Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Astrid: I’m guessing backstage passes for her next show isn’t what you mean.
Audrey: Please ask her if she feels like she has an ethical responsibility for how her work is interpreted. Or does she feel that once she releases the music that it no longer belongs to her, so the burden of interpretation doesn’t either?
Typical Audrey. Snorting, I type out my response.
Me: I was thinking more like—What rock star is the best fuck? But I guess we can get philosophical.
Astrid: Of course, you were.
Audrey: Whatever you ask her will be brilliant, just like you.
“Oh, sweet Auddie,” I say because even though it reads like she’s full of shit, she’s not. She actually believes I’m brilliant and Astrid is a genius and we’re both goddesses. Audrey Van is the best of the best.
Me: I love you guys. Thanks for hyping me up.
Astrid: We’re just telling you the truth. Now go crush this interview.
Audrey: And text us when it’s over. Good luck!
Me:
I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and toss it in my bag. For a moment, I peer into its depths and consider rappelling to the bottom for my lip gloss. It’s not worth it.
Francine walks past the windows overlooking the hallway and waves before entering the room. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?”
“Buzzed on caffeine, battling impostor syndrome, and simultaneously on the verge of puking and needing a hamburger. You?”
She laughs, swinging a set of headphones from her index finger. “I can have a burger waiting on you when you finish, if you’d like.”
“Why are you so nice to me, Francine?”
“Not that it’s tit for tat, but I do remember someone throwing me a surprise party for my birthday last month,” she says. “That person also got a signed Royals jersey for me to give to my husband for our anniversary and refused to take any money for it, and she also—”
“Stop. Geez. I have a reputation to uphold around here.”
“Sorry. I forgot.” She winks and turns to the door. “Mercy should be here anytime. I’ll give you a heads-up when I hear that she’s arrived.”
A flash of excitement washes through me. “That would be great. Thanks.”
My stomach tightens just enough to notice as I turn on my computer and look over my notes once again. Three a.m. Gianna did me a favor and put them in meticulous order. I have a page filled with Mercy’s history and backstory, another listing her professional accomplishments, and a third with miscellaneous facts that I thought were interesting or could come up during our chat. I also have a flow of questions to guide me in case I get performance anxiety.
That would be a first.
I take a deep, steadying breath and remind myself that this is fun. Sure, it’s my job, but it’s also an amazing opportunity. And, if all goes right, I might find myself in the Thursday slot after all.
“Gianna.”
The urgency in Francine’s voice has me whipping around to face her. As soon as our eyes meet, I stop dead in my tracks. The pale pink lipstick clinging to her lips is pressed into a thin line. Shoulders back and chin lifted, she’s the picture of trouble.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as my stomach careens to the floor.
“Don’t panic.”
“That instantly panics me.”
She holds a palm out as if it will steady me. “I just got a call from Mercy’s team. She’s been in a car accident.”
“What?” I grip the edge of my chair. “Is she okay?”
“I was told that she has some cuts and bruises, but they’re going to take her to the hospital as a precaution. Apparently, a semi-truck driver lost control. They believe it to be a medical emergency—a heart attack, probably—but he smashed into Mercy’s SUV.”
The news ricochets through my brain, barely making sense. “Is he going to be okay? Was anyone in the car with Mercy?”
“I’m not sure. Most of the information is being held close to the vest, as you can imagine. Mercy’s publicist made it sound like there weren’t any serious injuries, but that could be a misunderstanding on my part. I’m just uncertain.” Her chest rises and falls beneath her pretty cream-colored blouse. “Mercy is obviously not going to make it this afternoon to the interview.”
The interview. Right. Shit.
I glance at my watch.
What do I do now?
“We aren’t allowed to say anything about the accident on air,” Francine says. “They’ll put out a statement later.”
“Oh, of course not. I wouldn’t want to out her like that. It’s not our business to share.”
Francine nods. “We have about ten minutes to figure out how to handle this. Do you have any ideas? Any preferences? I know you’re prepped for Mercy, but could we do call-ins?” She nibbles her bottom lip. “That doesn’t really explain the promised fireworks, though.”
I look at the ceiling, regretting all the yapping I did this week about today’s show. It could’ve been left as a true surprise. If it had, then I wouldn’t be in this situation.