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The next morning, Jill pushed the mascara wand into its container then stared at her face in the bathroom mirror. The image faded as she stepped back into the memory of that embrace at the bridge, with Rick’s arms, strong and full of raw urgency, and his face coming closer to hers. She felt that mixture of elation and anxiety all over again.
Setting down the mascara tube, Jill put on a light sweater then left the apartment, eager to see Rick and curious to know his current state of mind. She hadn’t seen him since they’d driven away from the bridge and he’d dropped her off to finish selling the cookies with Becky. So, Jill was grateful when, moments ago, Rick had texted to invite her for breakfast downstairs.
When Jill arrived in the kitchen, the glorious scents of bacon and coffee mingled together as she waded between the corgis.
Rick pushed back his chair when he saw Jill. “I made us breakfast. There’s plenty.”
He met her at the island and handed Jill an empty plate.
“Thanks. Did you get some sleep last night?” Her voice was hushed and intimate, as though they were sharing a secret.
“Enough.” His expression didn’t tell her much, but it did tell her he wasn’t closed off. His eyes were bright, and his mouth was relaxed. They hadn’t lost that connection they’d discovered at the bridge.
“Rick was just telling me about the reporter incident from yesterday,” Lucille said from the table.
Rick cleared his throat. “Yeah, I told Gran about Lenny, how he helped us out. I called him last night and asked him to put an officer on patrol in the neighborhood. I don’t want those reporters creeping around. Or bothering Gran. Or you.”
“Good idea.” Jill began filling her plate with eggs and bacon. She followed Rick to the table, where he pulled out her chair.
Rick picked up his fork but hovered it above his plate. “You know, I don’t mind reporters doing their job. I get it. Quantum is a big story. But shoving a recorder in my face or pretending to be a customer... it’s going too far. And they don’t even bother to get the story right. They speculate and twist the truth and lie. All for profit.”
“Do you have a PR person to issue statements and help set the story straight?” Lucille wondered.
“Sure, but I’ve told her to stick to the script and not give too much information. But maybe that’s the wrong strategy.”
“How so?” Jill prompted, pausing her eating.
Rick put down the fork and addressed them both. “The irony is, I’ve been upset with the press, dodging and avoiding them for years. But maybe I need them on my side right now. Investors are restless, customers are worried, and they’re reading all this misinformation. I wish I could tell my side of the story somehow.”
“Why don’t you?” Lucille asked, then gestured toward Jill. “You’ve got a top-notch writer sitting here, in this very kitchen.”
Jill raised her eyebrows, wondering how she’d suddenly become front and center in the conversation.
“And she’s someone I trust.” Rick moved his gaze toward Jill. “Through her, I could control the narrative. Get out in front of this thing, correct the rumors...”
Through her. Jill could see where his thoughts were headed. “Oh, no. I’m flattered, but I don’t work for that kind of magazine, remember? My friend only publishes educational or inspiring pieces.”
“I think this could be both inspiring and educational,” Lucille urged.
“It could be sort of a profile piece,” Rick explained, “with Patrick Wright coming out of the shadows, telling his side of the story. They could see the real me.”
For a moment, Jill let herself push past the fear to see his point—she was known for finding the heart of a piece. She could be the one person to get Rick’s story out there, with his permission. She was in a unique position to help, and she knew Miranda would probably grab a chance for an exclusive with both hands.
“Are you sure,” Jill asked, “about being so open? And about me being the one to do it? I’ve never written anything like this before. I’m not sure I’d be the best fit.”
Lucille clamped a hand down on top of Jill’s. “Honey, I spent some time reading your magazine pieces last night—Rick showed me how to access them—and you are the perfect fit for this. Your articles are kind and humane. You would do the story justice. I have no doubt.”
Jill let her eyes roam to Rick, who was patiently awaiting her response. He seemed as sure as Lucille. Jill reached for her coffee cup and took a long, thoughtful sip. The more she let the idea sink in, the more she knew it was the right one—the only one.
“I’ll do it,” she told Rick. “If you’re sure about this. I mean, it’s all happening so fast—”
“I trust you. And something like this—my story, my words, well told by you—would give me some sort of power back. I wouldn’t feel like this thing is spiraling out of control.” He gave a nod. “If you’re willing, then I’m sure.”
“That’s all I need.” Jill removed her napkin from her nap. She could eat later.
“What’s the next step with the magazine?” Rick wondered.
“I’ll explain it to my friend and see what she thinks. There’s a chance she might want the story all to herself, or to give it to a writer who’s more experienced in profile pieces and interviews. But I’ll fight for it.”
“Tell her I won’t give an interview to anyone but you.”
“Okay. I’ll go make the call.”
* * *
“The Patrick Wright? The mysterious millionaire? You’re telling me you’ve basically been living under his roof this entire time in that Podunk town? Why didn’t you tell me?” The questions came fast and loud, as Jill grinned and held the phone a few inches from her ear. She’d decided to return to her apartment for privacy to make the call.
“Miranda, I didn’t know he was that Patrick until a few days ago, honest. And even then, I was respecting his privacy. I never considered writing a piece on him. But this morning, he asked me to write one, and I called you right away.”
“Do you know what this means? An exclusive interview with Patrick Wright? It’s a game changer for this magazine.”
“I know.” Jill hadn’t let herself consider all the ripple effects until she dialed Miranda’s number. With the profile piece, Lifestyle Today would be thrust into the spotlight, their readership would skyrocket, and advertisers would be begging for space in their magazine. Rick had seen the interview as Jill doing him a favor of sorts, but honestly, he was doing her friend and the magazine a favor, too.
“Well, it’s a no-brainer. If you want it, this one’s yours. But it has to be quick so we can get the exclusive. Sooner the better. This week?”
Jill smiled at the thought of being handed yet another valid excuse to stay in Morgan’s Grove longer than planned. In fact, a few more days would lead her right up to the door of Christmas. Jill imagined herself in town through the weekend, spending Christmas day with Lucille and the corgis. And with Rick.
“I can do it. But... I’ve never written anything like this profile piece or done an interview this important.”
“You can pull it off. I know it. Use that razor-sharp insight you have, the one you use with all your other pieces. Let Patrick tell his side. You’ll become his mouthpiece, giving him a chance to quell the rumors. And if this thing goes the way I think it will... Jill, you may have just saved this magazine.”
* * *
THIS ISN’T WHAT AN interview with a millionaire should look like, was all Jill could think. She sat in comfy sweatpants on Lucille’s couch, her feet curled under her, a notepad in hand, and her pen poised and ready. Rick had sat down on the same couch and draped an arm between them, his body angled toward her so that his knee touched hers. He wore relaxed attire, too, that same flannel shirt and jeans she’d seen him in when they’d first met on Lucille’s porch.
“You’ll do fine,” she whispered, waiting for Rick to make eye contact. His shallow breaths and serious gaze told her he was nervous. “Any regrets?” she asked when he finally looked at her.
“None. Let’s do this.”
They had each spent the better part of the afternoon in separate spaces, preparing for the interview. Jill had stayed in her apartment after hanging up with Miranda, nervously crafting interview questions and trying to anticipate the direction of Rick’s answers for possible follow-up questions. She’d even done a crash course on the history of his company, researching online to make sure she had the full picture in her head. She avoided the salacious pieces entirely, reading only the legitimate news sites.
Rick had spent the afternoon in his bedroom, likely pondering his role in the piece and figuring out what he did and didn’t want to say while fielding more calls and questions from shareholders and employees.
Lucille had already coaxed the corgis into their kennel and insisted on going upstairs to give them complete privacy for the interview.
“I’m going to record this,” Jill told Rick, reaching for her phone. “This is only for me, for when I’m compiling the piece after we’re done. I want to be sure I get the details absolutely right. I’ll delete the recording afterward. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She clicked the button to record then returned to her notepad, where she would write down the key points for herself. Jill began with the biggest question of all: “What do you want people to know about you, the company, the situation?”
Rick cleared his throat before answering. “That there’s misinformation out there. Rumors are being spread about me and my company. And I’m here to clear them up.”
As he continued, his voice grew in volume and in confidence. He seemed to become unaware of the recording and swiftly turned the interview into a conversation with Jill, just the two of them falling into an easy back-and-forth. His body language relaxed as he gestured, and his voice pattern fell into the natural rhythm Jill recognized and knew so well. She nodded occasionally as she jotted down key phrases. Rick talked about the origins of the company, the intent behind it, and the initial enthusiasm. Then, with Jill’s follow-up questions prodding him, Rick shifted to the progress and successes over the years.
Finally, he addressed the main crisis with Mark. “Mark is a good man, but a troubled man. He will always be my friend.” It was the only point in the interview when his voice began to quiver, and Jill wondered if he could continue or whether he might call the whole thing off. During a long pause, Jill moved her finger toward the phone, prepared to cut off the recording, but Rick shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”
He was careful to protect Mark’s privacy, not giving details about his mental state or his family. But he issued a warning to reporters: “I plead with you to leave his family alone. He has a wife and children, and they have done nothing wrong. They deserve to live their lives without the press hounding them. I’m appealing to your humanity.”
Rick ended the interview by talking about Quantum’s bright future, his hopes for its success, and his confidence in its current leadership. “We will move past this crisis and will be stronger for it.”
When it was clear Rick was finished, Jill clicked off the recording. “How do you feel?”
Rick stretched his arms above his head and blew out a sigh. “Good. That was weirdly cathartic.”
“I think you did great. You gave me a lot to work with.” She scanned her pages of notes.
“Now what?”
“Well, I thought I could take some headshots of you to add to this casual vibe we’ve got going.”
“I’m wearing flannel.”
“Precisely. People need to see you out of your suit.” She stopped herself short and grinned. “Um, that came out weird. I didn’t mean...” She saw Rick’s grin matching her own and felt a blush rise higher in her cheeks. “Anyway, what I meant to say was that this is who you are. Flannel and boots, the Texas boy turned successful entrepreneur. You said you wanted the public to see you. Well, this is you.”
“Good point.”
“Plus, if these don’t turn out well or Miranda doesn’t approve, we can always use your usual professional headshot.” Jill set the notes aside then pushed off the couch. “How about some natural light? Maybe near the window? Or even outside?”
He rose, too, then followed her out the screen door to the porch.
Jill maneuvered him by grabbing his sleeve with one hand and peering at her phone screen with the other, comparing the different shades of light. Rick took a few steps backward as she guided him nearer the porch swing.
“There. That’s the spot,” she said. The sun was setting, and the glow of it created beautiful lighting.
“What do you want? Serious? Smiling?”
She shrugged. “Try both, maybe? Whatever’s natural, relaxed.”
“Forcing myself to look natural and relaxed,” he said with a half grin. She snapped his photo at that moment, without him knowing. “That should be easy.”
He posed, clearly uncomfortable, smiling in one shot, removing his smile in another, looking at the camera, looking away, trying anything and everything. Surely one of these shots will be the one...
“Okay, all finished. I’ll put you out of your misery.” She lowered her camera to scan through the photos.
“So about that rain check.”
Jill paused and looked into Rick’s face.
“For dinner?” he clarified. “Did you already forget?”
I thought you had, she wanted to say. “No, I just—so much has happened...”
“Since the profile piece is keeping you in town a little longer, maybe after you’ve submitted it, we could celebrate.”
“I’d like that.”
The screen door opened behind Jill, and she swiveled to see Lucille’s head peeking through. “Is it safe to come out?”
“Of course.” Jill gestured for her to come outside. “We’re all finished. It was pretty painless, I think.”
“It was,” Rick concurred. “There’s nobody else who could’ve brought all that out of me. No way.”
Lucille joined them. “Now what?”
“Well, I need to disappear to the apartment again,” Jill said, “so I can bring together my notes with Rick’s quotes and create the big picture. The interview was the easy part for me. Now, the real work begins.”