On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Kyle: Now
Present Day
Boston, Massachusetts
“Mr. Stanton, the reporter from The Fine Print Publishing is here to see you.” Taylor stepped into my condo Wednesday morning.
“Thank you, Taylor.”
“You’re not welcome,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “You’ve made the past few days of my life utter hell, just so you know.”
“So hellish that you’ll no longer be taking fifteen percent of every deal I make?”
She stared at me blankly.
“I thought so,” I said.
“Your teammates hate you for what you’re doing as well, Kyle.”
“They won’t after we win,” I said. “You can leave now, Taylor.”
She gave me one final glare before leaving the room.
I adjusted the massive bouquet of roses in front of me, prepared to utter the words, “I’ve fucking missed you, Court” and “I’m so fucking sorry,” but Courtney didn’t walk through the door.
Michael Router did.
What the fuck?
“I hope you won’t mind that there’s been a change of plans,” he said, smiling. “Courtney called in sick, so the boss sent me instead.”
My blood began to boil.
“Where would you like me to sit, so we can discuss why you’re currently committing career suicide? I’m dying to get the exclusive.”
“Taylor!” I shouted her name, and she rushed into the room.
“Yes, Kyle?”
“Call The Fine Print Publishing and tell them that Courtney Johnson better be here to interview me by the end of the day,” I said. “If she’s not here, you’ll be calling New England and telling them that I’m not playing this Sunday.”
Her jaw dropped to the floor, but she immediately snapped into agent mode.
She and Michael immediately pulled out their phones, and I made some mental adjustments to my plan with Courtney.
Screw taking things slowly.