I meet Michele’s gaze in the mirror, and she smiles in approval at me. “I can do that,” she says. “I’m thinking a soft brown palette for your eyes, a matte rose for your lips, and pop of rose-toned blush on the cheeks.”
“I put myself in your hands,” I say cheerfully.
I go back to reading my questions, and I have to repress laughter from bubbling up within me. I wonder what Craig would think of the questions I have in store for Caleb today. I warned him that this is going to be a fun interview—not hard-hitting. There will be no opening of the Pandora’s box that is his family’s past.
Rather, I want to know his favorite condiments.
I repress the urge to laugh with abandon. Hopefully, Craig won’t regret paying for my trip to Italy and my talent fees to find out if Caleb prefers mustard over ketchup.
The rest of my prep time goes by in a blur. Makeup and hair are done. I double-check my outfit, and Allyson helps me steam out my pants to get rid of the wrinkles I collected during my ride over to the villa. I go outside, test to make sure I’ll be able to see Caleb without having to squint into the sun—yep, it’s all good, so it’s a go—and the wireless mic transmitter is fitted to the waistband of my white full-legged pants, with the mic placed discreetly on my sleeveless black asymmetric top.
The bigwigs are all still hanging around the villa—UGH—but at least I can safely escort Caleb out to the garden and then shut them out. Butterflies begin to form in my stomach, as it’s about fifteen minutes before Caleb is due to arrive.
I have such high hopes for this interview. We get on so well whenever we talk, there’s no reason to think that a sit-down interview between the two of us will be any different. All I wantis for this to lead to more freelance opportunities for me, and to help Caleb feel more comfortable doing things for the media.
Then it hits me.
For most reporters, landing an interview with Caleb Collings would be all they’d think about. How it could impact their career, the types of hits it would get online, ratings, all those things.
There would be no other thoughts to it.
But here I am, also thinking about how it could possibly help Caleb, too.
It means you’re a nice person and not a narcissist, I tell myself.
And it means you are interested in Caleb beyond a professional capacity, you liar.
I steel myself. Both things can be true at once. I’ll just never act on any feeling I get for Caleb, that’s all.
He’s an F1 driver from a racing dynasty.
I’m trying to carve out a career in F1.
And all my big speeches about honesty and journalistic integrity mean absolutely nothing if I allow myself to act on this crush I’m developing.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I flip it over and see I have a text from Catherine:
We are on our way to the villa. See you in a few.
Right on cue, my stomach flips upside down in anticipation.
I go straight to Allyson. “Caleb is on his way. He’ll be arriving with his sister, Catherine, and Bethany Rossi, the chief communications officer for Collings Motors.”
Craig hears this, and soon he and every other person in this villa is buzzing. I want to roll my eyes. So many jock-sniffers. Crude, but it’s the truth. They’re all hanging out here just to get a glimpse of Caleb.
Soon I hear a car coming up the drive, and I stand by in the living area. There’s a knock on the door, and adrenaline floods my body. I’m about to do the biggest interview I might ever have, and I’m ready for the opportunity.
I swallow. I’m also ready to see Caleb again.
Allyson pulls open the door, and it’s as if time is standing still. I hear Catherine’s voice, and she steps into the doorway first. Next, Allyson is introduced to Bethany, and I bite back a smile as I see her.
They were smart enough not to send Arthur as the communications rep, I think wryly.
It’s also intriguing that Caleb doesn’t use a publicist. Catherine and the media team at Collings Motors handle all his inquiries.
My gut tells me it’s because he doesn’t trust anyone outside of Catherine—or the family business—to have his best interests at heart.
Then I see him.