“I’ve implied that it looks complicated. Which it does.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “But I’ve also seen you work. You’re good at this. Really good. And I don’t think that has anything to do with your last name.”
It’s the second genuine compliment he’s given me. A tiny spark flares in my chest. I’d like to say it’s pride but let’s be real.
It’s something much more carnal than that.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He grins. “See? I can be nice when I want to be.”
“Will wonders never cease,” I say drily.
We sit there for a minute, the space between us feeling charged with something I don’t want to name, mainly because I’m afraid to admit it to myself.
“We should get back to the questions,” I finally say.
“Yeah. We should.”
But neither of us moves.
The camera’s still recording. The questions are still sitting on my lap. We’re supposed to be practicing media responses, not having personal conversations in a room which seems to be shrinking by the second.
“Next question,” I say, grabbing my notes. “’What have you learned from this experience?’”
“I’ve learned that PR directors are more complicated than they seem.”
“That’s not the right answer.”
“It’s an honest answer.”
“Masterson—”
“Fine. I was just having a little fun.” He lets out a huff. “I’ve learned that protecting people you care about is important, but so is thinking about consequences. I’ve learned that intentions don’t matter as much as actions. And I’ve learned that sometimes the people trying to help you are the ones you want to fight the most.”
He’s looking at me when he says that last part, and I know we’re not talking about media training anymore.
“That’s good,” I manage to choke out. “Use that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We finish the session, run through the rest of the questions, practice his responses until they sound natural instead of scripted. By the time we’re done, it’s almost noon.
“Same time next week?” he asks as we pack up.
“You only need one session. Unless you screw up again.”
“So probably same time next week.” He chuckles and stands up.
“Try not to screw up again.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He leaves, and I’m alone in the conference room with the camera and the questions and the lingering awareness that something shifted between us today.
Something I should probably crush before it becomes a problem.
Except it already is a problem.
