don’t have to understand the rules. All you have to do is follow them. And just to be sure we’re clear, you don’t get to make the rules, the men upstairs take care of that. In their eyes, you’re just the talent.”
Just the talent.
That phrase still irks me today. My ire is only visible in my clenched fists as I enter George’s office.
George is standing behind his desk when I enter his office and close the door behind me. He points to a chair and I sit.
He takes a deep breath. He’s almost sixty-four, not to mention overweight with high cholesterol and blood pressure. For a second, I fear he’s going to have a heart attack, but then he calmly says, “All anyone can talk about is this so-called chemistry between you and President Fitzpatrick.”
Of course it has to do with her. “To be honest, we aren’t helping matters by adding to the hype. Maybe if our network stopped showing the clips of the two of us dancing and act more like a news network instead of a gossip and entertainment channel, the other networks will do the same.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” It makes sense to me, I’m not sure why it’s difficult for him to see.
“How’s this for hype?” He places what looks like a photograph face down on his desk. “That was waiting for me on my desk this morning. Go on. Pick it up.”
I don’t have a good feeling about this, but I flip the picture over and my breath catches at what I see. It’s a group picture from my first year of law school, a study group. There were five of us. Anna and I are two of the five.
“Just so you’re aware of the scope we’re dealing with,” George says. “Rainer also received one.”
Rainer being Edward Rainer, GBNC’s CEO. In other words, damn it to hell.
“I know he received one,” George continues. “Because he called me not too long ago wanting to know why I kept it a secret that one of my senior staff members, one of my lead anchors, knows the current President?”
I suddenly wish for Anna’s ability to appear cool and calm in any situation because I’m pretty sure I have oh, shit written all over my face. The right thing to do would probably be to come clean about it all, but I can’t. Or better stated, I won’t. Anna is part of my past that is off limits. Private, personal, and nobody’s business other than Anna and myself.
I have to tell him something, though. That much is clear because not only did Edward Rainer get a photo delivered to him, but he also called George. When Rainer himself gets on the phone, that’s when heads typically start to roll. The man has made no secret of the fact he thinks the so-called talent is overpaid or that he only continues paying us the amount he does because of industry standards.
“Anna and I attended Harvard Law together for eighteen months, twelve years ago.” I speak slower than normal, wanting to make sure I give him enough, but not everything. “We were both volunteer translators and we were in the same study group for a year.” I nod toward his desk. “The photo is of that study group.”
“Eighteen months at Harvard,” he repeats. “Eighteen months you were at school with the future first female President of the United States, and I don’t hear about it until now?” His face grows redder. “And even then it’s not from you, but from a photo from an anonymous source?”
I can’t help but wonder, though much too late, if volunteering to escort Anna ensured the exposure our past. Not that it matters, I decide. If given a do-over, I would do the same thing,
His mention of an anonymous source is alarming. Who would benefit from exposing our past? Who would know about it to expose it only now and not during the election? I desperately want to investigate who sent the pictures, but now is not the time. What I need to do now is damage control to ensure I still have a job.
“I apologize, sir, if you feel betrayed. That was never my intention.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice calm and I have a newfound respect for Anna’s ability to do so. “But it was a study group twelve year ago. I didn’t think it was relevant.”
George leans over his desk, hands flat on its surface, and his eyes blazing. “I don’t care