“Crisis averted,” she muses. “Although, it’s a crisis that should not have happened in the first place.”
“That is the nature of most crises, right?”
Branson gives me a stern look. I try not to flinch.
“I’m glad progress has been made,” she relents. “However, that’s not the only thing I was hoping to discuss privately with you.”
“Oh! Sure.” Once again, my upbeat tone and persistent smile don’t manage to crack her shell, but I’m still holding out hope.
She adjusts in the chair, recrossing her legs. “It’s regarding the fraternization clause.”
It’s a miracle that the sudden spike of panic I feel doesn’t wipe the smile clean off my face. It’s barely been forty-eight hours since I spread my legs for Hale and then had sex with Noah all in the same day.
Thankfully, the aftermath of the livestream situation has kept me busy enough that I haven’t been able to overthink it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not carrying around a whole bucket of shame regarding the insane scenario.
“What about it?” I ask.
“It seems that the public has caught on to the fact that you’re temporarily staying on the mezzanine level.”
“I noticed that, too.” Just some comments here and there, nosy chronically-online types who dig way too deep into things.
It’s not a big deal, though. At least, not from what I’ve seen.
Branson sighs. “It’s generating quite a lot of attention.”
I attempt another winning smile. “That’s the point, no?”
“There’s a trending hashtag,” she remarks, ignoring my comment. “Who knew, in this day and age, that hashtags were still relevant?”
“What do you mean? I haven’t seen—”
“The phrase is #AllThree.”
My stomach does a nosedive, but I manage a weak laugh. “Pardon?”
“It seems that a growing percentage of viewers have latched onto your dynamic with the Save A Hero trio.”
I resist the urge to reach for my phone and search for confirmation myself. This is something Lou would have definitely picked up on and alerted me to, right? Except we’ve both been so consumed by the livestream cleanup…
All three… yeah, I wish.
No! No, you fucking don’t,I remind myself.Don’t be ridiculous.
“I’m glad I’ve been able to build a friendly rapport with the heroes and that it’s shone through on camera,” I state as professionally as possible. “That’s the goal, after all—to humanize Station 47 and guide the narrative back to the incredible work they accomplish every day.”
Branson’s frown only deepens. “Except instead of guiding the narrative toward that, it’s swinging around in the opposite direction into a romantic speculation circus. Obviously, that’s a problem.”
“Absolutely. One hundred percent.”
“I think you’re a smart woman, but I want to make sure I’m crystal clear. The union will not tolerate a scandal involving the captain, a paramedic, a rookie, and an independent contractor living under the same roof as them. The optics are—”
“Really bad,” I finish for her, just so she knows I’m on the same page. “Catastrophic. I know.”
“It doesn’t matter if nothing inappropriate has truly happened,” she continues. “If there is so much attention on the possibility that somethingmighthappen…”
“Nothing has happened,” I lie. “Absolutely nothing inappropriate at all.”
I hate lying. Especially to my fellow career women. Kate Branson might be a bad omen at Station 47, but I can’t imagine it’s been easy for her to build her way up to such a powerful position in a male-dominated field. Public relations has less gender disparity, but still. The last thing I want to do is disappoint her. It would feel too much like disappointing every other woman on earth.
