Page 28 of Off the Record

“Can’t be soon enough,” Mr. Prescott says, puffing his chest. “These things do drag on.”

“No one knows how to give a concise speech,” his sister agrees. She swirls her wine and takes a large swallow. “I might need to duck out early.”

Hudson spears a bite of salad. “I thought you were packing for Cabo, Mom.”

“We don’t leave until Wednesday,” Mr. Owens says. “Your mother thought it would be good to support the company tonight.”

“I’m not doing very well at remaining asilentpartner, am I?” she says to no one in particular, following it with another drink.

Mr. Owens leans over her, toward Mr. Prescott. “I should plan longer trips, eh? Get her out of the country so you can run the company in peace.”

Mrs. Owens scowls.

“Enjoy your retirement, Moira,” Mr. Prescott says, then glances at Hudson. “Your son has everything well in hand.”

Ice crashes around my cup as I jerk in surprise. What does Hudson have well in hand? The entire company?The Nashville Rhythm? Why would the Owens even care about that?

“The consultants are analyzing the data,” Hudson says smoothly, pushing credit. “Together we’ll have a report for the board by the end of the month.”

“Loop me in,” Mrs. Owens says. “I can be retired and still give you my thoughts on the operations. I’ll find a quiet room in Cabo.”

“Doubt it,” Mr. Owens mutters.

Mr. Prescott’s date quietly sits between them, picking at her salad as though the conversation isn’t happening around her.

“I give good advice,” Mrs. Owens says, not even bothering to pretend to eat her salad. “If you wait until I’m back, I’ll be there in person.”

“Of course,” Mr. Prescott says, though he doesn’t sound at all sincere.

My mind is spinning. Be here for what? Hudson looks like he wants the earth to open and swallow him whole. I can’t even form a proper question, because I don’t know what to ask.

Lucy takes the stage in her sparkly violet gown and calls attention. “We’ll begin our evening with the award for best layout.”

Hudson leans back in his seat. His leg presses against my knee beneath the table, his hand finding mine and holding it lightly. It’s more forward than I’d expected, but I can’t deny how good it feels. I’m sure he wants Leo to see how closely we’re sitting.

When the winner is announced—Jackson Merritt for a late July layout in theTribune—Hudson leans into me a little more. “Get comfortable,” he says. “It’s going to be a long night.”

nine

Hudson wasn’t wrong.The awards don’t take overly long to hand out, but the speeches go on for ages. How much can each person say about their experience with this company? Apparently, a lot. By the time we’ve reached Phil’s category, we’re nearing the end. TheOutdoorstook the award for best clicks on a website article, but other than that, theTribunehas swept the floor. It wasn’t looking very promising.

But, to all of our surprise, when Lucy opens the card to read the winner, she says, “Phil Jenkins.”

Phil stands, blinking with surprise. He walks to the stage to accept the award and leans into the microphone. “Thank you.” The man immediately sits back down.

Simone is absolutely beaming.

Leo is probably mourning his loss in the back somewhere.

“Lovely speech,” Mr. Owens says, clapping. “If only they could all be so concise.”

“Congrats,” I tell him, leaning over Simone. His face is beet red, making his golden hair look yellow.

Lucy moves on to the next category, and the rest of the event is over in a flash. Hudson closes the evening with his speechthanking everyone in the room for contributing their talents and support to the company. Before I know it, we’re all standing near the table, congratulating nearby winners in a flurry of sequins and tuxedos.

“Want to go out and celebrate with us?” Simone asks, leaning close. “I don’t know where we’ll go yet, but Phil is willing and I don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

“Just go out, the two of you,” I tell her. “I can Uber back to my car just fine.”

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