Reed looked up from the board and tilted his head. “Hip-Hop Glam, huh? They’re sending a reporter to the studio.”
Yolanda sighed and tapped his Blackberry. “Do you just have it for the look? I sent you several messages about this interview. Don’t make my job hard.”
“I don’t have a problem with the interview. But at six, I usually have dinner.”
“Then feed the reporter. Damn it, do you know what this interview is going to do for you? Anyway, her name is Layla Washington.”
Reed would’ve keeled over had been standing. “Layla Washington?”
“Do you know her?” Yolanda asked.
He nodded but didn’t give any further details. “Well,” Yolanda continued, “we’re having lunch in an hour. Do you have any talking points, any off limit questions or subject matter that you want me to pass along?”
“No. Layla’s a pretty fair journalist. I’m actually surprised she covers entertainment.”
“Me too. She writes about feminism, excuse me Womanism, but covers hip-hop? That’s interesting, like she’s a walking contradiction,” Yolanda said with a shrug. “Oh well, we’re meeting at Houston’s , so I’d better get going.”
“Yeah,” Reed said, pretending he was engrossed in his work. But his mind and body suddenly had a yearning for Layla.
Damn it, he thought, I don’t need to see Layla. But I have to see her. Reed pressed the intercom button and called out to his assistant, Jada Banks.
“Yes, Reed?” she asked.
“I’m going out for lunch.”
“Is everything all right or is Miss Zora back in town?”
“I’m hungry,” he replied with a laugh. Reed rarely left the studio, especially when he was working on an album. Debony Blair was recording a follow up to her platinum hit and she was due to lay some background vocals at four. Reed had enough time to get a quick view of Layla. Who was he fooling, he needed more than a passing look of the woman he still loved.
If you love her, he thought. Why in the hell am I marrying Zora?