Page 35 of For Wrath and Redemption
I don’t want to admit it, but I’m already impressed. It’s such a simple fucking move, but it’s brilliant. She must take my silence to mean I’m not convinced, though, because she starts pitching the idea again.
“Look. You’ve been playing defense for years. The whole band has, honestly. You’ve been reactive instead of proactive, and it’s never truly helped anything. We’re changing that today, and we’re starting by conquering your fan base. We’re going on offense, and when we succeed in this—and wewillsucceed, Jonah—you’ll have millions of people across the globe on your side in this endeavor. Think of them as an international army fighting for your honor.”
The more she talks, the more impressed I become. I bet she’s a force in a boardroom. I said a lot of shit last night, but now I know how she got a job at my father’s company—her own merit. It makes me feel like an asshole for suggesting otherwise, even if I’d only said it to piss her off. I’m not a misogynist. I don’t think womensleep their way to the top. I lied and stooped to that level just to be a dick, and now I’m feeling like one.
I should apologize. I almost do. But then I don’t. We’re in a silent battle, and I still intend to win.
I change the subject. “So,thisis PR chess?”
“This is chess, and our next move is a banger. En passant capture. No one will expect it.”
I glance up and lock my gaze with hers. “This is a good idea, Claire. Thanks.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open before she folds her lips between her teeth to hide a smile. She shakes her head and looks away as another blush covers her cheeks.
“It’s honestly a rudimentary tactic. Anyone would have started with it.”
The way my simple compliment shocks her is almost sad. The confidence and attitude she exuded seconds earlier are gone, and now she’s just an uncertain, insecure girl. Yearning for acceptance, but so unaccustomed to praise that she collapses in the face of it.
I ignore the shitty way it makes me feel and instead file the realization away in my memory. More intel. More evidence. More Claire Davis.
I snatch up my guitar, then sit on the edge of the bed with it. Having the guitar in my hands calms my nerves. It soothes the buzzing tension that’s always running through my bloodstream.
“What now? You want me to smile for a picture? Post Heartless lyrics for the caption?”
She grins like I’m an idiot she finds amusing.
“I said we were showing glimpses of therealyou, Hendrix. Sure, the profile will be heavily curated, but we want to be realistic, and something tells me you’re not asmile for the camerakind of guy.”
I nod in confirmation, and she continues.
“We’re going to take the things the fans already like about you and infuse a little more personality. A little moreyou.”
I nod again, and she gestures to the bed.
“Okay, sit on the edge of the mattress—you need to be able to play the guitar—and get comfortable.”
I do as she says, and she attaches her phone to the tripod. She adjusts the height and shifts it around until she likes the positioning, and then she flips on the ring light.
“Fuck.” I throw my hand up to shield my eyes. “That’s bright.”
“Sorry,” she says, and she means it. “I just have to...” She adjusts the brightness of the light, then points it down a little so it’s not burning my retinas. “How’s that?”
“Much better.”
She goes back to messing with the phone, and a thought pops into my head. I let myself say it without overthinking it.
“I’m the king in this analogy, right? If this is chess, then I’m the king.”
“Not yet, you’re not.”
I can’t see the features of her face, thanks to the ring light, but her tone is playful. I sit up straighter, my lips fighting the urge to turn up at the corners.
“So I’m a pawn,” I say, my tone matching hers.
“For now. Until we make it across the board.”
“I thought a pawn couldn’t be promoted to a king?”
