The Rom Con(7)
“I really think it needs to be you,” Cynthia cuts me off. “The heart of the story is your relationship with your grandmother and the generational divide, if you will,” she says, peering at me over the rim of her cat-eye glasses. “As the reader, I want to see how you balance your commitment to your grandma with your more modern sensibilities. I want to feel your discomfort at this retrogression of gender roles. That’s what makes this so relatable.”
I nod slowly like I’m considering it even as my brain races to construct a convincing counterargument. This is not what I had in mind. “I understand what you’re saying, but I really think it would be better to assign it to someone like Hannah. This type of undercover piece is her wheelhouse. Remember when she re-created Sarah Jessica Parker’s strangest looks from Sex and the City? She wore overalls with a bra and a bird on her head for a week and no one even batted an eyelash.” I grimace regretfully, like it’s out of my hands. “I’m not an actress.”
“But that’s just the point, you don’t need to be.” She steeples her fingers under her chin, regarding me seriously. “This story is you. You can delve into the psyche of a late-twenty-something single woman because you are one. You can explore what her needs are now versus then, how societal expectations for dating and marriage have evolved across generations. What’s obsolete, and what remains? The silly dating tips and how they play out is the setup, but I don’t see this as just some throwaway farce piece. I think that’s selling your concept short.”
Did I say I loved her direct leadership style? I meant I hate it.
“Um . . . okay,” I say slowly, beginning to panic now at the thought of putting myself out there so publicly. I write stories about other people; I don’t want to be the story. “It’s just a little more personal than I prefer to get.” Not to mention that Gran will hobble me if she finds out I’m making fun of her advice.
“We can run it under a pseudonym?” she says expectantly, and I know I’ve lost this battle. Natalia kicks me under the table, and I plaster on a smile with clenched teeth.
“Sure. I guess I’m up for the challenge.”
“I’ll make sure she pulls it off,” Nat offers unhelpfully, and I kick her back even harder. “She can practice on me. It’ll be fun.” She grins at Cynthia, ignoring the death ray I’m beaming into the side of her head. Note to self: Kill roommate.
“Perfect. You think you’ll be ready to run it in a couple weeks?” She looks at me and I nod in affirmation. She glances back at her screen. “I also have you down as covering the Jessup cologne launch tonight, yes?”
“Yes, and I’ll have a recap ready to run by ten a.m. tomorrow,” I reply, switching mental gears. “My goal is to get a quote from Olivia the mystery fiancée. If she’s in attendance.”
While it may sound strange for a women’s site to cover the launch of a men’s fragrance, events in the personal life of Eric Jessup, recently retired star pitcher for the Yankees and New York’s golden boy, have made him a trending topic among Siren readers. Known for the carousel of models and actresses he’s paraded down red carpets for the last decade, he shocked the world last month by announcing his engagement to Olivia Sherwood, a pretty but decidedly non-famous schoolteacher and high school ex-girlfriend from his hometown in Louisiana. Speculation is rampant that it’s a publicity stunt to rehab his reputation as a hard-partying womanizer.
While I’m curious about Olivia, I’m not exactly amped to spend my evening at yet another press event, which sounds exciting to outsiders but gets old fast: the bland, canned sound bites from the celebrity of the hour; the protective barrier of publicists preventing you from asking any real questions; the gifted but ultimately useless bottle of cologne I’ll pass on to one of my coworkers with a boyfriend or husband at home. Still, the potential to see and maybe even speak with the elusive Olivia—a woman who hasn’t granted a single interview or even been seen in public—is too compelling to ignore.
“I’m going too,” Nat pipes up. “But my goal is for Eric to take one look at me and realize he proposed to the wrong woman.” The group titters. “What? If Eric Jessup can fall in love with a commoner, then there’s hope for all of us.”
“You’re practically engaged,” I remind her.
She raises her left hand. “Do you see a ring on my finger? I’m keeping my options open,” she says breezily.
I shake my head, turning back to Cynthia. “Anyway, tonight’s covered.”
“Great.” She taps a few more keys, then turns to our relationships editor. “Jordan, ‘Across the aisle to down the aisle: How I found love with my political polar opposite.’ How’s that going?”
“Great. I’m interviewing this adorable couple, they work as rival Senate staffers in DC and their story is so entertaining, I swear it deserves its own book . . .”
I tune out as the meeting spools on, taking the opportunity to respond to some emails and approve a product roundup from one of our contract writers. A text pops up from Natalia: Legit starving. Placing a Serafina’s order now. You want in? I text back in the affirmative as Cynthia starts recapping our stats from last week, a signal the meeting’s wrapping up.
“Last week’s biggest hit and the winner of this week’s bonus is Daniela, with her piece about influencers inflating their numbers. Excellent work, Daniela,” Cynthia says to the spunky brunette lifestyle editor, who preens and waves the crisp hundred-dollar bill in the air. “Shares were way up, it saw huge numbers on social and got a lot of pickups. If anyone has any follow-on story ideas there, don’t be shy. Influencers behaving badly always performs.” She mouse-clicks a few times and squints at her screen. “The equal pay for equal work story got a big traffic spike on Wednesday. Unfortunately, we have our friends at Brawler to thank for the assist with their classy rebuttal: ‘But do women work equally as hard between the sheets? From the boardroom to the bedroom, by the numbers.’?” Jordan snickers under her breath and Cynthia gives her the hairy eyeball.