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It would take only
one
One clever reporter to turn his world upside down.
Damn, he hated reporters.
Riordan Williams stared
out the window of the Ritz Carlton overlooking Boston Common
and studied the media circus on the sidewalk 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.
For twelve years he'd
lived with the knowledge that any one of those impeccably dressed
journalists or scruffy tabloid types could be his undoing, but
today he felt their presence more than before. Like an arena
of stampeding fans closing in on their prize, they shoved and
tussled for prime spots at the band's press conference scheduled
to begin shortly on the grounds of the Common. Thank God, he
wouldn't be there.
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