Page 52 of Making It Live!

Today I could barely track the story, because every time I looked at the vanity all I saw was Jimmy sitting on it, my hands on his face, his legs pulling me in.

The dressing room door opened.Harry walked in carrying a leather folio, a coffee, and a container from the restaurant on Ninth he ordered from without asking, because he'd long ago memorized my preferences down to the dressing on the side.

"Rundown, coffee, lunch."He set each item on my desk and then stood there a beat too long, his brown eyes sweeping the room with the quiet thoroughness of a man who noticed everything and said almost nothing.

Brad caught it, of course.

"Oh, don't bother, Harry.He reorganized."Brad made air quotes and rolled his eyes.

Harry's gaze landed on the scratch across the vanity.Then on me.His expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted — a slight rearrangement, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

"I see," he said, which meant he saw entirely too much.

"The rundown, Harry."

He opened the folio with crisp efficiency."Lead package is the Senate vote on the infrastructure bill.Second block is the factory closure in Ohio.Third block—" He paused.A pause from Harry was unusual.A pause from Harry while making eye contact was unprecedented."Mr.Goodman has assigned the Ukrainian ambassador interview to Marla."

My hand stilled on the coffee cup.

The Ukrainian interview was mine.I'd requested it specifically, because Ambassador Kovalenko was notoriously difficult and I was one of the few anchors in the business who could handle his evasions without losing the audience.It was a prestige segment, the kind that generated clips and commentary, and Jimmy knew that.Jimmy knew I wanted it.

And he'd given it to Marla.

I took a sip of coffee.Set it down.The cup landed on the vanity exactly where the crystal glass used to sit, seven inches from the edge, and the coincidence hit me.

Was this payback?

Jimmy, who'd walked out of this room last night saying it could never happen again, had reassigned my interview to my co-anchor.It was a legitimate editorial call — Marla was more than capable, the segment would be fine — but the timing was a knife between my ribs.He was putting distance between us.Professionally.Publicly.Making sure I understood that whatever had happened between us had not earned me special treatment.

Or he was punishing me.

"Nelson?"Harry was watching me with that steady, searching look.Brad had gone suspiciously quiet, which meant he was listening with the intensity of a man who'd be texting his boyfriend about this within the hour.

"Fine."The word came out clipped.Professional.Perfect."Marla can have the interview.Tell Mr.Goodman I'll need an updated copy for the third block by five."

Mr.Goodman.The name felt like glass in my mouth.

Harry nodded and closed the folio.He didn't leave.

"Was there something else?"

"No, sir."

I held his gaze until he slowly turned and walked out.Brad waited until the door clicked shut, then met my eyes in the mirror with an expression of naked curiosity.

"Don't," I said.

"I didn't say a word."

"You're thinking them very loudly."

Brad pressed his lips together, suppressing something that wanted badly to be a grin, and went back to my hair.Somewhere down the hall, the studio was being lit for the broadcast, and in the control room on the other side of the glass wall, a man with auburn hair and green eyes was building a show he'd rearranged to keep me at arm's length.

I stared at myself in the mirror.Navy blazer.Black hair.Blue eyes.Camera-ready.Controlled.

No one could see the bruise Jimmy's teeth had left on my shoulder beneath the fabric.

No one needed to.