Page 12 of Off the Record

Leave, for one.I don’t say that. Unfortunately, we’re in different departments, so there’s a chance we’ll both end up staying on when the cuts come through. “Space,” I finally concede. “We won’t be friends. The best you can do is your job and let me do mine.”

He’s frowning. “Proper healing?—”

“Cut the crap, Leo.” I take a breath and try to find patience. “You don’t get a say in what kind of healing I need.”

His gaze turns condescending. “There’s no need for anger right now. I’m trying to help you move on. It can’t be easy?—”

“Paisley?” a man says from the doorway. We both turn to find Hudson leaning there, his placid expression running over us. A blush steals up my cheeks, warming my skin. How much had he heard? “Are you ready for our meeting?”

What meeting? I’d planned on emailing him my rough draft.

He holds my gaze, his striking blue eyes not straying from my face. Wait…is he trying to give me an out?

“Another one?” Leo says around a forced smile. “Careful or it might seem like Paisley’s getting preferential treatme…” His words trail off.

Hudson stares at him without a lick of amusement. His eyes flick to me. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I croak, reaching for my coffee.

He steps back, gesturing for me to precede him. We walk back toward the main office and through the desks. Simone catches my eye, raising her brows, but I give her a little shake. I’ll have to explain later.

Although I’m still not sure what’s happening. When I reach Hudson’s office, I step out of the way. “We don’t actually have to meet.”

“I want to see that article,” he says, opening the door for me.

Or maybe he wasn’t trying to save me after all. Again—what is happening here?

“It’s really rough.” I had taken some time this morning to work through what I could do to make Carolina Blues the focus of the piece in tandem with the bar, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. It definitely isn’t ready for my boss to look at.

“That won’t scare me off.” He sits in his chair, watching me lower myself into the seat opposite his desk. “I’d rather make sure we’re moving in the right direction from the beginning than waste your time writing things we’re going to scrap anyway.”

And if we scrap too many things, my job goes in the dumpster with my rejected articles. He doesn’t need to say that for me to understand. “I’ll email it to you now.” I open my computer on my lap and find the article. I have his email because he’s been sending the office memos since yesterday, though that doesn’t explain how he’d found my phone number. We don’t have anoffice database. “Do you often text your writers in the middle of the night?”

“8pm is the middle of the night?”

“You know what I mean. How did you even get my number?”

“HR,” he says easily.

I look up. “That’s not a HIPAA violation?”

“It might be anHRviolation, but since it was strictly used for work purposes, I think I’m safe.”

Is that how he fills his social calendar? Access to HR and someone willing to give him whatever he wants? No, that’s stupid. One look at his face proves how willing most people are to give him what he wants. Heck, I’m not innocent. One snap of his fingers and I’m sending a crap article before it’s ready.

The email must come through, because Hudson drops his eyes to his computer and scans it. He betrays nothing as he reads, which makes me rest my computer on his desk so I can grip my armrests impatiently.

“If people are bothering you in the office, HR can step in. They’re good for things like that,” he says, never taking his gaze from the screen.

“People like you?” I joke, trying to deflect.

His blue eyes pin me in place. “I’d like to think helping your career isn’t a bother, but maybe I’m misreading the situation.”

I don’t want to lose his help. “I won’t turn you in.”

“But you could turn in Leo.”

So he isn’t going to let it drop. How much to tell him? He doesn’t actually want our sordid history. I don’t see him being an Andrea, eager for the tea. He probably really thought Leo was bothering me in the kitchen.

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