Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Yemen’s the place to be right now,” Harmony, the art director, suggested. “Send Riggs and Steven out in the field.” Steven was a world-famous journalist, and not one to get high on his own supply.
“That’s a good idea.” Emmett jerked forward, scribbling something in his notepad. He looked like Edward Cullen’s accountant. Sickly pale, with reddish eyes and a hairline that receded all the way to Uruguay. “But I have something else for Riggs, so let’s see if Fred’s available for photography. Anyone else?”
As long as I didn’t stay in New York for a period exceeding two weeks, I was a happy camper. My repulsion with monogamy ran beyond human interaction. It also applied to cities, states, food, music, and TV. I loved switching things up.
“Meeting adjourned.” Emmett, who thought himself personable, used a squeaky toddler hammer to bang on the table.
Everyone trickled out of the room.
Emmett turned to me, cutting straight to the chase.
“Alaska,” he said.
“Gold mining. Sourdough. Sarah Palin.”
“Huh?” He frowned.
“Thought we were playing an association game.”
“Why would I do that?” He blinked, evidently confused. Did I mention the man wasn’t in possession of a sense of humor?
“What about Alaska?” I sighed.
“I want you to go there.” He reclined in his seat, channeling his inner Italian mobster from an eighties film.
“No,” I answered flatly.
“Be a sport, Bates.” Emmett went from tough to whining in a nanosecond, sitting up straight. “You haven’t even heard my pitch.”
“Don’t need to. There’s only one place on my short list of won’t-travel-to—Alaska.”
“Before you make up your mind . . .” Emmett slammed his notepad shut. “It’s a great opportunity, both for the magazine and for you. We’re collaborating with a new streamer, Planet-E, on a documentary about deep Alaska. This thing could win us Emmys, Riggs. The producer did Whale Tale, that film about whales in captivity?” He ignored my rejection, giving me his pitch anyway.
“The one that got slammed in reviews as a mouthpiece for oil companies?” I elevated an eyebrow. He and Gretchen were a match made in PR hell. Collectively, they wouldn’t be able to sell ice to the residents of hell.
“This one’s different.” Emmett waved me off, huffing. “No one’s funding it.”
“Shit, Em, you’re really selling it to me. A low-budget documentary produced by a washed-up sellout has always been my dream.”
Right after becoming a space cowboy, of course.
“You’ll be getting into the thick of it. I’m talking eight months of nonstop filming—”
“Here, buy yourself some Q-tips.” I threw a five-dollar bill on the desk between us, then stood up and tucked my wallet in my back pocket. “Your hearing’s impaired. As I said, I’m not going there. Not for eight months, not for eight minutes.”
Emmett jerked his head back, as if I’d punched him.
“The production company told me it’s you they want. They put it as a contingent—”
“Should’ve checked with me first.”
He closed his mouth. Opened it again. “Is there any specific reason why you’re so revolted by the idea of Alaska?”
“There is,” I answered matter-of-factly. “And it’s none of your damn business.”
Every time Emmett and I spoke with one another, it ended up with a verbal sparring match in which he got knocked out. To be honest, he had good reasons to hate me. For one thing, I’d slept my way through most of his staff, which, while unethical, wasn’t prohibited, since I wasn’t their superior. For another, I’d made it clear I thought he was a tool bag. Short of tattooing the statement on my forehead, I did everything I could to convey I disliked him.
“See, I had a feeling you might try to dodge the assignment.” Emmett sighed, powering up his laptop. “So I took the liberty of peeking at your contract with Discovery Magazine Inc.” He turned the screen in my direction.
“This is our standard contract that you signed. I highlighted the important part. Says here plainly that on-location employees are only exempt from travel assignments due to medical emergencies, religious beliefs, and/or family obligations. All of your colleagues are married with children and cannot take the time off. So unless you’re planning a funeral or a wedding sometime in the near future, you’re legally bound to us.”
“In that case, I quit.”
I could always go to National Geographic. The only reason I worked with Discovery magazine was that the workload was bigger, which meant more traveling.
“Aha.” He scrolled down my contract, grinning extra smugly. “I anticipated that might be your reaction. I refer you to clause 41c. Because our projects span over several months, and sometimes even years, we have a thirty-day notice period. You can hand in your resignation today, but we’re starting to film in Alaska in two weeks, so your dream of never visiting there sadly won’t be fulfilled.”
“I’m not traveling to Alaska,” I repeated, point blank.
“You have no choice.” His ears reddened, and his nose started twitching.