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Damn, he hated reporters.
Riordan Williams stared out the window of the Ritz Carlton overlooking Boston Common and studied the media circus across the street. Didn’t matter if he stood on Tremont Street in Boston or back on Whitehall in his native London. Reporters were all the same: digging into his private life, and then twisting whatever scrap they found into the perfect headline to sell more sodding newspapers.
Yet it would take only one… One clever reporter to turn his world upside down.
Looking at the reporters now, the image of hyenas came to mind. Vicious. Bloodthirsty. Persistent. The very breath he took had been put up for debate these past four weeks. Like a pack sensing a rewarding kill, they shoved and tussled for prime spots at the band’s press conference scheduled to begin shortly on the Common.
Thank God he didn’t have to be there. |
