Seattle Girl (26 page)

“Why are you telling me this now?”

He gave me a small smile. “I knew you’d recognize my voice in the interview tomorrow and I was hoping I could ask you for a favor.”

“You want
me
to do
you
a favor?” I exclaimed. Yes, I was definitely in the Twilight Zone.

He nodded seriously. “Look. I was going through a tough divorce during the past bunch of years and I guess I should have seen someone about my depression long before I did.”

I just stared at Jerry in shock. “Depression?”

He looked morose. “That’s why I was such a weirdo during your show. I had insomnia and that early in the morning after never getting any sleep I was less normal than usual.”

I picked up my glass of ice water and took a huge gulp. “Jerry,” I said slowly, “this is quite a lot of information to take in right now.”

He nodded quickly. “I know. And I know you probably don’t believe me. But if you want to check out my story you can look up Jerry Huntsville on the Internet and you’ll see that it’s all true.”

“Okay.” I was more than ready for our insightful little conversation to be over. “What do you want from me?”

“Please, Georgia,” he begged, “if you don’t tell anyone about my mental illness, I promise you, you will get this job.”

“Hey buddy,” I said, suddenly angry and no longer the least bit afraid of him. “I’m gonna get this job on my own merits, so don’t do me any favors!”

And with that, I stalked out of the bar and went up to my room to figure out just what the hell I was going to do about Jerry tomorrow in my very important interview.

* * *

I arrived at the ClearView Media skyscraper just off of Central Park and smoothed out my new black suit. Diane had helped me pick out the perfect outfit for the interview – one that said I am professional, yet young and sassy, all at the same time.

The jacket was tailored to fit my waist like a glove and the skirt hit two inches above my knees. We had decided I needed to set myself apart in some way, so I was wearing a red lace tank under my jacket and when I moved you caught glimpses of the hotter side of Georgia Fulton.

I had prepared a portfolio on how I thought my show, Seattle Girl, really played to the female, twenty-five to fifty year old demographic that owned the airwaves.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the huge glass doors and took the elevator to the 20th floor. Stepping out of the elevator, I walked down the hall and trained my eyes on the receptionist’s desk. My legs were a little shaky, and I knew I just needed some simple mile-stones to push past my nerves. Goal one was to check in with a clear and confident voice.

“Hello,” I said, smiling in what I hoped was a serene way. “I’m Georgia Fulton and I’ve got an interview with-“

The middle-aged, slightly plum woman cut me off with a big smile. “Oh I know who you are! You're Seattle Girl!” she exclaimed. She leaned closer to me. “I heard your tape. Very funny.”

I laughed, and felt much more relaxed all of a sudden. “Thanks. I needed that right about now.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, honey. You’re going to do just fine. Now, have a seat in the waiting room around the corner and they’ll be calling you in shortly.”

I blew out a sigh of relief, smoothed back my hair, and headed for the waiting room.

I couldn’t believe it when I saw Bill sitting there in a suit and tie.

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” I asked in a higher-pitched voice than either of us was used to hearing come out of my mouth. “I had no idea New York was full of so many surprises.”

Bill stood up awkwardly and reached out his hand to shake mine. I just stood there looking at it and then suddenly I knew what I had to do.

I said, “Put that away,” and reached up and put my arms around him in a hug.

In that moment, I felt something course through me that was more powerful than anything else I had ever felt before.

Evidently Bill must have felt it too because he jumped back from me about as fast as I jumped back from him.

“Let’s sit,” I said to diffuse the situation.

We did and then he turned to me. “Georgia, I’m really sorry about being such a jack-ass that morning on your show.”

I shook my head. “No. It was me. I over-reacted. You were just trying to protect me from myself.” And then I gasped as I remembered about Jerry.

“You’re never going to believe this, but I met Jerry last night.”

“The stalker guy?”

“The very one. He came to find me in my hotel.”

“Georgia, you need to call the police. This has gone on for way too long.” He pulled out his cell phone, clearly ready to make the call even if I didn’t want to.

I grabbed the phone from him and put it on the seat behind me so he couldn’t reach it. “No, Bill, check it out. He didn’t want to hurt me or anything. It’s actually kind of sad.”

Bill crossed his arms across his chest and waited for my explanation. “He said he had some kind of mental illness that was set off by his divorce. But now he’s taking meds and he’s better.”

“And that matters how?” Bill asked doubtfully.

“I don’t exactly know, but I think he was telling the truth. But here’s the twist: He’s on the board of directors of ClearView Media and he’s going to be in my interview.”

“In your interview?”

“Yeah. They’re thinking of putting Seattle Girl on the air.”

“Wow, this is amazing.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m here because they’re thinking about putting my show on KSEA too.”

“That’s awesome!” I gave him another spontaneous hug and relished the feel of his firm muscles flexing beneath my fingertips.

“So, what should we do about Jerry? Should we keep his secret for him with the rest of the board?”

“Who cares about Jerry?
 
I think the more important question,” he said as he gazed into my eyes, “is what should we do about each other?”

I looked up at Bill and really saw him for the first time. But before I could say anything he said, “I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you. Since the day I covered you with beer.”

I had always fallen for temperamental, artistic types. Basically, losers. You know, the kind of guys who always manage to make being poor and unsuccessful and dirty into an exciting art form.

Now, from out of the blue clear sky, I knew with 100% certainty that I was meant to be with Bill forever. I know it sounds like the words to a cheesy Diane Warren love song, but I’m telling the honest truth. Instinctively, I knew that this time, I had found my true life mate.

His worth, his essence was clear to me in a single glance. There was no mystery in our connection and yet I knew there were endless discoveries to be made.

Bill stood out for me as pure oxygen. As radiant light. More attractive, more vital than anyone I had ever known.

It was true love.

I knew, suddenly, that all of the men who had come before him were just shadows—forgettable notches on my belt. I was glad for my experiences, glad that I had already tasted something that felt like love, but true love – real love - felt so comforting, so wonderful. I felt like Bill's kisses could seal shut my box of worries. His touch could banish my fears, replacing them with hope and new belief.

Suddenly it was perfectly clear what my right path had been all along.

I leaned forward, put my hands on either side of Bill’s gorgeous face, and kissed him with all of the love in my heart.

* * *

After the excellent interviews we went back to my hotel and...well you know what we did.

All I need to tell you is that it was awesome.

AWESOME.

Oh yeah, and that we finally declared our love for each other.

It was mushy.

And I'd never been happier.

* * *

The day before I started my new job doing Seattle Girl at KSEA, I dreamed I was riding a silver and black motorcycle. In the space between awake and dreaming, I rode my bike on endless farm roads, speeding towards the ocean and knew total ecstasy.

I guess somewhere deep inside I always figured I’d have to change myself to get it right. I spent years trying to act mature, or dumb, or cool, or tough. But, you know what? At the end of the day it doesn’t matter what mistakes I’ve made.

I’m still the girl I am, right here, right now. I’m still the girl from tomorrow and yesterday. And lord knows, no matter what, I’ll always be the girl I was meant to be.

Come rain. Come sunshine. Come more rain.

I'm a Seattle Girl through and through.

~ THE END ~

FALLING FAST (A romance novel about secrets, reality TV...and unexpected love)

When Alexa is sent by a magazine to be an undercover contestant on the reality TV series "Falling For Mr. Right" she assumes the worst part of the assignment will be having to act like a brainless bimbo to try and win the affection of an arrogant guy who is out looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. Color her shocked when it turns out that not only are several of her fellow contestants intelligent, funny women...but that Brandon – aka Mr. Right - isn't at all the kind of man she thought he'd be. What's Alexa supposed to do when instead of digging up dirt for her cover story, she finds herself falling way too fast for the man she’s supposed to tear apart in her first big feature story?

Please enjoy the following excerpt for FALLING FAST © 2011 Lucy Kevin...

“You want me to do what?” Alexa Atkison said, her voice dripping with disbelief.

Alexa's editor, Jane, pushed her glasses up more firmly on her nose and looked pointedly through them at Alexa. “You’re the one who has been on me about doing the bigger stories. I’m dropping this one into your lap.”

Alexa opened her mouth to argue and then realized her thoughts were better left unsaid, particularly to her all-powerful boss. So instead of shooting off at the mouth, she took a deep breath and tried, on the fly, to work out the best tactic for steering Jane toward a less objectionable story.

“What about drugs? Or gambling rings? Don’t you have something scary and dirty that I could investigate instead?”

“No,” Jane said, her lips tight. “I’m handing you
this
assignment on a silver platter. Once you sign the confidentiality agreement, we can discuss the details of your makeover.”

Surprise registered on Alexa’s face. “Makeover?”

“While the editorial staff agrees that you are a perfect fit for the assignment, it is, nonetheless, clear that you need professional help with your appearance.”

Alexa looked down at her clothes. “What does my appearance have to do with this assignment?”

Unsmiling, Jane replied, “Everything.”

Alexa didn’t like being boxed into a corner one bit. Silently, she reassessed her options. Sure, Jane had offered her a huge story, and yes, she desperately wanted the chance to prove herself as a feature writer, as opposed to the fact checking and proofreading she had been doing for the past year, but she also had a healthy dose of self-respect which she didn’t plan on letting go of any time soon. Trying for diplomacy, Alexa cleared her throat and mustered up her most cooperative expression.

“Look, Jane, I really appreciate this opportunity, and I’m more than willing to go the distance with it, but as I see it, all I need to do is get picked as a single-girl-in-need-of-a-husband by a bunch of dopey TV execs, make it onto as many episodes as possible, and scrounge up dirt on everyone involved, right?”

Jane cut right to it. “I’m as disgusted by primping and makeup as you are, Alexa. But you aren’t going to be much use to us on this story looking like…” Jane’s words drifted off and she scrunched up her nose in just the way one did when blue cheese had been left out on the counter for too long.

“Looking like what?”

Jane sighed. “Looking like you do right at this very minute. The way you look every day, in fact.”

Alexa tried not to let on just how much Jane’s brutal honesty hurt. But seconds later, when Jane uncharacteristically tried to soften the blow, Alexa knew she needed to work on her poker face if she was ever going to make it as a serious undercover journalist.

“Don’t worry,” Jane said. “We’re going to get you a little help in the wardrobe department, and-”

Alexa cut her off. If there was one word that she never thought she’d hear at
ROAR
, it was wardrobe. She had always thought such terminology was reserved for the offices of
Vogue
or
Elle
.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Jane pursed her lips, seeming to tally up all the problems in her head before listing them. “I’ve never seen you wear anything but jeans and a T-shirt, except for that awful suit your wore for your interview last year.” Clearly exasperated, she added, “Your shoes don’t even match!”
 

Alexa swung her legs out from underneath the desk. When she inspected her feet, she was surprised to see a green tennis shoe on her left foot and a red shoe on her right.

“I was a little distracted this morning.”

“Try every morning. In any case, we’ve got you scheduled for the spa this afternoon.”

Spa
was another word that she never, ever thought she’d hear at
ROAR
. Alexa narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious. “This isn’t some kind of office practical joke is it?
 
Last time I looked, I was working for the leading feminist magazine in the country.”

Jane looked at her watch, making it clear that the conversation was over. “Your first appointment is in thirty minutes. Do you want the assignment or not?”

Alexa knew she had no choice: Her self-respect was going to have to take a back seat to her first ever byline. There was no way she was going to miss the chance to leap out of journalistic obscurity and onto the cover of a national magazine.

“Where do I sign?”

Jane smiled and handed her a pen.

* * *

“Hold on a second. You want
me
to be Mr. Right?”

Joe Randell, the executive producer of the much-hyped
Falling For Mr. Right
reality TV show, leaned across the conference table as if he was letting Brandon in on a big secret. “You did apply.”