to Matthew about Joseph Quinlan. Bloody Joseph – why was everyone so obsessed with him?
And why was her mind so full of him? Why did her heart pound like a teenager in his presence? Why did their daily banter brighten up her life? And why was she so desperate to touch him and kiss him?
Her rational mind overrode such nonsense. She hated herself for feeling this way. She was no better than those stupid hormone-fuelled girls who skipped school so they could get a glimpse of him. But she was a grown woman. It was probably just because she and Matthew were going through a bad patch… and he was cheating on her again by the sounds of it. She suppressed her anger and dejection. She resented the fact that she’d become one of those women willing to forgive her man’s infidelity simply because he possessed something she wanted – ie: the chance to impress Blair Robertson. She knew she was putting her happiness in Matthew’s hands and allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her heart, as long as he fulfilled his promises to help her career. Well, after today perhaps she could cut him and his cheating ways loose and find a better man.
But then she’d have no more access to Joseph…
Not that he was any better than Matthew. He was a reckless idiot with sparkling eyes and a devilish grin. And she was at the beginning of her career as an investigative journalist – ready to take on the world and make it a better place by exposing political corruption and international injustice. She didn’t need the over-commercialised likes of Joseph Quinlan anywhere near her.
All she needed was to convince Blair Robertson to give her a break, and she’d be free. The New York Times was a hop, skip, and a jump away.
She pulled herself back to the here and now and realised that Mr Robertson had turned his attention to her. He was as cold and impersonal as his office – a middle-aged deeply-tanned man, with a full head of hair – or a very good toupeé. She hadn’t seen him smile yet – in fact, he seemed to constantly frown, which was strange considering he was one of the wealthiest men in the country – owning the two best-selling newspapers, a TV production company, a TV channel, and a record company. He gazed at Eleanor over his metal spectacles, making her nerves flush up.
She smiled professionally, praying he’d give her this chance. He was famed for recruiting young journalists who he could mould to his will, then demand their eternal gratitude. Eleanor hoped she seemed ruthless, yet malleable.
He took off his glasses and spoke with a strong gritty New York accent. “Eleanor, thanks for dropping in. It’s good of Matthew to bring you to me.”
“Eleanor is an excellent journalist,” Matthew said. “Talented and very keen.”
Eleanor glared at him for speaking on her behalf. She smiled at the powerful man behind his desk. “Thank you very much for inviting me, sir.”
“From your resumé it seems you’ve had a good education and some journalistic experience.”