Chapter 471 - What

Chapter 471: Chapter 471 - What

"Roxie! Come here!"

Roxie had barely stepped into the newsroom when Victor appeared, waving at her from his desk like something terrible had happened.

"What? Did Graham finally get arrested?"

"Shush!" Victor looked around. "You vixen. You’re gonna cost me my job."

Roxie rolled her eyes and dragged her feet toward him. "Victor, I haven’t even had coffee. Whatever it is, I hope it’s worth interrupting my morning."

"Trust me. You’re going to love this."

He pulled her toward his computer, looking far too excited for someone who usually complained about Monday mornings.

"You’re going viral!"

Roxie stopped walking. "I’m what?"

Victor turned his monitor toward her, and there she was, sitting in the Giants’ media room with her microphone in hand.

Oh, fuck.

She recognized the video immediately. Jordan Ellis was leaning toward Zac, whispering that she was beautiful, then realizing his microphone was still on. The room erupted in laughter, followed by Roxie’s response about it being the nicest thing anybody had said to her at work that week.

And then came Zac.

"Ellis."

The camera had caught his face perfectly. He looked so irritated that Roxie almost laughed again, especially when the video zoomed in on him immediately after Jordan’s embarrassed reaction.

"Oh, my God. They posted that?"

"Posted it? Roxie, it’s everywhere! Sports accounts have been sharing it since last night."

Victor pointed toward the view count.

1.4 million views.

Roxie leaned forward.

"One point four million? For that?"

"That’s just this upload. There are other versions going around, and some have hundreds of thousands of views already."

She watched the video again, feeling her face heat up. Wonderful. She’d spent years covering politics, elections, and major national events, and apparently the internet was losing its mind because a football player accidentally called her beautiful.

What a fucking career. Somehow, it was both flattering and insulting.

"Read the comments," Victor urged.

Roxie scrolled down, laughing at people making fun of Jordan’s microphone mistake. One person wondered who the reporter was, while another complimented how she’d handled the situation.

Bro forgot the microphone was on.

The reporter handled that like a queen.

Who is she? Asking for a friend.

She laughed at the last one before another comment made her sit straighter.

WAIT. IS THAT ROXIE JONES FROM CRESTLINE EVENING NEWS?

Someone had replied:

YES! I used to watch her all the time. Why is she covering football now?

Another person wrote that they missed her evening broadcasts, while someone else linked an old interview she’d conducted with a senator.

Roxie stared at the comments longer than she intended. God, people actually remembered her. After everything that had happened at Crestline, she’d started wondering whether her absence from evening news mattered to anyone outside her family and friends. Seeing people recognize her work was ridiculously satisfying.

Then she noticed another discussion.

Look at Prescott’s face when the receiver compliments her.

LMAO his QB looks pissed.

"Well, he does look annoyed." Victor laughed.

"He’s always annoyed. That man probably gets irritated when somebody breathes too loudly."

Victor looked at her. "You know him?"

Roxie stopped scrolling.

Shit.

"We went to high school together. Anyway, why are you so excited about this? I assume you didn’t drag me here just to embarrass me."

His grin widened.

"Because you haven’t seen the best part."

He opened their YouTube analytics, and Roxie leaned closer, expecting another disappointing report.

Then she noticed the number beside her Natalie Brooks interview.

"Victor, why does that say thirty-two thousand?"

"Thirty-two thousand, eight hundred, actually."

She grabbed his arm. "Wait. That’s my Natalie Brooks interview? Yesterday it barely had four thousand!"

"I know. People are finding your interview through Crestline’s channel. We’ve been getting traffic from the sports clips, and a lot of them are staying to watch Natalie."

Roxie stared at the numbers before turning toward Victor.

"Refresh it."

He laughed and clicked, and the number increased.

"Oh, my fucking God! They’re actually watching!"

"That’s generally what viewers do, Roxie."

"Shut up and refresh it again!"

Victor burst out laughing, but he did what she asked. The number increased again, and Roxie pressed both hands against her cheeks.

For weeks, she’d been checking that miserable analytics page and wondering whether Graham was already preparing to cancel her show. Now people were watching the interview she’d worked so hard to produce, and she’d barely done anything to make it happen.

Well, technically, she’d been called beautiful in front of thirty journalists.

Apparently, that was excellent marketing.

"How many subscribers did we get?"

"Over thirty-six hundred new ones since the clip started spreading."

Roxie turned toward him. "Victor, I think I love you."

"Please tell my wife that. She’s been complaining that I spend too much time here."

"Tell her I’ll buy her flowers when we become rich."

He laughed, then pulled up the traffic sources to show where the viewers were coming from. Several accounts had linked Crestline’s channel, and their digital team had already started directing people toward the full interview.

"We need to keep them interested," Victor said. "I’ll update the playlist and get the promotional clips circulating again. But we really need another recognizable guest."

Roxie nodded, still staring at the numbers.

"What if I get another football player to compliment me?"

"Roxie."

"I’m serious. We could make it a regular segment. Every week, somebody accidentally says I’m pretty, and we collect a million views."

"That’s a terrible business plan."

"Better than Graham’s."

Victor laughed, and Roxie finally stood, giving him back his chair.

God, she was in such a good mood she could’ve kissed the computer.

By the time she returned to her desk, her phone was filled with notifications. Angela had apparently discovered the video and sent a link along with several messages.

GIRL WHAT THE FUCK ??

YOU’RE EVERYWHERE!

I SAW THREE DIFFERENT POSTS!

Roxie laughed and typed a reply.

Girl, your girl is a viral queen now. You better kneel in front of me later.

Angela replied almost immediately.

Look at Zac’s face.

Roxie groaned.

Of course Angela would notice that.

She ignored the message and checked her social media accounts instead. More people were following her, and while some were sharing the football clip, others had started reposting older interviews from her evening news days.

One account shared a particularly difficult interview she’d conducted with a politician two years earlier.

This woman was one of the best anchors Crestline had. Glad she’s still reporting.

Roxie stared at the comment. It was probably ridiculous to feel emotional over something a stranger wrote on the internet, but after the way Crestline had treated her, she appreciated it more than she expected.

Victor appeared beside her desk.

"You look happy."

"People miss me."

"Well, congratulations."

"I’m serious! Look at this. Someone called me one of Crestline’s best anchors."

Victor read the comment and smiled. "Because you were. You still are an excellent journalist, Roxie."

She looked at him, feeling her eyes sting a little.

"Victor, stop. I’m going to get emotional, and I spent twenty minutes doing my makeup this morning."

He laughed and headed back toward his desk.

Roxie reopened the channel analytics. The numbers were still climbing, and for the first time since her transfer, she felt like she was finally getting somewhere. Graham could complain about budgets all he wanted, but people were watching her work.

Then she remembered Zac’s number.

Roxie glanced at her phone.

Maybe this was the right time. She was in an excellent mood, her show was gaining attention, and she had a perfectly legitimate reason to message Zac Prescott.

Besides, the longer she waited, the more ridiculous the whole thing became.

She opened his contact.

Zac Prescott.

God, that was strange.

Ten years ago, she’d blocked his number because she couldn’t stand waiting for him to call. Now she was sitting at her desk, trying to figure out how to start a conversation with him.

She typed a message.

Hi, Zac. I hope you’re doing well.

She deleted it.

Why the hell would she ask whether he was doing well? The man was worth hundreds of millions of dollars and had an entire room of journalists fighting for his attention.

Clearly, he was doing fine.

She tried again.

Hello, Zac. This is Roxie Jones from Crestline News.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

This is Roxie Jones?

As if he might have forgotten who she was.

Roxie deleted that too, rubbed her forehead, and finally wrote something that sounded reasonably professional.

Hi, Zac. It’s Roxie. Your representative mentioned that I should contact you directly about an interview. I’d like to discuss your availability.

Roxie read the message twice, feeling increasingly ridiculous.

God, what the fuck was she doing?

Just a few weeks ago, she’d been in bed with this man, doing things she was still trying very hard to forget. Then they’d ended up screaming at each other, and she’d cursed him out with enough enthusiasm to make it perfectly clear how she felt about him.

Now here she was, politely asking for his availability like they were two strangers arranging a business meeting.

Her face warmed with embarrassment.

She could already imagine him reading it, remembering everything she’d said in Italy, and enjoying the fact that she was the one reaching out. That was the worst part. She needed something from him.

Zac knew exactly how difficult it must have been for her to ask. God, she’d practically told him to go fuck himself, and now she was asking him for a favor.

How fucking humiliating.

Roxie glanced at the interview proposal on her laptop. She’d worked too hard to let her pride ruin an opportunity like this. Besides, his representative had specifically instructed her to contact him. She could at least remind herself of that when she inevitably regretted sending the message.

She pressed send before she could change her mind.

The message went through.

Three minutes later, her phone vibrated.

She grabbed it so quickly she nearly knocked over her coffee.

What.

Roxie stared at the reply.

Oh, that asshole.

Ten years, and apparently his manners hadn’t improved.

She typed again, deliberately choosing to remain professional.

Would you be interested in appearing on my interview series?

His reply arrived almost immediately.

Tonight. 8.

Roxie blinked.

Tonight? That was surprisingly fast. She’d been expecting him to make her wait several days, perhaps even a week, considering how difficult everybody claimed he was to book.

Where?

A location appeared a few seconds later.

Roxie opened it and frowned.

Upper East Side, Manhattan.

A private residence.

Your house?

Yes.

She stared at the screen.

Why the hell did he want her to come to his house? They were discussing a professional interview. People generally arranged these things through management teams or met somewhere convenient for both parties.

Then again, Zac had always liked doing things his way.

We could discuss this at Crestline. I have an office.

His reply arrived almost immediately.

Then use it.

Roxie sat up straighter.

Excuse me?

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

She read the message again, wondering whether he was deliberately being difficult. He wanted her to come to his house, and when she offered another location, he practically told her to get lost.

God, the nerve of that man.

She started typing something unpleasant, then stopped when she glanced at the analytics on her laptop.

Thirty-five thousand views.

Still climbing.

An exclusive interview with Zac Prescott could bring in hundreds of thousands more. Possibly millions. Was she seriously going to argue with him over where they discussed the proposal?

Roxie sighed and typed.

Fine. I’ll be there at eight.

She waited for a response, but nothing came.

Apparently, their conversation was finished.

Roxie placed her phone on the desk, shaking her head. Unbelievable. Still, she’d gotten a meeting, and much faster than she’d expected.

A private meeting with Zac Prescott at his house.

And for some stupid reason, she was almost excited.