was lucky or not that Eddie really had saved her a seat.
“You should take your notes verbally, like me,” said the “seasoned” reporter, now her self-appointed mentor. He’d been offering a litany of suggestions since she sat down. “Here, give me your phone, I’ll download a dictation app for you.”
“No, it’s okay. I like to write out my notes, I’m fine.” She had a couple of dictation and transcribing apps but she hadn’t wanted to spill out her thoughts about the game audibly, not when the other, more experienced reporters might hear her. And judge her.
“Let me show you some of my favorite shorthand symbols, then…”
Hara ignored his mansplaining, watching instead as Kitty Morretti stood on the sidelines by the players’ bench, talking to Gus, occasionally tossing back her head with a laugh and softly touching his arm. He definitely was into it. They seemed cozy. She was sure hundreds of jealous women in the stands were currently plotting the demise of the heiress.
Gus was called away, leaving Kitty alone. She glanced around, clearly uncomfortable. When her eyes lit on Hara a dozen feet away, relief passed over her features and she started in her direction.
Hara realized the heiress was exhibiting social anxiety, just like everybody else. Hara liked her even more than she had at the club.
The reporters immediately around Hara quieted down as Kitty approached, staring straight at Hara. Hara twisted, sure there was someone behind her waving to Kitty, but no one seemed to be paying attention. Turning forward, she saw that Kitty was directly in front of her.
“Hey,” said the beautiful young woman, swinging her hair back over her shoulder, her Italian lilt adding to her allure. “You’re the reporter working with Charles, right? What are you doing down here? Come on up. There is a fantastic view from the owners’ box, it smells nice, and there’s free booze.”
“Oh, hi!” Hara had to gather her wits. Do not geek out. Of course a famous person was talking to her. And inviting her upstairs. She was Hara Isari. “I don’t know … are … is Mr. O’Donnell up there?”
Kitty scrunched her forehead, thinking. “I don’t think so.”
“How about Madeline?” Hara mock shivered. “We do not get along.”
Leaning close, Kitty grinned and whispered, “That scary puttana is definitely not up there. You’re safe.” Her lilting voice went back to its normal volume. “Come, I’ll get you through security.”
“And you’re sure no one will care?”
“My famiglia owns this property. You’re my guest.” She shrugged elegantly. “Besides, the owners brought you in, they know who you are. Are you coming?”
O’Donnell would not be thrilled to see her. She definitely did not want to see him. However, if he wasn’t there … Hara jumped up, grabbed her damp rain jacket and satchel. Kitty had mentioned free booze. She could take notes from the upper decks just as easily as down here. And she wouldn’t have to worry about ducking every time Derek came close to the sidelines. Was there a journalist on earth who would turn the offer down? Eddie sure wouldn’t.
She wavered for just a second longer, trying to decide if she was an asshole for leaving Eddie, especially since he was the one who originally talked her into coming to the game. Kitty sauntered off with a motion for her to follow.
The Boston reporter stared at Hara with his bulging eyes. “No. No way. Was that Kitty Morretti?” He slapped his forehead, a move straight out of a cartoon. “You show up from out of nowhere and you keep getting these breaks. I don’t get it. I won’t make the boobs joke again, but, seriously, how are you making this happen?”
That was an excellent question. “Maybe, Eddie, because I know how to talk to people without insulting them.” He did make it awfully easy to leave him behind.
Hara, following Kitty, kept her shoulders back and strutted off the court as if she ran the joint. The whole fake-it-until-you-make-it thing was really starting to pay off. She focused only straight ahead, however, with no desire to see who might be close by. Or if Derek was watching her from the clutch of players by the bench. Ignorance was bliss. I’m just going to live out my favorite clichés.
At the private elevator, Kitty gave the security guard a code and they were whisked upward at an incredible rate. The elevator door slid open only seconds later and directly in front of them was a perky concierge with a clipboard, asking Hara