Page 24 of Off the Record

I’m guessing that’s not really what Hudson wants to talk about. My curiosity is piqued. I close my computer and stand to follow him anywhere but here. To my surprise, he doesn’t walk back to his office. I can feel all the eyes in the office—okay, not really, but it feels that way—on us as we walk to the elevator bay and step aside.

“I hope this is okay. I need to get something from my old office.”

“Sure.” When we’re safely inside the elevator, him standing on one side, me on another, I can feel tension sizzling in the massive gap between us. I’m practically hugging the wall, but mostly so it will keep me upright.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the awards banquet,” he says. Ah, I’d been correct in my suspicion. He didn’tactuallywant to discuss the article.

I feel like that particular article will almost write itself anyway—just like Linus’s had, and Sharon the chicken register worker, and Tina the bartender. None of them had beenparticularly tricky to write. Their stories were interesting, bleeding onto the page easily.

Hudson leans against the handrail, his blue eyes pinning me. He wants to talk about the banquet, and since the majority of our conversations center around writing articles for theRhythm, I have a sneaking suspicion he wants me to write something up for that too. Oh gosh. If he wants me to write about his uncle, I might have to turn him down. That man is not very micro. What’s above a lion on the food chain? Because Mr. Prescott isthat.

“Will you be going?” I ask.

“It’s mandatory for admin. My uncle wants me to give a speech,” he says, cringing.

“And you need help writing it?”

The elevator doors ding and slide open, but Hudson doesn’t move. “No, I’ve written it already.” He hesitates a beat before letting them slide closed again. “Has Leo been bothering you?”

“Not more than usual. But if you wanted to ship him off somewhere for more photos, I wouldn’t be mad.”

Hudson’s smile is soft. He hits the button and the doors open again. “I don’t think we’ll have a traveling job for him for a while. But if he’s pestering you?—”

“He’s really not.” I’m being honest, too. “We broke up a few months ago, and he’s only tried to check in with me a few times to make sure I’m okay. Honestly, the worst part is how sympathetic he’s trying to be. Like he’s moved on, but he’s worried I’m still pining and depressed.”

“Are you?”

The doors are about to close again, so I put my hand out to stop them. Hudson seems to realize we’re just hanging out in an elevator that someone else might be calling from a different floor. He steps out. I follow him down the hallway, and we reach a wooden door that opens to a room with a large desk and anexcellent view of the city. I cross to the window and look over Nashville. It’s gorgeous. We should have eaten dinner inherelast week. We’re almost up in the clouds. I bet the sunset goes on forever.

Hudson closes the door. He walks to the desk and leans against it, looking at me. “Are you still pining?”

“I never pined,” I tell him, pointing my finger at his chest like he’d called me a Ravens fan. “Leo just needs to think that because he’s obsessed with himself.”

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. He isn’t evil; he’s just scummy.

Hudson doesn’t look convinced. It becomes really important that he understand how nonexistent Leo’s hold is on me. “He cheated,” I tell him bluntly, dropping my arm. “I found him in the broom closet with Kyla Langford before his last work trip, and we ended things there. We’re all trying to find a way to cohabit this office, but I’m not carrying a torch for him. Once a guy does that, he loses my respect and my affection pretty quickly.”

Hudson has grown still. He rests his hands on the desk, watching me, a small furrow casting a shadow on his brow. “Why didn’t Ben fire him? We have very low tolerance for dalliances during work hours. On work property is an extremely fireable offense.”

“Probably because I didn’t tell him.”

Hudson’s frown deepens. “Why not?”

That’s a good question. I pull out his desk chair, the camel-colored leather as soft as his luxury car seats, and sit down. Sheesh, does BMW make office chairs too? Closing my eyes, I try to remember what I’d been thinking at the time. “I wanted to, but it felt spiteful, I guess? I don’t have a good reason. His work trip was going to remove him from the office for a while and I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. Not a good reason, I know, but I was in a bit of a state.”

“I don’t blame you,” he says softly, looking down at me. His arms are straight, his hands still resting on the edge of the desk while he leans against it, and I can see the outline of his muscles through his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do nothing now that I’m aware.”

“Can you pretend I didn’t say anything? This conversation is completely off the record. Just a friend chatting with a friend.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Yes,” I say, looking up at him and willing him to agree. Maybe I’m feeling too emboldened by the way we’ve been spending time together the last few weeks, by the texting and work meetings and excursions to meet people who would be a good fit for my column. I’ve had more dinners with Hudson this week than my own sister, whom I live with. “I think it’s fair to call you a friend. Friends have off the record conversations all the time, because that’s what being a friend is. Trusting in the other person and being able to safely confide.”

“You can safely confide in me,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows.

“I won’t say anything to HR, but you have to know it’s greatly against my wishes.”

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