Page 35 of Off the Record

“Keep it PG,” Carrie says, nodding her head to the table beside us, teeming with small children.

“I was going to say myabs.”

“But you don’t have those anymore,” Carrie snaps back.

Luke glares, pulling his pancakes closer and cutting a big bite.

“None of you are coming. I don’t want to be embarrassed. It’s your birthday gift to me.” He raises an eyebrow to me. “Unless you want to come meet my agent.”

“Ha. Ha.” I fake laugh and look down at my plate again. It’s been weird, searching for a new job. Once I leave the Prescott Media Group, my chances of getting in with theTribunedecrease significantly. After everything that’s gone down, I’m not sure I want to work for them anyway.

“Okay, dream job,” Carrie says. “If you could do literally anything, what would it be? Gut reaction. Go.”

“What I’m doing,” I say without thinking, but it’s true. Writing the People of Nashville column under Hudson’s editing eye has been such a joy the last few weeks—I really want to continue doing it. With him. Because, like it or not, he is definitely a huge part of what makes that column so good. His advice and notes have been extraordinarily helpful.

His text from earlier spins around my head again.I’m doing my best to fix everything. What does that mean? How can he fix it? Maybe he would have told me if I’d answered any of his summons this week. Is my petty anger getting in the way of helping him save jobs? Possibly save the paper?

I pull out my phone and text him back.

Paisley

What can I do to help?

It takes the rest of our dinner and another thirty minutes for him to respond.

Hudson

Come over.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. Before I can think better of it, I’ve given Dorian a huge birthday hug, dropped Carrie off at home, and started driving toward downtown Nashville. If there’s a chance I can keep my job, I’m going to fight for it.

eleven

Hudson openshis door wearing a haggard expression. His eyes look tired, his hair is in disarray, and the man is wearingjoggers. Not jeans, not slacks, not tuxedo pants. He’s in lounge wear. It goes without saying, but I’ll say what I’m thinking anyway: he looks good.

Distance, Paisley, I remind myself.Keep your distance.

“Put me to work.”

“Come in,” he says, gesturing inside.

I follow him to his dining room to find papers all over the table and his computer open in the center. “What is all this?”

“Numbers. Statistics.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the mess. “I’ve tried appealing to my uncle’s sense of goodness, but he won’t hear it. The paper hasn’t brought in enough money. He wants to cut the dead limb so it doesn’t bring down the whole tree.”

“Dead limb,” I repeat.

He meets my eyes. “For the record, I intended to recommend you for theTribune.I still have you on that list.”

My heart leaps to my throat. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Would I accept that job now? I can’t think about this. “And Simone?” I ask.

He glances away. “They already have an advice columnist.”

“She can write other things.”

“True.” He doesn’t say anything else.

“What can I do?”

---