[chapter two]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please. ;-)
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~Jeff's POV~
Saint, my ass.
After that last article went to press, I can't even believe I'm still talking to Madelyn, much less considering another interview with her.
I mean, yeah, I've known her for ages, but c'mon … there has to be a line somewhere.
She's still going on and on about her editor, and all I can think of is the article she wrote about my whole divorce and financial situation, and the one before that where I sound completely egomaniacal and stupid.
I promised myself, no more articles by Madelyn. Not if I give a damn about my public perception.
I know she's a good journalist, and her editor is a bastard, but damn. A guy's gotta have some pride.
"Jeff … please?" She says quietly. "I just need an hour. Maybe less. Please?"
I shake my head and close my eyes. "I can't, Madelyn. Besides, I'm leaving for vacation in about fifteen minutes."
"I'll go wherever you are going. One hour." She says, her voice pleading. "Where are you going, anyway?" She asks curiously.
I sigh inwardly and debate lying to her. But we've known each other for years, and I'd feel bad outright deceiving her. Besides, she sounds really desperate …
"Vermont. I'm going skiing for a few days, just hanging out." I say after a moment's hesitation. "Alone." I add, before she can question me about a girlfriend, which may end up in an article somewhere someday.
"Great. I can catch a flight and be there tomorrow first thing. I ask you a few questions, I get out of your hair, and write a kickass article about you." She says, her voice firm, professional.
"Now wait a minute … "
"Where are you staying? I'll make the arrangements right now."
"Madelyn … " I try again. "I don't want you crashing my vacation. You folks are the reason I'm leaving in the first place. I just want to get away before the season starts, before the circus starts."
"Yeah, from other journalists. Not me. Now, where are you staying?"
God, she's persistent.
"Maddy … "
"Jeff." She returns, her voice quiet. "Don't make be beg. More. Besides, you owe me."
"Why?" I sputter. "I don't owe you … "
"Martinsville." She utters one word, and I fall silent.
Oh.
Damn.
"It's a bed and breakfast - little place, in the mountains. I'll fax the details to your office. You still at the same number?"
"Yeah." She says, her voice suddenly happy and light. "Thanks, I appreciate this."
And I'm going to regret it.