A quarter to seven and I’m at the front of Zarner Technologies, a building that is at least sixteen stories tall. Not that I’m pausing to count. Instead, I’m smoothing down my hair and sending up a quick prayer to the journalism gods before pushing my way through the revolving doors.

The front lobby is pristine, decorated in marble and off-white. A receptionist with hair pulled back in a tight bun sits behind the long front desk. I give her my name and reason for being here, then she points at the sitting area and asks me to wait.

I do, and it’s harder than it should be. My feet want to tap against the cold floor and my hands want to nervously twist around each other.

Despite spending all day long doing research, I don’t feel prepared for this interview at all. I scoured the internet looking for information on Zach Garner—clues that might give me at least a hint as to what he’s like, but other than the basics, there was nothing.

He graduated from an Ivy League school, then went on to make his billions. Other than the facts I already gave Mr. Ford, that’s it. There’s nothing else online about Zach Garner. He could have grown up on Mars for all I know.

I’m horribly unprepared for this interview, and I couldn’t feel worse about it.

At least I have my questions. I wrote them down in a lined notebook, which I keep my hands furled around as I wait. With the article due in three days, I need to get all of the information I can tonight. Garner is no doubt a busy man, and isn’t going to agree to a second interview. Just how Mr. Ford managed to get me this first one is a mystery.

A few minutes go by, and then a few more.

It’s ten past seven, and still no one has come down to get me. I crack open my notebook and go over the questions. I can’t help but glance periodically at the clock on the wall, though.

At seven thirty I get up to ask the receptionist if everything is all right. She gives me a smile that manages to be both sympathetic and condescending, and assures me that Mr. Garner knows I am here.

I go back to my seat, defeated. What if he never comes down? How can I be expected to return to the office empty-handed? My first big story, without so much as a word to show for it…

The minutes continue to tick by. I check my email to see if there’s a cancellation message there, but no one has gotten in touch.

Another twenty minutes. And another. I stare out the window, watching the light dim. This whole time, people have been going in and out of the lobby—mostly out. I feel pathetic sitting here, like a girl who’s been stood up by her date but who just refuses to leave the restaurant.

“You’re from the paper?”

I whip my face from the window to take in the man standing over me. Tousled, sandy-blond hair. Hazel eyes. Rolled-up white button-up sleeves. Hands in his pockets.

The clock behind him says eight. I’ve been waiting for an hour.

“Yes,” I answer, standing and offering my hand for a shake. “I’m Noelle Edwards.”

He accepts the handshake, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’m Ryan. Zach’s assistant.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I smile.

The anxiety I’ve been feeling all day isn’t lessened at all by this man’s appearance. He can’t be more than thirty and has a laid-back beach look mixed with businessman confidence. I’ve only just set eyes on him, but he’s already knocking it out of the ballpark in the made-for-female-fantasies department.

What’s with all the hot men today?

A year of a handful of pathetic dates in this city, and suddenly my life is full of hot, successful men. Not that any of them are asking me out, but still, just admiring is fair game…

Ryan’s jaw is tense. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Garner won’t be able to meet with you tonight.”

I can feel my face fall. “Oh. That’s all right. Is there some time in the next few days that we can reschedule for?”

Like, maybe tomorrow morning? I really, really, don’t want to ask for an extension on my first big article, even if having to do so is no fault of mine at all.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Garner had to fly out to the East Coast on an urgent business matter. Something came up last minute, and the date of his return isn’t certain. He could be gone all week.”

“Oh.” My voice is small, almost as small as I’m currently feeling. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“But I would be happy to help you.”

“You would answer some questions?” I hopefully ask. It’s not the same as an interview with Zach Garner himself, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“If I can,” he nods.

There’s a confidence about him, an assuring air. I feel I would be hard-pressed to say no to this man under any conditions.

“I’ll even pay for dinner,” he smiles when I don’t answer right away. “Or, I guess I should say, Zarner Technologies will pay for dinner.”

I laugh, and he does the same, showing off two matching dimples.

“I do need to write this article soon,” I admit. “It’s due in three days.”

“Then let’s not waste any time. There’s a tapas bar right down the block. We can start off there.”

“Great.”

“You ready?”

I nod, and he leads me to the revolving door, waiting for me to go through first. A delicious spring breeze picks up as we exit onto the sidewalk, and I self-consciously tuck some hair behind my ear when Ryan isn’t looking.

“Have you worked at the Tribune for long?” Ryan asks.

“This is only my second week.” I would love to sidestep the topic of my inexperience, but there’s really no way to.

“This is an ambitious story.” He gives me a glance as we walk side by side. “Taking it upon yourself to interview a man who is known for not doing just that.”

“Well, he agreed to this article,” I point out. “Didn’t he?”

Then again, he did leave town without bothering to reschedule. Perhaps he intended on having his assistant talk to me the whole time.

“He did,” Ryan evenly answers. “Here we are.”

He opens the door to the tapas bar for me. The act makes it almost feel like a date—at least in my hopeful, romance-deprived head it does. The last three dates I went on, the men acted as if they were doing me a favor by being in my presence.

“Shall we sit at the bar?” Ryan asks. “We can start with drinks, and then you can pick a restaurant for dinner. Or we can stay here, if you like.”

“That sounds great,” I smile.

I perch on the very last stool and get to it right away, flipping my notebook to the page with my questions and opening the recording app on my phone. “I hope you don’t mind if I record this.”

“Not at all.”

We order drinks, Ryan asking for something I don’t even recognize, but that I think might be a kind of whiskey. Heart thudding, I skim my questions. Since Mr. Garner himself isn’t here, some of them are going to have to be modified.

In the middle of my research crisis this afternoon, I decided I would have to use the lack of information to my knowledge. Since the man Zach Garner is so elusive, there’s only one option for the article: to write an exposé on the person behind all of the success, to pull back the curtain and show a side that no one knows about.

It’s ambitious. Optimistic, maybe. But, then again, so am I.

“How long have you been working for Mr. Garner?” I ask.

“Five years,” Ryan immediately answers. He has no problem with eye contact, and has barely looked away from me since we arrived at the bar. It’s distracting, to say the least.

My gin martini arrives, and I take a grateful sip, the small amount of alcohol warming my system. Here’s hoping it will help put me at ease.

“And what has your experience been during that time?” I question. “Has it been mostly positive, or…?” I trail off, waiting to see if he’ll take the bait.

Ryan grins. “If you’re looking for dirt on Mr. Garner, you’re not going to get it from me.”

Darn.

“Anyway…” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What did you say the objective of this interview is?”

“I don’t think I did.”

“Ah.” He gives me a knowing look. “So you want the secret, insider stuff.”

“What journalist doesn’t?” I volley back. I’m trying to act confident, but he’s unnerved me. This guy is smart, one quick step ahead of where I thought he was.

“I’m afraid Mr. Garner is a very average man. He just happens to be one that owns a multi-billion-dollar business.”

My annoyance builds, and I do my best to stop my lips from pursing.

“Surely that took a lot of hard work, a lot of gumption and perseverance… I would love to get a look at the kind of man who is that strong.”

They’re honest words, and for a moment something flashes in Ryan’s eyes—a softness, or something like it. “Didn’t you work hard yourself?” he asks. “You have a job at a pretty reputable paper. Was that just handed to you?”

“I didn’t get it by association, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is.” He hooks his arm on the back of his chair and turns to face me straight-on.

I’m not sure what to say. I feel like I should be aggravated, but I’m not. Although some people’s direct manners are annoying, Ryan’s are pleasing. There’s a gentleness to his honesty.

“This interview isn’t about me,” I point out, quickly taking a sip of my martini so that I don’t have to look at him.

“All right. What other questions do you have there?”

I don’t have to look at the paper.

“Is Mr. Garner avoiding me? Is he really interested in doing this interview at all?”

“You’d have to ask him that.”

“Why would he even agree to meet with me if he’s just going to change his mind?”

Ryan gives me what would be a devilish grin if he didn’t possess such adorable dimples. “Mr. Garner is busy. Entertaining the press isn’t exactly on his list of priorities.”

“Okay, but you would think it might be. The press can help him. We can bring more attention to everything he’s doing, more prestige—”

“I think he’s doing quite fine,” Ryan interrupts.

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re a really devoted assistant, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Garner pays well.”

I bite down on the inside of my lip to stop myself from screeching in frustration. With this kind of back and forth, I’m going to get nothing on Zach Garner. I’ll have to call Mr. Ford and tell him the article is a bust.

“Look.” Ryan’s voice is softer, his eyes understanding. “I know none of this is what you want to hear, and you’re only doing your job…but Mr. Garner is a private person. Some people are. And just because someone is high profile doesn’t mean their privacy shouldn’t be respected. He spent years building up his company, not setting himself up to be media fodder. At the very least, he deserves the right to live removed from the bullshit of it all.”

The words ring true. There’s no arguing with them.

Unexpectedly, Ryan reaches over and presses the pause button on my recording app. “Now let’s get back to you.”

“What?” I dazedly ask.

“Are you from San Francisco?”

“LA area.”

“Ah. The Hollywood Hills?”

“Pasadena,” I slowly answer. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Isn’t this how it works? Quid pro quo. An even exchange. You ask me some questions, I ask you some.”

“It’s not exactly even if you’re not giving me the information I need.”

“Touché,” he smiles.

I try to suppress my own grin, but it can’t be checked. This guy is getting to me. And is he…? No. He couldn’t be hitting on me. He’s probably just trying to divert attention away from his boss.

“And this job,” Ryan continues, “Is it where you want to be? Do you see yourself always working at a local paper?”

I know he’s probably just playing games, but maybe I can find some way to turn this to my advantage. If he lets down his guard enough, he might just let some crucial information on Mr. Garner slip.

“I’d like to be at a bigger publication one day, obviously,” I answer.

“Obviously,” he smiles.

“Hey, the Tribune isn’t that bad. It’s not that small-time! We have readers out of the area.”

“I didn’t say it was that bad,” I laugh.

I purse my lips. He’s caught me in his web again.

But, God, do I love it. When was the last time I met a man who was sharp and attractive?

Never. That might actually be the honest answer.

“And what do you do for fun?”

I laugh. “This makes me feel like I’m filling out an online dating profile.”

“Well, I was going to ask you about your sign next… What are you, Virgo? Aries?”

“I’m not answering that one.”

“Virgo.”

“I like to go camping and hiking,” I answer, pointedly dodging the astrology question.

His eyebrows rise. “You don’t say.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And tell me…” He rests his arm on the edge of the bar and leans closer. His cologne wafts my way. Slightly spicy, but clean and agreeable. My temperature jumps up. “Who do you like to go camping with? Your boyfriend?”

My heart nearly stops. He is flirting with me.

My swallow is loud. “No. Unfortunately, my adventures in dating in San Francisco haven’t ended too well.”

Ryan straightens up, his eyes still on me. “That’s too bad,” he says in a voice that makes it clear it’s not bad at all.

“Uh-huh. Too bad,” I whisper, sounding like a caveman.

“Have you ever been to Inspiration Point?”

“I love Inspiration Point!”

“The views…”

“Yeah,” I eagerly nod. “They’re great. I’m always trying to get my friend Miranda to go with me there, but she works two jobs and hardly has the time.”

“Maybe you should ask outside of your usual circle.”

His eyes speak volumes. And maybe it’s the gin or the giddiness that comes with discovering an unexpected connection with someone, but I don’t feel nervous at all. Usually I let guys make the first move, waiting for them to call the shots and show me just how much they want me. But tonight I don’t feel that way. I feel brave—cocky, almost.

But there’s still the story I came here for. I may be a 23-year-old romantic, but I’m a journalist first and foremost.

“It’s too bad you’re busy as well,” I flirtatiously answer.

“I don’t think I ever said that.”

“You don’t have to. You work for Zach Garner.”

He lifts his chin, gaze jumping across my face.

“Let’s go grab some dinner.”

“You’re not going to give it up that easily, huh?”

He stands, wearing a smile dripping with confidence.

“I have the sense you like me so much better because of that.”

Like with almost everything else tonight, he’s right.