[chapter three]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of
them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please.
;-)
**
~Madelyn's POV~
Who the hell vacations in four billion feet of snow?
I bitch to myself as I steer my unruly rental car up the drive of Jeff's bed and breakfast, fighting to see through the flakes quickly falling onto the windshield.
And could he have found somewhere more out of the way?
I heave my laptop and bag onto my shoulder and hasten up to the front door, brushing flakes of snow from my coat. The door is opened by a kindly older woman, who smiles warmly.
"Hello. May I help you? Are you the journalist lady?" She asks, closing the door behind me.
"Yes. Hi. I'm Madelyn Ray." I say, shaking her hand and dropping my bags. "I'm here to see Mr. Gordon?"
"Ah, that Jeff. He's such a sweet, dear boy." She says, sounding like a doting grandmother. "He's been coming here for years. Lovely boy. By the way, I'm Joan."
"Hi Joan. I promise I'll be out of your way shortly." I say, praying it's true. I'm sure Jeff doesn't want to hang with me, and I sure as hell don't want to spend any extra time with him.
"He's upstairs. Room number one." She says with a kind smile. "Frank and I are going into town to load up on groceries and gas. We'll be back in a few hours, so just make yourself at home. Jeff is our only guest this weekend, so you have the run of the place." Joan says, slipping on her coat.
"Thank you, Joan. I appreciate your help."
Joan and Frank, her husband, lumber out into the cold as I get out of my coat and scarf, and unpack my laptop, preparing for battle.
This is going to suck.
I head upstairs and knock on the bedroom door marked number one and say a silent prayer that I can get through this interview, get outta this snow and write a kickass story before next Wednesday.
"Come in."
I open the door and nearly bump square into Jeff, who was reaching to open the door for me. "Oops. Sorry. Hi." I say, stepping in with a laugh.
"Hi, Madelyn."
"Gee, don't sound so happy to see me."
"Sorry. I'm usually so excited to have my vacation crashed by eager paparazzi." He deadpans and I roll my eyes.
"I'm not eager, I'm not paparazzi, and you should know me well enough by now to know I'm not a big fan of snow and cold weather. This isn't a picnic for me either." I shoot back and he steps back, his face apologetic.
"Sorry. I just got off the phone with … " He cuts himself off. "Sorry."
"Brooke?" I ask sympathetically. After our last interview, I know all about their ugly divorce, her greed, and his present frame of mind.
"Yeah." He says, sighing heavily and sinking down onto a couch near the windows, gesturing to a chair nearby. "So what are you grilling me about today?"
Now it's my turn to sigh heavily. "Okay, let me straighten this out, okay? The last article…I didn't even have much in there about Brooke or your financials, or anything. My editor pulled a bunch of stuff out, and added in other things from my notes. I didn't have final approval because it went to press before I got back from another trip. I tried to call you when it hit the stands, but lo and behold, Charlie wouldn't let me talk to you. I'm really sorry, but there's nothing I can do. So can you please drop it and let me do my job so I can go back out into the blizzard out there?"
"Fine."
"Fine."
He watches as I boot up my laptop and pull out my list of questions, looking alternately annoyed and bored. "You don't have to like me, Jeff. Just let me do my job." I fire at him.
"I don't really like you right now, Madelyn."
"That's good, because I violently dislike you at the moment myself."
At least he has the decency to look cowed.
Now we're getting somewhere.