Chapter 3 – Pleasing the Boss

I laugh politely and plan to introduce Elvis, but that also turns out to be unnecessary. “Elvis Endlich. It’s been a while. You’re producing New Jersey Now? I should have guessed. Your hand shows in the work.”

I’m jealous as the two sl*p into easy banter, and I’m sidelined, but I remind myself that Elvis’s been in the industry much longer than I have. He’s closer to Samuel’s age than mine, though he doesn’t look it. Where Samuel looks like a grandpa, Elvis’s graying hair is distinguished. He’s as trim and fit as a man half his age and appallingly attractive. The kind of attractive that gets better with every passing year, much to my envy. If he hadn’t been at my side all night, I have no doubt he would have had the women swarming.

Men too, for that matter.

Add his charisma and business sense, and no wonder he’s maintained meaningful connections. It’s exactly the reason I’ve tied myself to him—Elvis is the kind of man who goes places. I’m lucky he’s chosen to take me with him.

Still, I’m looking forward to a time when I’m not the extra wheel in these conversations.

Fortunately, I’m not forgotten for long. “I’d like you both to meet my nephew, Scott.” Samuel gestures to the man at his side. “He’s relatively new over here. Officially his title is VP of Public Integrity, but that’s just a fancy way to say he’s in charge of PR.”

I do that ridiculous thing of downplaying my skills/highlighting my weaknesses because I’m a woman and that has been ingrained in my sex since birth. “Oh, dear. I hope you’re not here to scold me about my Instagram account.”

“Not that kind of PR,” Scott assures me.

“More like he makes certain we don’t look like assholes,” Samuel says.

Another round of polite laughter, during which I’m racking my brain for something witty or intelligent to say. I’m usually faster on my feet, but it’s been a night, and I’m not as quick as I want to be.

Always to my rescue, Elvis chimes in before the second of silence becomes awkward. “I have to say, Samuel, the reporting that SNC did on the King-Kincaid financial scandal was next level. Would love to have been in on that. Talk about public integrity.”

I kick myself for not thinking of that talking point myself. It’s been the biggest story that Seymour News Corp has had in a decade. Easy fruit, and I missed it.

“That was all my son,” Samuel says. “When I appointed him CEO last year, I told him he had to come out of the gate swinging, and he sure did. Though, I have to say”—I’m surprised when he shifts his body to include me—“that piece you did on college entrance requirements was particularly innovative.”

I imagine Scott is silently scoring Samuel points for turning the conversation back to the subject of my award. The whole intent of this night is to honor local news anchors, an obvious PR move in itself. Make sure that the little guys feel like we’re part of the bigger company so that we’ll keep getting eyeballs on programs that bear the SNC logo.

It might be all publicity, but it’s working. I do feel special.

“Especially for a local team,” another voice pipes in. “The piece did a good job of packaging fluff into something resembling news.”

And there goes my dignity.

Elvis puts a comforting hand on my back as we all turn to acknowledge the newest member of the party. While I’m sure he’s a Seymour, he’s not one that I recognize, and Elvis doesn’t seem to either. He has an intensity about him that threatens a shudder through my body, and while the feeling is very different from what I felt in the elevator with Hadrian, I’m sure this man is just as brutal.

Samuel also seems to be repelled as his previous warmth evaporates instantly. “Don’t mind Hunter,” he says, tightly. “He doesn’t work for SNC, so his opinion doesn’t matter.”

The flash in Hunter’s eyes says there’s a lot of baggage bet**en the two of them. Scott’s twitching jaw confirms it. I smile awkwardly, and even Elvis doesn’t seem to know how to handle the uneasy situation.

Then I feel it. A very bold, very male presence at my side. The kind of presence that dominates any space it’s given, and I know without looking that it’s Hadrian. Suddenly, I feel cowed in a very different way. I can’t move my eyes in his direction, afraid of what my exp**ssion will say if I meet his gaze. It’s like we have a secret, which of course we don’t, and I’m scared I’ll give it away. Scared it will consume me.

“What Hunter fails to recognize,” Hadrian says, and I feel the cadence of his words in a pulse point on my inner th**hs, “as he has repeatedly in the past, is what exactly makes a worthy and compelling news piece.”

“Hadrian,” Scott warns.

Hunter takes the opportunity to lash back. “And you’ve proven you know better?”

“We don’t need to do this here.” Samuel shifts his body, trying to leave Hunter out.

But Hadrian puts a hand up, demanding attention. “No, Dad. This is relevant. We’re here to recognize the work of these journalists for a reason. The particular piece you mentioned came out of a heightened public distrust of the college entrance process, and while it was set off by a celebrity scandal, Brystin used that fodder to pull viewers into a segment that revealed the depth of brokenness in a corrupt system. That’s real news, Hunter. Everyone here would agree.

“But the more intriguing aspect of New Jersey Now and Brystin’s reporting is her ability to, not only maintain but, build viewership in a daily roundtable show that tackles socio political topics that don’t often make the headlines. Without using comedy or sensationalism, which we all know is near impossible these days. Brystin’s segments on homelessness and infrastructure were two of my favorites, though I could give you a list of at least a dozen, whereas I highly doubt my cousin could tell you a single thing about any of the anchors honored tonight nor the shows that they host.”

Since I’m avidly not looking at Hadrian, I don’t miss the flare of Hunter’s nostrils. “Cousin?” He lets out a gruff laugh. “I see.”

“Do you? Because I can make it clearer.”

From the reactions around me, I have the distinct imp**ssion that Hadrian gives his cousin the bird.

“Not here,” Samuel says again.

At the same time, Scott claps a hand on Hunter’s back. “I have something I’ve been meaning to run by you, cuz. Got a minute to discuss?”

It’s clearly a tactic to draw Hunter away, but he goes willingly, and there’s a collective sigh of relief.

From everyone except for me, anyway.

Because Hadrian is still here, and his presence feels like stars underneath my skin, tingling along various points of my body.

Then, with his cousin out of the way, he angles himself toward me, and now I have to look up. Have to look at him. He ensnares my gaze instantly, and my heart does some weird fl*p thing in my ch*st that I swear it hasn’t done since I was seventeen.

“We didn’t get a chance to meet formally,” he says, as he takes my hand in his. It’s a business shake, but also not. Another secret, the way he runs his thumb along my skin. The way I feel it, like it’s fi**gers trailing down my neck. “Hadrian Seymour.”

“Brystin Shaw.” Though, clearly he knows.

He knows, and at that thought, my heart fl*ps again.

Did he know in the elevator or has he put two and two together since? Either way, he is familiar with my work. Or he’s asked about it. Either way, he now definitely knows who I am.

Which was tonight’s goal. So why am I as terrified as I am thrilled?

“You had a chance to meet already?” Samuel seems back to the jovial mood he’d been in before Hunter arrived on the scene.

“We shared an elevator.” Hadrian doesn’t mention that we’d briefly gotten stuck, and that feels relevant somehow. Yet another secret.

His words from earlier rush through my head, bringing heat to my face. I wonder if we’ll be stuck in here long enough for me to unzip her and find out what’s underneath.

I feel like I have to say something. “He commented on my dress.”

God, I’m an idiot.

His mouth upturns slightly, and it’s only now that I realize he’s still holding my hand. “I did. It’s a very lovely dress.”

“Quite,” Samuel agrees, really looking at me for the first time.

“That dress.” Elvis tsks, reminding me of his presence. Reminding me who picked it out, who paid for it.

I drop Hadrian’s hand and put it on Elvis’s shoulder. “Have you met Elvis Endlich, my producer?”

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