The Introvert's Guide to Speed Dating - Emma Hart Page 0,3
it bad?”
“No, it’s exceptionally well written. I don’t often read your articles, but this one has impressed me.” He slid a printed copy of the article over to me. “I have an arrangement with Sebastian Stone to do a special paper on his sports center. It’ll include interviews with him and his business partner, interviews with parents and students, write ups and articles, and it’ll be an entire paper.”
“That sounds incredible. My son attends and it’s a wonderful place.”
“My granddaughter is a part of his softball program. I agree.” He leaned forward on his desk, touching his fingertips together. “I’d like you to pull the entire paper together.”
I blinked at him.
What?
“The—the whole thing?”
Mr. Chester nodded slowly. “Yes. It will take you time to pull together, so you can start from this afternoon. Of course, Sydney will be on hand to take photos for you for all your interviews.”
“You want me to do the entire paper by myself?”
“I can assign you one of the interns to act as an assistant for scheduling and research purposes, but yes. That is what I’m offering you, London. You’ll naturally receive a bonus for the work you put in.”
“Why aren’t you asking Ebony? Isn’t this her wheelhouse?”
“Ebony is very busy overlooking the general publication of the newspaper.” His eyes twinkled. “Your personal relationship with Sebastian and Dylan, plus your son’s attendance, gives you a leg up here. As do your writing skills.”
Oh.
Oh, okay.
“I would be honored to,” I responded honestly. “How long is the assignment for?”
“I would like the entire edition pulled together within two weeks. Is that doable?”
“My son’s father is coming at the end of this week, I think,” I said slowly. “And he’s having him the entire weekends, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Plus I know my uncle will help me if I need him to.”
“Good news. Sydney already knows, so stop by his office this afternoon after two o’clock to discuss with him. We’d like photos of the classes but we need signed permission from the parents to feature their children in case their faces are on show. Can you handle that?”
I nodded. “I’ll ask the admin team to have the releases drawn up and speak to Sebastian about it.”
“Excellent. You can take your lunch now. And thank you for all your hard work.”
My cheeks flushed a little. “Thank you, Mr. Chester. I really appreciate this opportunity.”
“Just don’t let me down.” He winked, then turned to his computer, effectively ending our meeting.
“I’ll try not to,” I replied quietly, slipping out of the office into the hallway. I closed the door behind me and skirted a few feet away around the corner where I could lean against the wall and take a deep breath.
A whole paper special?
All done by me?
Holy shit.
“What did he want?” Ebony appeared out of nowhere, shooting daggers at me.
“Just a new assignment.” I smiled, pushing off the wall. “Excuse me, I have to meet my friend for lunch.”
I left on that note, leaving her glaring after me.
Nothing new there, then.
***
“Hold your arms out,” Oliver said in his crisp British accent, taking hold of Leo’s wrists and positioning them in front of them. “This is your ready position, okay? Feel how easy it is to move your hands to where they need to be. Copy me.”
Oliver moved his arms in every which way possible as he guided Leo to follow him.
“If you know the ball is coming at you, you want to be as ready as possible.”
Leo nodded. “I got it. Okay. Try again.”
Oliver pushed his ginger-brown hair from his eyes and waved over one of the kids who played in a striker position and was damn good. “Tom, I want you to do some practice shots with Leo, okay? You did really well over on the target practice, so I want you to do the same here. I’ll put some targets in the goal.”
“Sure!” Tom bounded over with a football. “I’m gonna get you, Leo.”
My kid laughed and shook his head. “No way!”
Oliver chuckled as he attached four big red circles to the goal. “All right, all right, settle down. You’re both seven years old, you’re not Tyson Fury. Let’s cut the big man talk.”
“It’s more fun this way!” Leo insisted, looking to his coach. “Who’s Tyson Fury?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“A British boxer who talks a bunch of baloney about everyone he fights.” Oliver stepped back.
That was the politest way anyone had ever said ‘shit-talking’ in their lives.
“Are you two ready?”
They nodded.
“Go.”
Tom got to