Page 70 of She's the Star

He bounces as he says, “I think I speak for the whole crew when I say, we’re huge fans. We never get to see anyone except for athletes so we’re crazy excited to film an interview with you. You might not know?—”

Brian interrupts, “Could you, maybe, give us a minute?”

The man bobs his head and then backs away slowly.

Brian steps in front of us. “Sorry about that. He’s Annabelle’s producer and he’s a huge fan. Every time I get him on the phone he talks my ear off about how wonderful you are. I promised him some autographed merchandise but apparently that wasn’t enough to calm his fervor.”

“I’ll take some photos with the crew before we go. Maybe you should give him tickets for tonight, too?”

“I tried. They’re packing up and heading somewhere as soon as we’re done.”

Amber nods and shifts a little closer to me. She's been restless all day. It's like she can feel my nerves and is letting them fuel her own.

The door next to us swings open and Annabelle Singer strides into the room. I recognize her instantly from the media training I suffered through yesterday. Her posture is perfect, her hair is styled in a sleek bob, and her smile is wide. She’s more than a little intimidating as she swings her gaze around the room and zeroes in on us.

“Ms. Hope. Mr. Byrne. How lovely to meet you,” she says briskly as she pivots and moves to where we’re standing.

Amber smiles politely. “Ms. Singer. How fortuitous that you were able to join us today.”

“I go where the news is,” she responds. “I can’t believe I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to share your happy announcement with the world.”

She seems earnest and genuine, which is strange, since she basically blackmailed us into this interview. Additionally, she’s less intense up close than she appeared when she first entered. She has an aura about her that makes her seem almost…nice?

That can’t be right. Unless that is the secret of her success?

The smile vanishes from Amber’s face. “After talking with Teddy, we felt it was beneficial to reach out to you.”

“Ah, yes, Teddy. He’s a dear, is he not? Super distressed by his choices. But he seems determined not to repeat past mistakes.” It’s unclear which mistakes she is referring to and she changes topics without explaining further. “I have the preapproved list of questions”—she taps her head—“but don’t be surprised if I throw in a couple of extras. We want to make sure we cover the whole story, don’t we?”

Brian, who has been ignored by Annabelle thus far, interjects to remind us, “You can decline to answer any questions.” Then he speaks directly to Annabelle. “We will edit out everything that doesn’t meet our approval.”

“Obviously.” Annabelle’s eyes widen like she’s astonished by his implication that she would release a story without our express permission. “Don’t worry. We’re all on the same team here. I want you to be happy with the final product. I’ll never get another interview if I develop a reputation for being dishonest.”

Apparently, she’s fine with blackmail, but she draws the line at deceit.

Brian grumbles under his breath. He’s clearly not impressed by her obvious disregard for the fact that we didn’t ask to be interviewed. “We’re ready when you are,” he says.

“Excellent.” She claps her hands together. “I want this to feel as natural as possible. More like a conversation than an interview so if you need to take a break or stop, just let me know. The interview is going to get edited so the audience will never know if we pause.” She turns to me. “The public is familiar with Amber Hope, but they don’t know you, so it’s important that you participate as much as possible, yes?”

“Absolutely.” Is it wrong that I’d rather console a screaming child than answer questions about myself in front of a camera?

“Fabulous.” She seems to have a never-ending supply of exclamations. I can’t decide if her enthusiasm makes me more or less committed to nailing this. Probably more.

Annabelle moves away and starts animatedly explaining something to her producer. Another guy comes over to us and gets us hooked up to mics.

Mina shared clips with me this morning of Annabelle making athletes break into tears while being interviewed. I didn’t find it particularly helpful at the time, but now, it’s a bit of a comfort to remember the looks on their faces. If they survived, I can, too.

Once we’re ready, we settle on the small sofa.

Amber blows out a quiet breath, and then she crosses her ankles and angles her legs toward me. She looks stunning. Her mini dress sparkles, her makeup shimmers, and her hair falls in waves to her shoulders while I’m wearing a long-sleeve Henley shirt and pressed chinos that practically scream average guy. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m underdressed, and I absolutely abhor that I’m a smidge uncomfortable about the purposeful contrast between Amber and myself.

The media specialist insisted that I need to project an image that I’m a normal guy. The fact that I am a normal guy didn’t seem to resonate with her.

In my agitation, I scratch my forehead and my finger comes away coated in foundation. A short woman with spiky hair and clunky shoes darts over to me.

“We’ll just give you a quick touch up.” She quickly dusts my forehead and cheeks, and then disappears.

Amber reaches out and snags my hand, pulling it against her thigh. She squeezes it a little too tightly as one of the producers shushes everyone.

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