I send out one more text.
Me: Have to go. See you Tuesday night at our debate?
Jude: Yep. Wear your hair up if you want to make me hard. ;)
It’s not just my cheeks that warm as I read and then reread his message, but my entire body. I’m glad I changed his contact name to Jude because it was getting weird having these heated exchanges with Justin Timberlake.
“You okay?” my mom asks. “You look flushed.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Let’s go.”
I leave my phone in my purse so I won’t be tempted to continue the conversation with Jude. It’s ironic he has people on his team looking for my weaknesses when my greatest one seems to be him.
There’sa palpable energy in the university auditorium in Chicago where Jude and I are about to have our first debate. This is a key moment for both of us. We have to come out strong but not overbearing, appear poised but approachable.
A man adjusts the mic on my collar and gives me a reassuring grin. “Just trying to hide it from the camera,” he says. “You all ready?”
“I am.”
It’s true. I spent fourteen hours yesterday and ten today in debate prep with my team. Lexi called Tom Harbor, and he sent her some good questions for us to anticipate. I answered all of them repeatedly, and my team threw in random, unexpected stuff like, “What makes you cry?” and, “Why don’t you like kittens?” Those questions help me prepare to stay calm when something random is thrown at me.
Lexi walks with me to my lectern on the brightly lit stage. I take the bottle of water she hands me and set it on a shelf inside.
“You’ve got this,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “Just remember you’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and—”
I roll my eyes and laugh at her mention of an old SNL skit we both love. “Thanks. How do I look?”
She looks over my conservative navy dress and nude heels for the dozenth time. “Great. I love your hair in that French knot.”
There’s a buzz in the audience, and we both turn to see what’s going on. Jude just walked out from the other side of the stage. I can’t breathe for a second. He’s striding toward me in a light gray suit and shiny black shoes, wearing a white dress shirt and a bright blue tie. He’s clean-shaven, and his hair is combed back neatly.
I can tell from Lexi’s inhale that it’s not just me who’s taken by Jude’s polished, commanding presence. His gaze stays on me, and I dig deep for my professional side.
“Ms. Preston,” he says, extending a hand toward me, “you look lovely.”
I take his hand and shake it, reminding myself how many eyes are on us right now. I can’t let my feelings show.
“Thank you, Mr. Titan. Good luck to you.”
“And to you.” He brushes a thumb across my knuckles before releasing my hand. His eyes are sparkling with warmth and confidence.
Well,fuck. So much for hoping he’d have first-time debate jitters. He looks positively presidential right now.
He turns to walk to his lectern, and Lexi mutters, “What was that?” under her breath.
“I’ll see you after,” I say to her.
She takes the cue and leaves the stage. I square my shoulders and wait for the countdown from the television production assistant.
Game face, Reagan. This is crucial. Own it.
The debate is being moderated by two Chicago news anchors who both introduced themselves to me backstage. One of them, Jenna Morrison, opens the debate and asks us to introduce ourselves.
My intro warms me up. The familiarity of the words builds my confidence, reminding me how many times I’ve rehearsed all this. Jude also nails his intro, and I realize he’s been practicing, too.
“Mr. Titan,” Jenna says, “you were recently voted Most Eligible Bachelor byChicago Magazine. How do you feel about that?”
He grins sheepishly. “I’m honored.”
