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“Just as a reminder, you don’t have to speak loudly or do anything special to be heard. Just talk in your regular voice,” the pretty PA tells me, smiling shyly at me. She adjusts the mic pack that I’m wearing and then steps back, a flush in her cheeks. “Can I get you guys to both do a mic check for me, please?”
James is looking at his phone, his legs crossed and the top button of his dark shirt unbuttoned. We are in our parents’ living room preparing for a televised interview. But he’s hardly paying attention, his eyes fastened on his screen.
I lean over to the floral chair he’s slumped in, giving his shoulder a hard flick. He looks up, scowls at me sitting across from him, and stands up. “What? The fucking interviewer isn’t even here yet.”
The PA glances at him with a gulp. I give her a reassuring smile. “We’re fine. Give us a minute, will you? My brother, while uncouth, does have a good point. Can you please make sure we are not recorded until the interview begins? Nothing that we say is on the record until the interviewer arrives.”
“Of course, Lord Grayrose.” The PA bows her head, backing out of the room.
I cut my brother with my eyes as I straighten my tie and adjust my seat. We are posed with our backs to the brick facade of the fireplace. For once, my mother isn’t nattering around us, issuing us last minute instructions.
Instead, she and our dad are off somewhere that the tv crew can’t possibly hear, having what I imagine is a very lively and long-winded argument.
James gives me a tiny glare. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
He rolls his eyes. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet, Dad asked me to babysit you during this interview. Probably because he knows he can’t just leave you to your own devices.”
He glowers at me. “I will have you know that there has been a lot of back and forth between Mum and Dad, talking about what they are going to do about your situation. How are things with that sweet little au pair of yours, Keir?”
My temple aches and I rub it, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
“You are tiresome,” I say.
“Is that what your gorgeous little piece of tail has to say about you?”
His expression is perfectly innocent. Much as I am won’t to admit it, James actually does have the lying and backstabbing part of being a politician down to an art.
“Just remember. You need me to whip the media storm in your favor. Without that piece, Dad and Mum wouldn’t even be trying to put you up for political office. You have a horrible personality.”
“At least I can find people to fuck outside my child’s nursery,” comes his quick retort.
“Been saving that one for a while, have you?”
“Hello!” Anna Armand breezes in the room, a bright smile on her face. She is fully made up, looking pretty in her bright pink skirted suit and impossibly whitened teeth. She tosses her long, lacquered hair back and looks between James and me.
“Anna, thank you for doing this,” I say, offering her a handshake.
She accepts, clenching my hand briefly. Her smile widens. “Actually, I was hoping to add a second interviewer. You know, make it more of a group dynamic, like you would see on Good Morning Britain. Does that sound okay with both of you?”
“Sure.” I frown, checking with James. He shrugs, checking his phone. “We are back on the record as of now. Why not?”
“I thought you would feel that way. Allow me to introduce Wendy Alan. She works for the New York division of NewsCorp.”
It takes every bit of control I’ve got in order for me to keep my face utterly blank when Wendy walks in the room. Her eyes go directly to mine and she smiles at me, carefully showing each and every one of her teeth.
What in the fuck is she doing here?
She bows her head at both James and me, then brushes her hand over her skirt as she sits. James tilts his head in a way that I know means that he is speculating just how long it would take to get her out of her blue chiffon shift dress. He doesn’t seem to know that anything is amiss.
I stare Wendy down, not quite believing she’s here. Anna sits down beside her. I have to wonder whether she, too, knows what Wendy knows. I squint at both of them.
My guess is no, that Wendy wouldn’t tell anybody the whole story. She wants to expose me herself, the plucky reporter and the greedy billionaire.
A David and Goliath story if I ever heard one. At least, what her version of it seems to be.
