The Charmer. Kate Hoffmann
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welcome to defend himself. We’re open to differing opinions. We just require that the discourse be civilized.”
Kelly flipped to her next note card. “Well, that leads us to the book you’re writing. Tell us about that.”
Angela drew a deep breath and focused her thoughts. She’d practiced her pitch more than once in the mirror at home. “I hope the book will be a guide to the different species of smooth operators out there. Most of these men fall into one of ten or twelve categories. If women can learn to spot them quickly, maybe they’ll save themselves a bit of heartbreak.”
“And what professional credentials do you bring to the table?” Kelly asked.
“I have an undergraduate degree in psychology, a masters in journalism and experience as a freelance writer. And I’ve dated a lot of very smooth operators myself,” Angie replied, allowing herself a smile. “I’m curious as to why they behave the way they do, as are most women.”
“Let’s take a few questions from callers,” Kelly said. For the next three minutes, Angie jousted with a belligerent bachelor, commiserated with two women who’d just been dumped and fended off the evil glares of Danny Devlin, who had wandered back onto the set. When the six-minute segment was finally over, she sat back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief.
“You were wonderful!” Kelly exclaimed, hopping out of her chair. “We’ll have to have you back again.”
“The switchboard went crazy,” the producer said as she walked onto the set. “The most calls we’ve ever had in this time slot. Let’s book another interview for next month. Maybe we can do a longer feature segment when the book comes out.”
Angie stood up and unclipped the microphone. “That would be lovely,” she murmured as she handed it to the sound technician. “Thank you. Is there anything else I need to do?”
“Get that book written,” Kelly said. “And personally, I think Danny Devlin deserves five broken hearts. He dumped me by e-mail.”
Angie crossed the studio to Ceci, then grabbed her arm and pulled her along toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, tugging her coat on. “Before Danny Devlin corners me and demands that I take his profile off the site.”
The early morning air was frigid and the pavement slippery as they walked through the parking lot. When they reached the relative safety of Ceci’s car, Angie sat back in the seat and drew a long, deep breath. It clouded in front of her face as she slowly released it. “So, how was I? Tell me the truth. Did I come across as angry or bitter?”
“No, not at all,” Ceci said. “You were funny. And sweet. And just a little vulnerable, which was good. You were likeable.”
“I didn’t seem judgmental? I want people to look at the Web site as a practical dating tool. Not some organization promoting hatred of the opposite sex.” She glanced over at Ceci. “I really do like men. I just don’t like how they treat women sometimes.”
Ceci smiled as she started the car. “Sweetie, if we didn’t like men so much, we wouldn’t waste our energy trying to fix them. Someone has to hold these guys accountable.”
“Did you get through to Alex Stamos?” Angela asked, turning her attention to the next bit of research for her book. “He’s been ducking my calls for a week now.”
“I got his assistant. She says he’s out of town for the next few days on business, but he’ll be sure to get back to me when he returns. She also mentioned that she had a few stories of her own about the guy.”
“You made it clear that this interview would be anonymous, didn’t you?” Angie asked.
“I said that you wanted to give him a chance to set the record straight,” Ceci said. “But I think getting an in-depth profile of each of these types might be kind of tricky. Especially once they’ve seen the site.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t do the interviews and go with my original plan.”
“Absolutely not,” Celia cried. “I think having a conversation with each of these types makes them real. Just move on to the next guy on your list and catch up with Stamos later.”
Angie had been working as a freelance writer ever since she got out of college. It had been a hit-and-miss career and there were times when she barely had enough to pay the rent. The blog had just been a way to exercise her writing muscles every day, but once it took off, she was able to attract advertisers and make a reasonably constant paycheck from the Web site.
She sighed. Her parents, both college professors, had wanted her to become a psychologist, but when she finished her undergrad studies at Northwestern, she’d decided to rebel and try journalism.
This book would give her instant credibility as a journalist—and it might appease her parents as well as open a lot of doors. The advance alone was nearly gone, lost to car repairs and computer upgrades. Right now, every Tom, Dick and Mary was a blogger. But not many people could say they were a real author.
“You’re right,” she said. “I can work on Charlie Templeton. Or Max Morgan.” But would they be willing to talk? She’d have to readjust her strategy. If the men weren’t going to be identified in the book, then maybe a bit of subterfuge to get their stories wouldn’t be entirely out of line.
1
ALEX STAMOS PEERED into the darkness, the BMW’s headlights nearly useless in the swirling snow. He could barely make out the edge of the road, the drifts causing the car to fishtail even at fifteen miles per hour.
He’d done a lot of things to boost business at Stamos Publishing and as the new CEO, that was his job. But until now, he’d never had to risk life and limb to get what he wanted. His cell phone rang and he reached over to pick it up off the passenger seat. “I’m in the middle of a blizzard,” he said. “Make it quick.”
“What are doing in a blizzard?” Tess asked. “I thought you were leaving for Mexico tonight.”
He had decided to put off his midwinter vacation for a few days. Business was much more important than a week of sun and windsurfing at his family’s oceanside condo. “I have to take care of this business first. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“Where are you?”
“The middle of nowhere,” he said. “Door County.”
“Isn’t that in Wisconsin?”
“And you failed geography, little sister. How is that possible?”
Tess groaned. “That was in eighth grade.”
“There’s a new artist I need to see. He hasn’t been returning my calls, so I decided to drive up and pay a personal visit.”
“Well, I thought you’d want to know. The Devil’s Own got a great review in Publisher’s Preview,” Tess said. “And the distributors have been calling all afternoon to increase their orders. At this rate, we’re going to have to go back for the second printing before the first is out the door, so I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to put it on the schedule for later next week.”
Tess was head of production at Stamos Publishing. She and Alex had been working together on his new business plan for nearly a year and this was the first sign that it was about to pay off. Until last year, Stamos Publishing had been known for it’s snooze-inducing catalog of technical books, covering everything from lawnmower repair to vegan cookery to dog grooming. But as the newly appointed chief executive officer, Alex was determined to move the company into the twenty-first century. And that move began with a flashy new imprint for graphic novels.
From the time he was a kid, walking through the pressroom with his grandfather, he’d been fascinated by the family business. While most of his peers were enjoying their summers off, he’d worked in the bindery and the production offices,