Page 23 of Off the Record

“Won’t win it,” Stan says from his desk.

Simone ignores him. “We met in the lobby while I was leaving Friday. It was maybe three minutes, but I’m pretty sure I fell in love.”

“With Phil,” I ask, verifying.

“Yes. With Phil. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would do photos for an outdoorsy mag, but the way he smiled at me—” She sighs. “I need to see him again. Preferably while I’m in a tight red dress and have my wing woman for support.”

“The food is supposed to be pretty good,” I say noncommittally.

Simone clutches my shoulders and looks me in the eye. “Please don’t make me go alone.”

It honestly doesn’t take much convincing, but I don’t want her to notice or she’ll figure out why I really want to go.

Spoiler: it has nothing to do with the food.

I’ve stalked Hudson pretty much nonstop over the last two weeks on socials, and that man can sport a tux like you wouldn’t believe. There’s a lot of evidence in the past to prove it—him attending various functions on different women’s arms. Needless to say, I’m interested in seeing it in real life.

“What happened to the cowboy hat guy from Whiskey Sage?” I ask.

Simone shrugs, dropping her arm. “It’s only been a few dates, but it’s not progressing.”

“Okay. I’ll go with you so you can see your photographer.”

She squeals quietly. “You won’t regret it.”

“She probably will,” Stan says, which we ignore.

A sudden awareness prickles the back of my neck. I look over my shoulder to see Hudson standing in the doorway of his office, chatting with Andrea. He’s looking at me, so I do the very maturething and look back at my screen straight away. I can’t take in his sleek blue Oxford shirt and crisp dark tie for another second, or my mind will wander.

“Should we go shopping this weekend?” Simone asks, scrolling through her phone. “I don’t actually have a tight red dress ye—” She cuts off when Leo’s looming presence falls over my desk.

I’ve done my best to ignore him, but he has a way of popping up unexpectedly. He’s kind of like a pimple—I’mneverhappy to see him, and sometimes it even hurts. Not because I want to be with him again. No, I’m long over that. Mostly because being treated poorly and suffering betrayal don’t vanish without a bruise.

“What?” Simone asks, not bothering to hide her dislike. It shouldn’t make me feel cheered, but it does.

“Are you both going to the awards banquet?” he asks.

Simone’s eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations.”

Leo’s losing his patience. He looks at me, raising one dark eyebrow. We’d talked about going together and winning in our categories, back when we were dating. I wasn’t nominated, but he must remember I’d like to take home a company award for my writing someday. It would probably help get me to theTribuneif I did.

“I hope you’ll all go,” Hudson says behind me, making me freeze. When did my desk become the office hotspot? “I happen to know that the food will be incredible.”

Simone shoots me a glance. “Funny. Paisley said the same thing.”

“Mr. Owens’s friend is catering. I’ve eaten from his restaurant before,” I tell her.

Her look becomes appraising but, thankfully, she doesn’t say anything more.

“I’ll be there,” Leo says, puffing his chest the slightest bit. “I’m nominated in the photography category.”

“Oh, are you?” Hudson asks, like he wasn’t part of the committee who chose the nominees. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Leo is glowing.

“Paisley, can I steal you for a moment? I wanted to run a change by you regarding the rooftop singer.”

“Of course.” The guitarist was a guy in his early thirties. We’d met him a few evenings ago playing at a bar on a hotel rooftop downtown. There had been a glass wall separating him from a pool filled with families and young kids, and it had been chaotic in a good way. Hudson and I had ordered a plate of parmesan truffle fries to share and sipped drinks while listening to him play his set, then interviewed him when he was finished.

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