But they were not done. “Please tell me you did not mess around with that reporter.” He’d been shocked to find out that the girl from the car had been the reporter sent to interview Charles. The coincidence was almost too much. He hoped she hadn’t been shadowing him, trying to get a story, but that was not out of the realm of possibility.
“I left her for you,” said Charles. “I know you like the smart ones. But she a ten in the looks department, so your homely little self is gonna have to woo her with your money.”
“She might have looks, but I’m not so sure about brains. I don’t know why O’Donnell didn’t bring in an actual journalist to do the interview. I am guessing the front line at ESPN”—he waved at the row of reporters standing in front of cameras at the side of the court—“would have jumped at the chance to hear you spill your guts.”
“That girl did fine. She won some contest O’Donnell set up. He knows what he’s doing.”
“I don’t trust her, or any reporter. And I definitely don’t trust O’Donnell.”
Charles frowned and tossed a ball to another passing player, then stepped closer to Derek. “Friend to friend, you’re right not to trust him. Stay away from him, out of his sights.”
Derek would have been startled, if it hadn’t been for their talk earlier. “Why so mysterious, Scooby-Doo?”
“We’ll talk later.”
Then his friend’s face lightened up. The coach had thrown a hand signal to Charles, who then yelled out to the others on the floor, “Come on, guys, let’s run some plays.”
* * *
The Town Car rolled through the darkening Boston streets, the traffic getting heavier as they approached the basketball stadium. The downtown was energetic, with twinkling lights and busy stores.
Hara caught sight of her reflection on the inside of the window. She pushed back her oversize black-framed glasses, smoothed down her bangs, and tucked loose strands into the tight bun. She then stroked nonexistent wrinkles from her pencil skirt and fitted button-down blouse, and straightened her favorite black blazer—it was actually a haori, a modern, kimono-inspired jacket, looser than regular blazers and with slightly deeper sleeves. And the lining was colorful, a flowery satin that made Hara happy when she caught a glimpse of it.
Carter always teased Hara about her take on the “sexy librarian” look, but Hara thought it was professional without being too uptight, and there was something fulfilling about acknowledging her Japanese heritage in this one small way.
The sparkly cocktail dress had been fun but, for now, it was back on its hanger and, sadly, her boss’s Louboutins were back in their box. Instead, she’d pulled out a pair of kitten-heeled, red leather mules she loved. She saw no need to be totally boring. Plus, they matched the red leather satchel she carried around when she was on the job, a satchel that held paper and pens and a recorder and safety pins and a rape whistle and a tampon and lip gloss. The essentials.
She should have added Band-Aids. What if it was cold?
Her newest accessory hung from a lanyard around her neck. The lovely press pass. It was a good thing she’d remembered the pass, too, because she hadn’t seen or heard from the O’Donnells or Madeline all day, except for a note delivered by a butler, telling her what time to meet a car in the brick courtyard. She’d assumed she’d be riding with others from the house but she was alone. Which was fine with her. The ride was short and quiet.
The security guard at the arena entrance ran her pass through some kind of authenticator, peered closely at her driver’s license for what felt like forever, and then asked her questions about her address and birthdate. The final nod to let her through was solemn.
She stepped through the metal detector but then asked, “Where do I go?”
“No one told you?”
“No.”
His eyes slanted suspiciously again. “To the right of the team’s bench, beside the tunnel from the locker room. You’ll see the TV cameras back behind the sidelines.”
Hara felt a thin line of nervous sweat trickle down between her shoulder blades. She was too scared to look down, positive she had wet rings under her arms. Sure, she’d done a big-time interview last night, but this was a whole different beast, having to deal with her peers. Her older, much more male peers.
The place already teemed with fans and employees. On the gym floor, TV and radio