Ben patted her on the back, then released her. Alexis turned to me and sighed. “If I tell you that you were right, how long until you let me live it down?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t right. Especially when I told you to avoid relationships and have meaningless sex for the rest of your life.”
Will coughed and thumped his chest.
“Chris just happens to be an anomaly who made me look right,” I concluded.
“What in the world isupwith you?” Alexis stepped closer to scrutinize me, and her eyes widened. “Oh, God. You’re in running clothes. Lee, who did this to you?”
I pointed at Ben. “And you, Brawler. I thought you said violence wasn’t the answer and everyone deserves forgiveness.”
He shrugged. “They do. Except for some guys. Some guys just deserve to be punched.”
28
Out of the Pan and Into the Fire
Despite how hard I’d dragged my heels, how thoroughly I’d researched the physics of stalling time and how piously I’d prayed to St. Joseph, the patron saint of continued employment, the worst day in the world had nevertheless arrived. I was basically a supervillain now, because Dakota had forced me to use my considerable talents for evil.
The presser was set up spectacularly on the steps leading up to the Lise office. I’d arranged the podium at the top of the stairs, in front of the sweeping glass doors, which hadLise Motorssplashed across them—basically, framing up the perfect shot. I had the tech equipment, and it worked flawlessly. I’d invited all the local reporters and reporters from the Austin bureaus of big nationals, so everyone was accounted for. It was a clear, unusually sunny January day, so I’d even done well with the weather.
And I’d run Dakota through her talking points a million times, until she could say them with her eyes closed. The problem was, I hated her talking points. I hated that we were doing this presser. I hated all the reporters in the crowd for so quickly accepting my invitation to our public shaming, when I had to cajole and woo them to cover our success.
But, despite my feelings, the hour was nigh. Even from our waiting place behind the glass doors, I could hear the anchors instructing camerapeople on where to stand, jockeying for positions closest to the bottom of the stairs. We’d decided the governor shouldn’t attend, obviously, or he’d face a barrage of questions. But near the back of the crowd, I spotted Ben, and the nervous storm inside me calmed.
His presence reminded me it would be okay. We were in this together. Though Ben did look on the outside how I felt on the inside, underneath my professional mask: miserable. I stepped on my tiptoes to see what he was wearing. It was his puffy North Face jacket, not a suit.
Had he already quit? I wished I could talk to him, but except for when he’d rushed to rescue me from the race, there’d been no communication between us. Likely he was enjoying the peace and quiet now that he’d disembarked from the Lee Stone emotional roller coaster.
“All right, Lee. Are you ready?” Dakota smoothed her dark hair over her forehead and jiggled her shoulders, her classic press warm-up ritual. She looked fantastic, of course, in a black business suit with such sharp lines at the shoulders I felt certain Wendy had picked it out for her.
I rested my hands on those sharp shoulders. “Just say the word, and I will spirit you out of here into some car they’d never suspect—a Hummer or something. And I’ll tell the press the announcement’s canceled.”
Dakota shook her head. “You sound like my husband. George doesn’t want me to do this, either. But I can’t see another way.” She tugged my sleeve. “Come on. It’s showtime.”
I took a deep breath, opened the glass doors and strode with Dakota to the top of the stairs. Immediately, cameras lifted and started flashing.
I squeezed Dakota’s hand and left her standing just to the left of the podium. Then I walked up to it and adjusted the microphone. There was a buzz of collective anticipation from the press.
I was supposed to give the opening remarks. They were brief: introduce Dakota, emphasize her accomplishments and remind everyone why we were here today. My hands shook, but I gripped the sides of the podium until they stilled.
“Good afternoon,” I said, approving the way my voice came out, deep and sure. “My name is Lee Stone, director of communications for Lise Motors.”
Suddenly, a woman holding a tape recorder gasped. “Oh myGod. It’s Sad Crawler. From the marathon.”
The noise level in the crowd notched higher. Reporters abandoned me to frantically search their phones, presumably to google images of the woman from the race and compare.
Okay. This was embarrassing. I hadn’t really expected the marathon to come up, and it was throwing me a little. Time to wrest control back.
“I’m here to introduce Dakota Young,” I said. “Lise Motors CEO andCar and Driver’s Woman of the Year.”
“She’s not Sad Crawler,” a man in a baseball cap shouted. “She’s Princess Fountain Oops!”
“Ooooooh,” the crowd breathed, the name clearly striking a chord.
Excuse me. Princess Fountain—what?
I lowered my mouth to the microphone. “Reporter, please explain.”
