By the time I reach Karina, she's deep in animated discussion with Ariana, both women laughing.
"—and then he actually said, 'That's not how we did things in Scotland,'" Ariana is recounting."As if Scottish spreadsheets are fundamentally different from American ones."
"That sounds exactly like him," Karina agrees, glancing up as I approach."Speak of the devil."
"Should I be concerned about what's being shared?"I ask.
"Absolutely," Ariana confirms."We're systematically dismantling your mystique."
"Consider it market research," Karina adds."For the Guardian rebranding."
"Of course."I offer my hand to Karina."Duncan's by the sculpture garden.Care to strategize?"
"Duty calls," she says to Ariana, accepting my hand with a smile that sends an unexpected warmth through my chest.
As we move away, her fingers remain twined with mine—longer than necessary.
Not that I'm exactly complaining.
"Your friends are charming," she laughs lightly.
"They're interfering busybodies with no concept of boundaries."
"Like I said, charming."She glances up at me."They care about you."
"They enjoy tormenting me.There's a distinction."
"I don't know.Connor seems to think you've been happier since the hashtag disaster."
I nearly miss a step."He said that?"
"Mmm.Something about you being 'less Scottish' lately.I assume he meant less brooding, not less literally Scottish."
"Connor should focus on his own impending domestic apocalypse."
"You mean his meticulously organized engagement party that everyone's calling the event of the season?"
"Precisely."
She laughs, and I find myself smiling in response—a reaction that's becoming disturbingly automatic in her presence.
We're halfway to Duncan when the string quartet transitions to a slower melody.
Couples drift toward the center of the room, forming an impromptu dance floor.
"Dance with me," I say impulsively.
She blinks."What about Duncan?"
"He can wait."I glance around at the numerous smartphones still not-so-subtly pointed in our direction."Besides, it's strategic.The Guardian needs a partner, not a lone wolf."
"Very smooth," she says dryly, but allows me to lead her toward the dancers.
As I draw her into my arms, the familiar weight of responsibility momentarily lifts.
Here, with one hand at the small of her back and the other clasping hers, I'm not the CEO fixing a PR crisis.Nor am I the elder brother cleaning up a family mess.
I'm simply a man dancing with a woman who fits against me like she was designed for it.
