Disclaimer: It's probably obvious, but I don't own any of the HSM characters or their related elements.
THIS FIC IS RATED M. THERE WILL BE SOME ADULT CONTENT IN THIS STORY.
A rating of M means this story is not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language.
This is all because there are sexy bits and other adult themes in this story, and that can make some people sad. If you are one of those people, please stop reading this story now.
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Chapter 9 – The Conference
During the second week, I started working weekends. Taylor called me at the office to complain.
"Gabi," she said. "This is ridiculous. Even in investment banking, we take the weekend off."
"Well, the markets close on the weekends," I said. "But I've got sixteen segments to produce and get edited before we launch in two weeks. And I've got to pin down ten more stories or else we've got three half-hour shows of nothing."
I felt like I was trying to convince myself in the process. Admittedly, the show felt like nothing but a huge weight on my shoulders right now. I was thinking about it even when I wasn't working. And I hated swallowing my pride and kowtowing to celebrity publicists over the phone on a regular basis. But once the show was launched… I knew things were going to get better. Amanda had said so. I told Taylor this, and she sighed.
"Are they at least paying you overtime?"
"Not that I know of," I said guiltily.
"Gabriella!" She shouted into the phone. "You can torture yourself over work, but you should be getting paid for it. Don't let them take advantage of you like this. You know you need the money."
"Yeah." I still felt guilty about asking for it though. Somehow my work habits from high school were still ingrained into me – just give your all to the job to get it done the best you could, no matter what. Get that gold star. And never, ever ask for special treatment.
"Well." Taylor let out a breath. "If you do get done early, call my phone. We could have a drink before you have to go all the way back to Brooklyn."
I tapped at my keyboard, already running a search for what kind of cell phones teen celebrities were using today. Another one of Amanda's bright ideas. "Well… I'll see."
"OK." She sighed again. "Talk to you later."
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But Taylor had gotten to me. I decided to stop working early so I could call her and meet up. I turned to my e-mail program to check it one last time before I left, and realized there was a letter from Gary in my inbox. I opened it eagerly.
Subject: New Photos!
Hi Gabi, hope this finds you well. I just put up some new pictures on that website I set up last time. It's your mom and me at a dinner with some of her co-workers. Now you can see how truly old and haggard we look ever since you left us!
I laughed and clicked the link. Gary and Mom looked like they were having a great time in the photos, clowning around with a group of people at a circular dinner table. I realized how much I missed them and resolved to call more often.
But his photos had caught my interest. I clicked around his account and saw the photos from Kathryn's wedding that he promised to post. Gary really was a talented photographer. Kathryn looked beautiful.
Then suddenly, I remembered the other photo we had posted that day. And something inside me started to twist as I tapped my name into the search box.
There it was in front of me, the only result. Troy with his arm around me in the desk chair, both of us smiling together. We looked so happy.
I couldn't take it. I reached my hand out and quickly turned the computer off.
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Then on Wednesday after lunch, Amanda dumped a thick brochure on my desk.
"Chris had a great idea," she said. "We're going to launch the show at Web7."
"Web7?" I said, flipping through the brochure's pages. A shiny green and blue Web7 logo was emblazoned on the top right corner of every one.
"It's a big tech conference and trade show," she said, waving a hand. "All the web heavyweights go. It's all about design, tech, the future of the net. It happens on the weekend we want to launch, so I'll do live hits from the floor of the trade show and we can cut to the pre-taped segments in between."
"OK," I said, although I felt kind of like crying. I was beginning to feel like I was breaking under all the left-field challenges Amanda kept throwing at me every day. "So do I have to book guests, plan shooting, what?"
"Yep. Read the brochure, check out who's going, figure out what we should do," she said absently. "Anyway, it'll only be two days for us. We'll arrive Friday, leave the Sunday morning. Me, you, and John the cameraman. The intern's already booking the trip details. And Chris only gave me $2000 to do the whole thing." She shook her head. "That's for airfare, accommodations, car rental, per diem—everything. I don't know how he expects us to create the biggest sci-tech show in America without any money."
"Yeah," I said, feeling my shoulders collapse heavily as Amanda went back to her office. There went another weekend—and my afternoon. I had secretly been hoping to get in touch with Markus Schnieder today and do a pre-interview for after the celebrity stuff was done.
And then suddenly, someone tapped softly at my arm. "Ms. Montez?"
I turned around. Rebecca the intern stood there, nervously looking at me. "Hi Rebecca. Can I help?"
"Kind of." She sat down at the chair next to my desk, her wavery voice sounding even more childlike as she continued. "I have some sort of bad news. I got the tickets and the car and the press passes and everything. But Web7… I think they must have thousands of delegates showing up."
"What does that mean?"
Her fingers twisted in her lap. "I only got a small single room at the Canal Hotel five blocks away, and it was really expensive. So... I think you guys are all going to have to cram in together."
Oh man. Amanda seemed like a horrible roommate at best. And John… much as I liked the guy, he seemed to smell strongly of garlic sausage all the time. I didn't know if I could take that for two days straight.
Rebecca looked at me apologetically. "I'm really sorry… maybe, if you know someone in San Francisco, you could stay with them instead?"
San Francisco?
My heart skipped a beat, and looking down at the brochure, I realized the name of Troy's company was on the sponsor list.
And then I spoke without thinking. "Yeah, Rebecca… I think I know someone there."
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But I wished I had bitten my tongue. Rebecca told Amanda immediately, and she was incredibly happy to be sharing with one rather than two of us. Which meant I couldn't get out of it. And I couldn't bring myself to call Troy and ask if I could stay.
I knew it was the mature, adult thing to do. And it was just for two nights, I thought—I knew he wouldn't say no. But I kept thinking about how he had left… and what I had said to him. And every day, I picked up the phone to start dialing the number of his company and couldn't make it through.
By the Thursday before the conference, however, I had no choice.
Heart pounding, I dialed his company number. A receptionist answered and patched me through.
And then….
"Hello?"
It was his voice. I felt suddenly like I wanted to cry.
"Hi," I said, and I heard him catch his breath.
"Gabi," he blurted out in shock. "How… are you?"
"I'm great," I said, trying not to lose it. "Listen, Troy… I've just got a favour to ask."
"Sure," he said immediately. "Is everything OK?"
I felt a twinge at the concern in his voice. I closed my eyes. "I'm fine. I'm just... I'm going to be in town over the weekend. On business. Friday to Sunday morning. And I… kind of need a place to stay."
"Oh."
He stretched the word out, and there was suddenly a pause.
Tentatively, I spoke. "Troy?"
And then unexpectedly, I heard his laughter coming softly through the phone.
"Ah, Montez," he said. "Yeah, come and stay. Of course."
