At a brink of collapse, Edge Magazines best writer, Vicki Vale is tasked with her first job of writing and investigating a billionaire playboy James Godfrey to bring the company back to its golden age. As part of her job she tries to seduce the James to determine if he is a Saint or Sinner? But her struggle to find out she falls into the trap of the billionaire project. Find out what happens when the man they call Saint, makes you want to sin?View More
As if reading my mind, Chloe tried to pep me up. “Come on, clothes don’t make the girl. Hey, at least you’re not naked.”I had tried to twist my hair this way and that, and no, my appearance hardly improved. I was passionately hating on the entire situation while riding in the back of the cab, sitting sideways because I suspected that, when Chloe washed her hands after me, she got some paint on my back. Just seconds ago I felt it sticking to the cab vinyl, and now I was hating on this situation so bad, my stomach hurt. I asked the driver to drop the passenger mirror, and I stared at my face.“Ohmigod,” I said.And there I was. My long blonde hair twisted into messy pigtails, a slash of paint on the side of my neck, stark like blood against my pale skin. “Ohmigod,” I moaned.This was the woman the renowned James Godfrey is going to see?And, if I thought in the back of the cab that I really loathed this situation, I had no idea how much more I would hate it when I got to the Tech10 cor
Twitter:@jamesgodfreyjunior please follow me on Twitter!@jamesgodfreyjunior to throw the first ball at Cubs gameMy personal inbox:EMPTY.I had already got a two-inch-thick file on James Godfrey, but no call from his PR contact.Today was planned with my mother a no-go too.I was supposed to meet her to show our support for our community’s End the Violence campaign, but she calls to say that she was not going to make it. Her boss asked her to cover for someone. “I’m sorry, darling. Why don’t you ask one of the girls to go with you?”“Don’t worry, Mother, I will. Take your insulin, okay?”I knew she took it, but I couldn’t help mentioning it every time we called. I obsessed about her like that.In fact, I worried about my mom so much, Chloe and Brenda worried I was going to make myself sick over it. I wanted to get a big cushion of savings so I knew I could take care of her insurance and be sure she had a good home and good healthy food, and good care, too. I wanted to give my mom e
The top floor was littered with reporters at their desks. The floors were wood, the editorial offices peppered with bright colors and satin cushions, always full of the buzz of phones and people chattering. Instead of the business suits I imagined wearing to work, I wrote in an oversize, trendy T-shirt-with-an-attitude and a pair of socks that had the words I Believed on the toes. It was a crazy magazine, as crazy as some of the stories and columns we put out—and I loved it.But bloggers were putting us out of work, and our circulation grew tinier by the second. Edge Magazines needed something cutting-edge, and I was desperate to prove to my boss that I could bring it to her.“Chloe!” I called my roommate when I strolled into our two-bedroom flat.“We’re over here!” I heard Chloe call.She was in her bedroom, with Anne. They were my best friends. Anne was a redhead, freckled, pink, and sweet, unlike the dark, sultry Chloe.We were like Neapolitan ice cream. In height, Chloe and I were
“Who else?”The man staring back at me had a perfectly structured face, beautiful lips, and eyes blue than the bottom of a Caribbean ocean. His smile was all mischief. It said he liked to cause trouble and, most of all, that he enjoyed getting away with it. But there was something very closed off and somehow icy in his eyes. Oh yeah, those blue eyes were made of ice.“I’ve heard of him,” I admitted, starting to get nervous. “I wouldn’t really be alive in Seattle if I hadn’t.”Ruthless, they said.A complete playboy, they said.And so ambitious he’d put Midas to shame. Oh yeah. They said James wouldn’t rest until he owned the world.“Cynthia thinks that you’re too young and inexperienced to take on such a risqué project, Vicki. But you’re single, and she’s not.”“Brenda, you know how much I enjoy writing about trends, but you also know that I really want to write bigger stories, stories about people’s homes, and security. I want to earn that chance, and if this is how I can do that, th
Three steps inside the cluttered room stacked with old magazines, ours and our competitors’, and my breakfast—coffee with two sugars, and strawberry jam on whole-wheat toast—turned into a stone inside my stomach.Without even looking up from the folder in her hand, Brenda signaled to the chair across hers.“Vicki, sit down.”I sat silently, a thousand things leaping to my tongue: I can do better; I can do more; let me do more, two articles a week rather than one. Even: I will work for free until we can find our feet.I couldn’t afford to work for free. I had to pay my rent, I was still paying off my college loan, and I had a mother I loved with a health condition and no insurance. But I also loved my job. I didn’t want to be let go. I had never wanted to be anything else other than what I was now, at this moment, as my fate rested in her hands.So it was with dread and an impending sense of loss that I sat there and waited for Brenda to finally lower that folder and look at me. And I
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