The Journalist: The Hook [TJOURN 0.2]

TJOURN: The Hook (TJOURN #0.2)

You’ve got your credentials bitten between your teeth as you remove your jacket again. You’ve been able to enjoy a few precious minutes of warmth before discreetly being asked to either move inside or remove the jacket once more. Your job hinges on your manning the carpet so…

Damned dress code.

Damn cameras.

Damn holding a premiere in London in the middle of winter.

You watch your jacket make its way back to the coat check, lamenting its departure with every step the attendant makes. At least for the moment you can’t mutter your thoughts on the matter aloud. That would likely only make matters worse.

Offending jacket removed it is back to concentrating on anything but the chilly air. Maybe if you’d worn something a little less revealing, or a little more wind resistant.

“______!”

You nearly bite a hole in the laminated pass, instead just spitting it out so it flops down to dangle by the lanyard you’ve been given to save the delicate fabric of your dress. What is Tom doing here? This isn’t a premiere for a movie of his. You hadn’t seen his name listed on the confirmed attending list. What was the point of having those things if celebrities just decided to show up regardless?

Tom is striding towards you, oblivious to the chorus of shouts for his attention, a look of excitement and wonder plastered on that vibrant face of his. He’s in a suit, dressed nicely for the event but not so nice to be wearing a tux. Still, the suit is of a good cut and a beautiful color – maybe even one you’ve seen photos of him wearing before.

Wasn’t that a thing with him? Something about having a limited wardrobe. He’s not one to just throw around his money just so he won’t be seen wearing the same thing twice. That would win him bonus points… if you were keeping track. You’ve purposefully not done any additional research on him since your article has been published.

True to your word you had sent over the audio file along with the draft of the article. He had responded far faster than you had anticipated – within the same day – and sent the audio file back to you along with his comments regarding what you had written.

All kudos. No need to respond.

So despite his persistence during the interview it hadn’t gone past that short exchange. He had fallen back into his world, and you, yours – at least until the article was due to be published. The day the magazine had hit circulation and your article had been posted online he had sent flowers.Well – you had admitted to yourself as you admired the flower choice, smiling and relegating the vase to the corner of your desk – he’d probably gotten someone to send flowers on his behalf.

It’s harder to maintain that professional barrier when facing him. “Son of a--- hello again, Tom.” You greet him as he steps closer. He’s glancing down – examining your outfit? Is it your imagination or do his eyes linger over your little black dress that’s a little too short and made of a material a little too thin?

Of course not. No. At least, not at the moment. Right now he’s looking at your credentials and the nice teeth marks that create a crescent along one side of the badge. “Interesting way to interview. I really hope someone caught that on film.”

You make a face, touching your fingertips to the edge of the credentials before dropping your hand down to your side once more. “Don’t worry. Someone probably did. Hard not to – this many cameras.”

You can see your coworker trying to make his way through the crowd to regain his post by your side. He had tried to worm his way further down the carpet to see how he could fair at snagging the stars as they arrived and now is frantically waving his hand for you to HOLD ONTO TOM KEEP HIM THERE.