Chapter 25
If Cecilia Barstowe had been positioned differently, she’d have thought the whole thing was carefully orchestrated.
She’d arrived late for the breakfast, only seconds ahead of the heads of state and their wives. Photographers and interpreters were supposed to be in place at least ten minutes before each event. So, she’d won the honor of the “worst position possible” in the Red Dining Room. The other newsies had all offered her a friendly sneer of superiority.
Well worth it. She’d gotten the dirt from a very pliant Paul Stark—she hadn’t known that billionaire guys were still such guys—then composed her piece and run it down the wire.
She’d agreed to meet up with him later. After all, he was a really nice billionaire, with a Hollywood-powerful smile and the looks to match. A p
