❛ You tell me your problems-have I become one of your problems? ❜
Georgia Hardtford is an up and coming journalist, but when task with what seems like the impossible-destroy Rupert Campbell-Blacks reputation-she struggles to draw the line between he...
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The gravel crunched beneath the wheels of Gege's hatchback as she pulled into the long, winding driveway of Rupert Campbell-Black's estate. It was as grand and pristine as ever—sprawling gardens, immaculate lawns, and the faint outline of stables beyond the main house.
Rupert's staff had been curt when she'd called to arrange the interview, agreeing for him to meet her in his garden before hanging up with little fanfare. Not that Gege expected anything else. Their interactions had always been brisk and professional, with just enough charm from Rupert to remind her of the magnetism that made him so infuriatingly popular.
A young staff member met her at the car and led her through the iron gates into the garden. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds. In the center of it all, Rupert sat at a small wrought-iron table, idly flipping through a newspaper.
"Georgia Hardtford," he said without looking up, folding the paper neatly and setting it aside. "Punctual, as always."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Campbell-Black," she said, smoothing her skirt and offering a polite smile.
"Rupert," he corrected, gesturing to the chair across from him. "No need for formalities. We've done this dance before."
Gege sat, placing her notebook on the table and unscrewing her pen cap. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I'll try not to take up too much of your time."
"Oh, take as much as you need," he said, lounging back in his chair with a faint smirk. "I'm sure this will be as riveting as ever."
Ignoring his sarcasm, Gege launched into her questions. "Your campaign has been remarkably successful in Rutshire. What do you think has been the key to connecting with voters here?"
"Listening to them," he replied flatly, pouring himself a glass of water. "People want to feel heard, especially in a place like Rutshire. They're tired of politicians in London pretending to know what's best for them without ever stepping foot in their communities. I make it a point to show up."
Gege nodded along as she scribbled down on her notebook. "And your funding? Your campaign has garnered significant financial support. Are there any key donors you'd like to highlight?"
Rupert's gaze flicked to her, sharp and cool. "No."
She blinked, caught off guard by his abruptness. "No?"
"No," he repeated, leaning forward slightly. "I'm sure my campaign finances are a matter of public record if you're that interested. But I'd rather not waste our time discussing spreadsheets."
Gege's grip tightened on her pen. He was being deliberately unhelpful, and she couldn't tell if it was out of annoyance or sheer amusement.
"Fair enough," she said, forcing a smile. "Perhaps we could talk about how you balance your demanding career with your personal life?"
