Page 24 of Tempt Me

“I’m trying to take one more decision off your list,” I said coolly. “Successful people limit decisions about small things so they have more mental energy for important decisions. Like Steve Jobs’ black turtleneck and New Balance sneakers or President Obama’s closet full of blue and gray suits.”

I thought I saw Jamila relax her jaw a fraction as I sailed past her.

“See you tomorrow,” she mumbled.

I could help her through this situation without being tempted to act on my crush. Because that’s all it was: a juvenile crush, left over from when I was a kid.

Now I was grown-up. The last thing I needed was attraction for someone as brilliant—and prickly—as Jamila Jallow. Someone who’d never see me as an equal.

8

“Well, that’s over,”I said, trying to smile when all I wanted to do was scream. The only good part of the whole press conference fiasco was that it was done. I jogged upstairs to the second floor, risking breaking my neck to get ahead of Jamila’s long strides.

“You did fantastic,” Winslow said, loping alongside her.

I shot him a wide-eyed stare. Had we been watching the same press conference?

“You think so?” Jamila smoothed down her blouse.

“Absolutely,” Winslow said. It was awfully early to be taking edibles, but that was the only thing that could explain his chill attitude.

I had my own badge now, so I swiped it at the door to the executive suite. I held open the door for Jamila and Winslow. But instead of heading for the back corner, I turned right and ushered the executives into the windowless office I’d been camping out in. It was smaller than Jamila’s and just large enough for two desks, one of which was occupied.

Hannah jumped when we entered and brushed at her skirt. Her medium-brown hair was pulled away from her pale face into a ponytail, and her black skirt suit and white blouse screamed,entry-level professional. A couple years younger than me but with a degree I didn’t have, Hannah was the help I needed, especially after today’s press conference.

“Hey, Hannah. Meet Jamila Jallow and Winslow Keating-Ashworth. Jamila and Winslow, Hannah is our new PR assistant.”

Jamila shook her hand. “I don’t recall hiring an assistant or authorizing a PR budget.”

Hannah’s brown eyes widened behind her glasses. She looked like a deer frozen in the middle of the road with an eighteen-wheeler bearing down on her.

I waved a hand. “Felicia and I took care of it. Now sit, and we can debrief.”

Jamila plopped into the sturdier of our two guest chairs. I rounded the other desk to sit behind it, which left Winslow with the wobbly backless chair I’d found in a storage room. After glancing around for another option, he perched on it gingerly.

“Hannah,” I said, “what are the early responses?”

“Somebody live-tweeted it. They thought it was…” She looked up from her monitor.

“Go on,” I said.

“They thought it was a bit of a snooze.”

“Exactly what we were going for,” I said, relieved. “Professional, predictable, nothing to see here.”

“Until…” She winced.

“Let’s hear it.” I knew what would come next.

“The, uh, candid moment.”

“The what, now?” Jamila asked.

“Next time,” I said, “if you’re going to call someone out, wait until after the press conference is over.”

Jamila laughed. “Okay, sure.”

I squinted at her. She glared back at me. Winslow picked at lint on his butter-yellow trousers. He was either too nice or too much of a coward to help.

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