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“Presley is submitting the interview questions over to Cyrus today, correct? And the interview is taking place this week?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” I nod my head, sitting up straighter. I’m trying to stay focused in our weekly staff meeting, but my thoughts are still consumed with last night.
“Perfect. And how did the gala go last night?”
“Great.” I half cough the response as I dart my hand toward my water bottle. “Great,” I repeat, my cheeks feeling like they’re two seconds from catching fire. “I sent the press release to publication this morning, highlighting some of Mr. Gates’ speaking points as well as talking about his upcoming work with the Chicago Youth in Leadership conference.”
“Excellent,” Lisa says, ticking something off on her tablet. “I’m sending you over the file with the photos right now from our photographer, Grant, who attended last night.” She taps furiously on her tablet before looking back up at me. “I need you to choose two photos that will be published with the press release. I trust your discretion so once you’ve chosen them and signed off, send them to publication as well.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile.
Photos? We had a photographer there last night?
I don’t know why I suddenly panic like he was inside the limo with us.
“Natalie, did you finalize that contract with Norris Publishing?” Lisa turns her attention to the next person in the room, so I pull up my email.
I open the file and scroll through the images. Most of them are of Cyrus speaking on stage. He looks beyond sexy, like a young George Clooney mixed with Henry Cavill. How the hell is this man real? I select the two that look the most candid and download them, attaching them to the email I’ve drafted to Cyrus with his interview questions, then attach the folder with the remaining photos and hit send.
I slide my thumb across my phone screen and go to the text he sent me with his address.
Me: Good morning. Just sent you an email with the interview questions. If you could sign off on them, that would be great, or let me know if you want me to omit any. Also, I included the two photos of you from last night for the press release that’s going out tomorrow. Just need your approval on those as well. Thanks.
Moments later, he responds. My breath hitches in my chest when I see his name appear on my phone.
Cyrus: Questions look good.
I read the response and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped it would be different. Although I know it goes completely against what I decided, I’d hoped that some of the tone from last night might linger. But then, a second later he texts again.
Cyrus: I prefer this photo.
I click on the image he chose—it’s us by the bar. My back is to the camera, my face turned to look at him. His eyes are looking at my back. It’s intimate, almost like a stolen moment that I didn’t even know was captured. I feel the butterflies again, the excitement making my heart race as I bite my lip to keep from grinning. I know he isn’t serious about choosing that photo; it’s the one he likes the best, but he knows it can’t go to print.
Me: How about any other questions? Should we add more? Any topics you want to discuss that I didn’t mention?
I turn my attention back to the meeting—or attempt to anyway. I try to keep from staring at my phone, waiting for it to light up again. But a minute later, it does.
Cyrus: How are you feeling today…
He ignores my question, taking the conversation in a direction I know it has no business going. I know I shouldn’t. I tell myself it’s dangerous territory. But I tease him back.
Me: Frustrated.
He responds with the devil emoji.
Cyrus: Have you made a decision yet, young lady?
Young lady… a completely innocent phrase that does all sorts of things to me. I can imagine him saying it in that deep tenor, his eyes dark, his lips so close to my ear.
Me: Still thinking about it. Honestly, I think a lot of last night was the liquor talking.
I know exactly what I’m doing… and so does he.
Cyrus: Hmm… you’re mighty bold with that tongue over text, Miss James. I strongly encourage you to reconsider that kind of behavior.
Oh shit! My stomach does a flip at his threat. The meeting is drawing to a close and as much as I want to continue that banter, I have a lot of work to get done today. I type out a response that I know will not only drive him wild, but will leave him hanging.
Me: Yes, sir. See you in class tomorrow, Professor Gates.
