Unwanted Heat

The lobby of the building is simple but elegant, a security guard at the desk nods in my direction but doesn’t question why I am there or who I’m meeting. I don’t know if Mr. Parker is waiting for me upstairs or if it will just be Bridget’s security team that she mentioned would be here. The elevator ride is slow though I’m sure that’s more a result of my nervousness than anything. My hands play with my clutch as I slowly watch the numbers turn red as the elevator rises. When the bell dings, my nerves hit an all-time high but I push them down and take a deep breath before stepping out of the elevator.

“Ms. Rose, you look absolutely stunning,” Mr. Parker greets me the moment I step off the elevator.

“Thank you Mr. Parker, you look very nice as well.”

He is wearing what I suspect is a black tailored Armani tux complimented with a warm grey tie. Nice is probably the worst word to describe how he looks tonight but my brain isn’t able to process anything except nice and hot and sexy. I figure nice is the safest option…

“Please, call me Nicholas.”

“Only if you call me Kenzie.”

“Agreed. Are you ready to head to the gala? It’s a little bit of a drive in this traffic I’m afraid but we should arrive on time.”

We ride the elevator to the parking garage in complete silence but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. When the elevator doors open in the underground parking garage, Carter is waiting for us and escorts us to a large, black pristine SUV that looks like it was just driven off the dealer lot. Carter opens the door for me as Nicholas walks around and gets in the other side.

“Do you have any questions about tonight, Kenzie?” Nicholas asks.

“I have reviewed all of the information that Bridget sent me and confident that I can recall where you stand on the issues she shared. I also spent sometime this week researching your company and the information published on your most recent projects.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“I wanted to be prepared.”

“I assume you saw the tabloid articles?”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“I did. I have to say I struggle to see how people are connecting your personal life to PFS’s success.”

“I can’t either. Frankly if I wasn’t concerned about how my employees and people I’m currently doing business with, I would say fuck it and not even do anything to address the articles written. However, when a magazine was found in one of our staff lounges open to the article questioning my ability to manage hundreds of employees, I knew I needed to do something and fast. I have too much at stake to let a few arrogant reporters destroy my life. This,” he gestures between us, “is a very small price to pay if it means the nonsense disappears and I can focus entirely on

PFS.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I understand why you are doing this from a business perspective, but Bridget had mentioned your family would be in attendance tonight and that they are unaware of our arrangement… ”

“And you’re wondering why I haven’t told them about this?”

“If it’s too personal, you don’t have to tell me-”

“It’s not that. Honestly, it was never an option to tell them about this as far as I’m concerned. If I’m going to fabricate a lie that I need hundreds of people to believe, the less people who know the truth the better. For the most part the press has left my family alone, but there have been times when they have approached them about my personal life. If they believe the same lie that everyone else believes, there is no chance for them to let something accidently slip.”

“I understand, that makes sense.”

“Besides, it gets my brother off my ass,” he chuckles. “My brother loves to torment me and the fact that the press is giving him ammunition is just pissing me off.”

“I could see why,” I laugh.

We arrive at the gala few minutes later; I’m surprised at how fast the drive went, the time really seemed to fly by once we started talking. I’m also relieved that for the most part my nerves have calmed. I’m still a little nervous as we pull around the long circular driveway but I’m less anxious than I was on the drive to Bridget’s office.

“We’re going to get out my door, there will be press there, taking our picture as we walk in but once we are inside no press is permitted. Of course we have to worry about people taking pictures on their cell phones and selling them to tabloids…”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” I try to assure him.

“Here we go,” he takes a deep breath the moment the door opens.

He slides across the seat before stepping out of the car, I follow, taking his offered hand to help me out. Immediately we are bombarded by the press as Nicholas is instantly recognized-cameras are flashing everywhere and I’m momentarily frozen on the spot as I try to take everything in.