By the time Kevin knocked and stepped into her office, Hillary had already worn a path into her carpet with all her pacing.
He was polite as ever—professional smile, folder in hand—but there was a seriousness about him that made her throat dry.
“Thanks for making the time,” he said, settling into the chair across from her desk. “I won’t keep you long.”
“Of course.” She folded her hands on the desk, hoping they wouldn’t shake. “What’s going on?”
Kevin glanced down at his folder, hesitated, then simply came out with it. “These were sent to me.”
He slid a few printed photos across the desk.
Hillary’s heart stopped.
Grainy, slightly blurry, but unmistakable: her, on a bench at the dog park. Murphy’s hand on her cheek. Her arms around his neck. Both of them leaning in, kissing like the world had disappeared.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
Kevin’s voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the weight in it. “I don’t know who took them or why they ended up on my desk, but as you can imagine, this is . . . complicated.”
Her mind raced. PR instinct screamed one thing, her heart another. The last place she ever wanted this conversation was here, under fluorescent lights, with an HR file folder on her desk.
Kevin’s voice was steady, reassuring, as though he could see the storm behind her eyes.
“You know this better than anyone, relationships inside the organization are allowed, as long as they’re disclosed. You and Murphy aren’t even on the same wing. All it takes is filing with HR.”
Hillary’s lips pulled into something that was supposed to be a smile but felt rough, thin. Her stomach flipped. “Then I have something to tell you,” she admitted, the words scraping on the way out.
Kevin’s expression softened, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’ll make a note of it. Honestly, I just wanted to put this in your hands. You’re head of PR. It’s more your territory than mine.”
She exhaled, relief tangled with nerves.
Then came the knock. Sharp. Sudden.
Kevin glanced toward the door, but Hillary already knew who it was.
“Sasha,” she murmured as the door swung open.
Her second-in-command slipped in, eyes bright and curious, a phone in her hand. “Hope I’m not interrupting—” Her gaze flicked between Hillary and Kevin, and something in her expression sharpened.
Hillary straightened in her chair, bracing.
Kevin waved Sasha in, and she didn’t hesitate, she was already halfway through the door with her phone in hand. “Okay, so if these pictures start spreading, we need a game plan. I’ve got alerts set on socials, but they’re still contained for now. Kevin, you saw the same grainy version I did?”
Kevin nodded, already leaning forward to pull a notepad closer. “It’s nothing definitive, but the speculation will heat up fast if it gets traction.”
The two of them fell into a rhythm with Sasha outlining possible angles, Kevin scribbling notes and tossing out policy reminders. It was neat, efficient, and clinical.
Hillary barely heard them.
She sat there, back straight in her chair, nails digging into her palms, the edges of their voices muffled by the roar in her head. This was her nightmare. Grainy pictures. Speculation.Her private life—the one thing she kept fiercely guarded—was bleeding out into the public, where it could be twisted into a thousand ugly shapes.
Sasha’s voice cut through the fog: “ . . . we can preemptively push wholesome content if we need to, but the safest first step is to keep it quiet. Let it die before it grows.”
Kevin nodded again. “Agreed. If it escalates, we have policies in place to protect both parties.”
Both parties. Hillary wanted to laugh, except there was nothing funny about any of this.Protect both parties.As if there was a shield big enough to stop the internet once it decided to tear something apart.
Her pulse raced. She tried to breathe, to ground herself, but her chest felt too tight. This was the nightmare she’d been dreading from the moment she kissed him back at the gala.
