Post Malone Interview Novels & Stories

Millicent's POV I agree to one interview. Just ONE. It's a compromise, less invasive than a television appearance, more controlled than a press conference. The magazine is a respectable lifestyle publication, the kind that runs profiles on socialites and philanthropy and people who buy very expensive things. Not hard-hitting journalism, not tabloid speculation, just a soft-focus look at the woman who married Damon Hale. The journalist is a woman named Moira Queen, mid-forties, warm smile, a professional demeanor that immediately puts me at ease. She arrives at the mansion with a photographer, a recorder and a list of questions that Damon's team has already properly vetted.

The judgement of these three interviewers would determine if my life was going to get the long awaited revival or if it was going to continue being the black tormentous sea of misery I had lived in all my life. "Can you introduce yourself again?" The man at the center asked. I sighed. The question gave me hope, but it also increased the depths of the possible disappointment. "I'm Miss Malton. I'm 24 years old. I have good marketing skills which I have gotten from several trainings- the certificates are there- in my files. I have worked in various stores for four years and it has earned me much experience and good interpersonal skills, along side customer relation skills. I believe hiring me

he continues, “for a real interview. Not a five‑minute statement. A long one. You talk. I talk. They ask what they want. About me. About Marco. About Angelo. About you. About the contracts. About the song. About the plane, the villa, all of it.” My breath catches. “And you answer?” I ask. “Honestly. Not just the parts that make you look…less monstrous.” He nods. “As much as I can without signing my own arrest warrant on live TV,” he says. “But yes. More honest than I’ve been with anyone except Luca. And you.” My skin prickles. “No topics off limits?” I press. “They ask if you bought me. You answer. They ask if you’ve laundered money. You answer. They ask if you’ve had people hurt. You answer

I’d even prayed for his success the night before. Do blessings work on demons? If Paimon passed, I guess I’d have my answer. But then— “Ms. Bosconovich?” I looked up, surprised. “Yes?” “Please come in.” Confused, I followed the staffer through the sliding door. My stomach twisted. What did he do now? Inside, three interviewers sat across from Paimon. An older man on the left, a large man in glasses in the center, and a woman with thick lipstick on the right. All Caucasian. All serious.

“Here. Watch.” On the screen, Talon’s face popped up. He was sitting in some fancy studio, and his striking blue eyes were mesmerizing to look at. At first, he talked about mental health. Depression, self-worth, all that. He reclined in his chair, so calm, so collected, his voice the usual sincere baritone I was familiar with. Then the host of the interview leaned forward. “So a lot of people also want to know about your relationship with Raine. Have you popped the question yet?”

“Mr Dumont, I’m the host of today’s interview. Carla Esteban. We met yesterday. I’m very happy that you accepted our interview and I’m honored to be the host.” She still had her hand stretched out and he made no move to shake her. He just looked purely displeased!

He sneered. Don Malo’s hand stilled. He looked up slowly, his expression hardening. He studied Lucien for a few seconds before his lips broke into a smile. “You youngsters today know nothing about networking. Back in my day I used to beg for the audience of my seniors in this field just to—” “Spare me the life history, Malo. I’m not here for that.” Lucien cut him off. Don Malo’s smile faded. “I’m not letting your men into my turf until you release my man.” His tone carried finality.

" She says, giving a weak smile. All of the guys go silent. I turn around and see Malcom at the entrance. "Do we have everyone?" He asks. One of the goons nods. Why is he happy? I don't understand. He's come into this kitchen with a beaming smile. He's like a teacher addressing bored ass kids. "What do we want today?" He asks the room. The guys all announce their dishes. What the hell is going on in their sick heads? Is this routine? "Ohh I heard burgers somewhere. Let's eat that." All but one of these guys leave the kitchen.

Malcolm, who was busy watching one of his early shows, snorted, "A clean hand needs no washing. Why the f*ck would I yield to them? Let them do whatever they wish." Although Malcolm appeared cool from the outside, hearing his manager's words had left his mouth with a bitter taste that even watching the beautiful face of his and the vivid emotions in his eyes seemed ineffective. He quickly grabbed the remote and switch to another channel. The girl who was involved in a scandal with him appeared on an interview show. She was dressed in white and had red puffy eyes and quivering lips making her look pitiful. The host asked, "Miss Dunbar, why don't you take an action against the Movie King Malco

"Where do you want to be in 5 years, Holly?" The last panel interview for Talon Tech, run by Adam and Noah Talon, was going well and they gave me a softball question. This was one of those moments where everything seems to come together in life and just fall into place. I'd prepared for this question. The dream job was in my grasp. I smiled and sat up confidently at Mindy and Carter who had been two out of the three panelists I was supposed to interview for today.