Page 127 of The Thing About My Prince
“Thank you for taking a chance on me, Amanda.”
“You come very highly recommended,” she says.
“I intended to ask. Was it Julian Snarque who passed on my information?”
“Oh, I can’t tell you that. But I can tell you I would never give someone a job if I didn’t think they were right for it. I read a lot of your work over the last couple of days. And I’m certain your reporting and writing will be an asset toThe Sentinel.”
That’s…weirdly mysterious.
But I do know her reputation for handpicking staff is legendary.
So I’m going to take it as a compliment. And an opportunity to be seized with both hands.
Even if this contract doesn’t get renewed after the sixweeks, the experience will qualify me for other war-reporting opportunities. And who knows what contacts I’ll make while I’m there. So I’m now, finally, on the right path.
“You’re going to be great,” she says. “And I’m certain you’ll love working with Agnetha, our photographer. She’ll also be making daily videos with you for socials.”
“Oh.” That’s a jolt I wasn’t expecting. “I’ve never worked on camera before. I’ve always been able to hide behind my written words.”
“You’ll be great.” Amanda pats me on the shoulder. “There’s an authenticity about you that people will connect with.”
She moves back around to the other side of her desk, indicating this meeting is over. “I’ll have the contract emailed to you shortly, and I’ll need you to bring in your passport for my assistant to sort out your visa. Then we should be able to get you out there next week.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow. Or later today. I could run home and get it now and come back and drop it off.” I guess this is really happening.
“Either way is good. My advice is to make sure you enjoy the conveniences of the city for the next few days.” Amanda picks up her phone. “And stock up on sunscreen.”
She taps the phone and puts it to her ear. My cue to leave.
Wow. I’m going to Yemen.
Which is almost as far away from New York as it’s possible to get.
Which means it’s also almost as far away from Oliver as it’s possible to get.
CHAPTER FORTY
OLIVER
I pull my feet up to sit cross-legged in the cozy egg-shaped chair that has the prime view of the Empire State and smile at today’s photo of Kirsty and her dad on their trip to see the polar bears in Churchill, Manitoba.
The daily pictures, forwarded by the hospice foundation’s executive assistant, are giving me life. Only a monster would not feel good when looking at these joy-filled faces.
It makes me realize that things like this are the only good thing to come out of me being who I am—that I get to represent a charity that makes a legitimate difference in people’s lives when they’re at their lowest ebb dealing with a seriously sick child. And that it’s given me the resources to make this one-off gift to this incredibly close father and daughter.
But now my main money-earning plan is gone, those resources are going to diminish by the day.
Once my memoir was shelved, the streaming service canceled plans for the companion documentary. They figured that without being able to piggyback on the publicity of whatwould hopefully have been a bestselling book, they might not get the viewership to make it worthwhile.
So now the only income I have is from my investments. Thank God my dad made me put money into those as soon as my business started to make a profit.
It might sound pathetic to say that that income isallI have when it is, by any measure, not an insubstantial amount. But my expenses are huge and eat up a significant percentage of it.
A text from my sister pops up over the Canadian tundra.
SOFIA
Want to chat tomorrow? Now we’re settled back at home after the honeymoon, we can tell you all about it. Thought it might cheer up that sad face of yours.
