anything.
Well, okay, more than anything, she hated that she cared what other people thought. But she did.
Somehow the Charles Butler story had dropped into her lap. She had to jump at the opportunity. If she held back, she lost a chance to prove herself to the world. And to her mother. Hara closed her eyes and smiled, resolute not to let anyone spoil the mood.
Truth be told, she was also excited about the chance to go through Carter’s closets. Maybe this was one of those times she could be a smart career-oriented woman and a girl who liked to dress up, and it would be okay.
Hara had a free trip to Boston. Why waste it?
She clicked on the computer and went into her Google Docs. There it was. The most current version of her résumé. She hit print, and then looked up the street address for Boston’s biggest newspaper, City Gazette.
Her boss was back. Carter glanced at the résumé but pretended not to see it, instead handing her a slip of paper. “Here’s the assistant’s number,” he said, drawing up a chair. “You know, I’m not sure why they’re throwing this VIP treatment at an unknown reporter, including a press pass and a stay at the owner’s residence. I want you to be careful, Hara. O’Donnell and the other owners are forcing Butler into this PR stunt and tossing a young reporter to the lion. You won the writing contest, but I’m not sure the prize is worth it. I feel like they are buying a story.” Frown lines marched from his eyebrows back to the middle of his smooth, bald head. “I’m probably doing the wrong thing, letting you go.”
“No way! I can do this! I promise, I’ll be fair and unbiased, even if I have to use their questions.”
“They’re not really giving you a chance to develop much more than a puff piece. Is it worth it?” The older man tapped his chin, thinking. “I guess we can view this as a stepping-stone. Building connections. I just worry you’ll get the reputation as a lightweight writer. Yet, I’d hate to take an opportunity from you.”
“Then don’t. I’m a big girl. I can do this.”
“Should I get you a hotel room? I’ll pay for it myself, if that’ll make you more comfortable. This is just too weird, them offering to host you.”
“Let me talk to the assistant, okay? See how long I’ll be there and what it’s like at the house?” Hara grinned. “I mean, would you turn down staying the night in a mansion? Come on, that alone makes the trip worth it.”
CHAPTER 3
My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.
—Pride and Prejudice
The Boeing 737 finally landed.
It took a while for Hara to get her bearings. Business-class legroom—thanks to Carter—and a comfortable, oversize sweater with yoga pants had not been enough to overcome roller-coaster turbulence and a seatmate who whispered over a rosary for almost six hours.
The ground still swayed as she dragged her carry-on suitcase out of the Boston airport.
Thankfully, the Lincoln Town Car Mr. O’Donnell had promised waited for her at the curb, complete with a chauffeur holding up a small white sign reading Isari. Instantly, her equilibrium was back, righted by a flash of tingling glee. She felt famous. Discombobulated and in disarray, but famous. The driver opened the back door and helped her into the car.
Madeline Bingley waited for her in the vast back seat, separated from the front by a black tinted partition. The doll-sized, doll-faced woman was the executive assistant to the team’s part owner, Mr. O’Donnell, and she was perfect and beautiful and terrifying.
“Hara, so nice to meet you.” Madeline briefly offered a dainty hand, then smoothed back her short, white-blonde hair. She wore a striped business suit, cropped and tailored to fit her slender frame, paired with satiny pumps and an on-point popped collar. The fancy leather portfolio on the seat beside her probably cost more than Hara’s monthly paycheck from the paper.
After the greeting, the executive assistant spent the ride turned away from Hara, speaking in code during a continuous stream of phone calls. Hara had to consciously unclench her jaw a number of times. Not because she was ignored, but because Madeline had the odd habit of fluctuating between a professional tone one minute to a baby voice the next.
“Teddy, we are going to need that account opened by this afternoon. Okay? Kisses!” the assistant cooed into the phone with a high-pitched giggle—yet her face remained stony. The