Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Kevin beckoned them over to show off their IDs, and they passed around a sign-in clipboard while the receptionist called them an escort. A youthful aide came out to greet them only a minute later, all bright smiles and rapid-fire greetings. Her handshake was more a quick squeeze than anything else, and Andrew didn’t even look at her when she turned on him last.
Kevin’s smile didn’t waver as he said, “Please excuse him.”
“Of course,” she said, spinning on her heel. “Right this way!”
She buzzed them through a set of doors, then led them down a long hallway filled with awards and colorful posters. The elevator was quick to arrive, and she swiped her badge to get them to the third floor. She didn’t stop talking the entire time, but Jean let most of her chatter flow right through him. It leaned toward the inane fawning Kevin tended to bring out in people: how thrilled they were that Kevin and Jean agreed to come by, how excited she was for the upcoming season, and some quick facts about the woman who’d be interviewing them today.
Another desk was right outside the elevator doors, but one of the two staff stationed there was on the phone and the other was battling a fax machine. Their guide—Amber? Amy? Jean had already forgotten—scooped a folder off the desk without slowing. She opened it as she walked, withdrew two packets to hand Kevin, and led them into a small lounge.
“Nothing you haven’t seen,” she said, motioning for them to sit. “If you want to take a moment to read through and initial everything, I’ll go check in with the team.”
“Thank you, Amber,” Kevin said, and she was gone.
A cup of pens sat in the middle of one of the coffee tables. Kevin passed one of the packets to Jean before settling down to skim his own. Jean tilted his so Jeremy could see it, but Jeremy only nodded. The first page was a list of studio policies, and the second a contract giving the studio permission to edit and use today’s footage however they pleased. The last was the expected list of topics for the day, including a dozen-odd example questions. Jean only read three of those before flipping quickly back to the front.
“Just sign it,” Kevin said. “It will take you too long to read it.”
“No one asked you,” was Jean’s sour response as he scribbled his signature across the bottom of the first two sheets. Jeremy knocked his knee to Jean’s in silent question, and Jean said, “My year of English lessons were predominantly oral. I learned to read after the fact so I could pass my classes. It is an offensively ugly language,” he added, skimming the endless paragraphs on the page. “No personality whatsoever.”
Jeremy smiled. “Good thing I’m learning French, then.”
Kevin looked up, startled. “Are you?”
“Trying,” Jeremy amended. “It’s not going so well.”
Kevin glanced between them. Jean very much did not want to hear whatever he had to say about that. Luckily for all of them, their aide swept back into the room to check on them. She collected their packets, waited for them to return the pens to the cup, and motioned for them to follow. They detoured by the studio first to drop Andrew and Jeremy off, and Amber took a few moments to introduce them to the crew. Jean glanced across the room toward the small stage. A recliner and loveseat were angled toward each other with a pale table between them. A vase of vibrant flowers was the only bit of decoration.
“This way,” Amber said, and Jean dragged his stare away to follow.
He and Kevin were handed off to two women, who busily set to work fixing their hair and applying just enough makeup to offset the studio lighting. Jean kept his hands folded tightly in his lap and fixed his stare on an empty corner of the mirror.
“You’ve got some scarring here,” his attendant said as she checked his scalp. “Does this hurt?”
When Jean didn’t answer, Kevin had to: “Thank you, but it’s an old injury. He’s fine.”
“Just let me know,” she said, and went back to work.
They were nearly done when Hannah Bailey came in to greet them. Jean recognized her from watching the news this summer; she usually helmed the desk for the evening sports broadcast. She was taller in person, and her makeup was jarringly severe face-to-face, but her hand was powder soft as she offered them each a lingering handshake.
“Good to have you here,” she said. “I’m Hannah Bailey. Do you have any questions for me before we begin?”
Kevin charmed her with an ease that was irritating to listen to. He’d watched some of her segments online over the years as he followed the Trojans’ seasons, so he was familiar with her style and some of the larger stories she’d covered. Whether he genuinely meant any of his vapid praise, Jean didn’t know and didn’t care so long as he warmed her to them and held her attention. It kept her distracted the entire walk to the studio, but as she showed them to their seats, she finally turned a considering look on Jean.