Page 3 of Off the Record

It makes me wish I’d told anyone in management about Leo and Kyla’s closet tryst. I only told my friend Simone, so it’s my fault he still works here. I should have told Andrea instead, but I didn’t wanteveryoneto know.

“Who’s taking his place?” I ask.

Andrea’s smile widens. “That’s the best part. You know how y’all’s columns are on the chopping block? Corporate doesn’t want just anyone doing damage control while they figure out the next step for the magazine.”

Which implies it’s someone on staff. Someone capable and smart, who knows a good story and has an eye for a solid layout. The job screams my name, but I haven’t even been here a whole year yet, so I’m not deluding myself.

My phone buzzes with a Slack notification from our team, and I swipe it open.

Meeting in the conference room at 9 sharp.

It’s already nine, so this must be the reminder to come now.

The way Andrea is looking at me, I start to fear her answer, a slow churn rolling my stomach. “Who’s the new boss? Don’t say Leo.”

“He doesn’t have the power to decide who stays and who goes.” Andrea shakes her head. “It’s even better.”

“Paisley!” My closest office friend, Simone, hisses my name, grabbing both of my arms and tugging me away from Andrea’s desk. Her short hair is combed in a perfect pixie, her wide brown eyes running up and down my dishevelment. “What happened to you?”

“Flat tire.”

Simone cringes. “Come on. We’re meetingnow.”

I glance back at Andrea, but she’s scowling at her computer. There is one person she won’t gossip in front of, and it’s only because Simone routinely sets up after-work drinks and forgets to invite Andrea. I happen to know there’s no forgetting involved—Simone doesn’t trust her.

Clearly, with good reason. The woman would gossip to her desk pothos if it had ears.

“We’re getting a new boss,” Simone whispers, arm through mine as we push through the glass doors into our open office. I drop my things on my desk and plug in my phone, relieved Leo isn’t in here.

“Bar fight?” I whisper. “Seriously? Ben’s like forty.”

“I’m guessing he’ll be in anger management for a while, and they aren’t going to take him back. Shame on the company and all that.” Simone twists her fingers through the air, then her gaze hardens on me. “How are you, really?”

I don’t have a chance to respond to that, though, because I can sense the evil lurking behind me, eyes on my neck. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?”

Simone doesn’t have to look to know. “What’s the plan?”

“Nothing.” I straighten my shoulders and open my bag, pulling out my tablet. “I’m going to be cordial. We have to work together, so we’ll work together.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but we need to get to the conference room. Most of the office is already there.

“Paise,” Leo starts behind me, his familiar voice running over my skin and making me want to hurl. Shouldn’t he be in the conference room with everyone else?

“Welcome back,” I toss over my shoulder before scurrying away. I can’t do this. I don’t want to look at his soulful Italian eyes and melt while covered in mud and tire grease. He doesn’t deserve my melting.

Mostly everyone is gathered when Simone and I arrive, so we’re forced to snag seats at the back of the room behind a row of people. Leo walks in shortly after us, but I avert my gaze, only to see Kyla waving at him and patting the seat she saved near the front of the long table. She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, her eyes flicking to me and away again. Ugh. I wish I hadn’t been caught looking at her. She’ll think I still want Leo.

Maybe a bar fight isn’t such a bad way to go out. It beats watching these two fawn over each other like attention-starved teenagers.

“I’m not at liberty to share details,” Dalton says at the front of the room, gathering everyone’s attention without preamble. He’s the head of formatting and has a penchant for theatrics. The fact that he’s leading this meeting proves how untethered we are. “By now I’m sure you’ve all heard Ben isn’t coming back. We’re in a crucial stage in our three-tiered project to revitalizeThe Nashville Rhythm,so there’s no time for dilly-dallying.”

“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar deep voice says near the door. “Had some trouble on the road this morning.”

A wave of awareness slices up my spine. That voice. He’shere. A blush steals over my hot cheeks. I thought I’d have timeto recuperate some of my dignity before having to face the guy again.

“No matter,” Dalton continues. “Meet your new interim boss, ladies and gents. Our esteemed leader, Hudson Owens, is taking a break from Marketing Chief duties and will be taking over theRhythmfor the time being.”

Hudson steps to the front of the room, flashing his brilliant smile. He must have changed out of his muddy pants because he’s sporting a fresh, clean suit. You’d never know he was kneeling on the side of the road a half-hour ago, dealing with my ratty old tire, by looking at him now.

---