“Conference room,” I said. “Glass walls. Visibility. You can hold the hall.”
That settled it. They nodded and peeled off. Once Mallory was inside the room, I closed the door behind us and took a deep breath of the coffee filling the air. The hints of grease and pastries underscored it. But then, all I’d asked for were coffees and breakfast sandwiches.
Mallory exhaled—not shaky, not dramatic. Just the controlled release of someone who’d been holding tension in reserve.
“He’s in D.C.,” she said, preempting the question. “They called him last night, he was briefing first thing this morning.”
“I figured.”
She studied my face. “You don’t look surprised.”
“I’m not.” I passed her one of the coffees before taking a long drink of my own. The frothy milk helped my stomach. At the rate I was popping antacids, the coffee was going to eat a hole through me before anything else.
That earned me a look—sharp, assessing. “What are you thinking?” No accusation, but a weighted measurement of my observational skills. If I were younger, I’d have preened under that idea of her approval—of her interest.
“I don’t think anything Brewster does isn’t calculated for maximum effect whether it’s talking to his bosses, making a grocery list, or rearranging pieces on a chess board.”
She considered that. Then: “That’s not comforting.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t have any pretty platitudes to offer her. “It’s not meant to be.”
I waved her to a seat as I shifted to the wall of monitors. It wasn’t quite the control room in the studio, but it definitely gave us a full view of everything running at the moment.
The studio below was already buzzing—producers whispering, assistants moving with rehearsed urgency, screens lit with half-built graphics and rolling metrics. Just a glance at the screens told me that her presence in the building had been noted. People straightened, shot glances at the elevators, and checked their phones. They knew she was here and were waiting for their first look.
Power did that. Then again, so did danger.
Around us, the glass walls gave us the illusion of privacy without actually granting it—at least from prying eyes. The triple-paned glass was soundproof. Mallory set her bag down and rolled her shoulders once, loosening tension she’d been carrying too long.
“You’re quiet,” she said before she finally took a drink of her coffee, though she ignored my invitation to sit. Despite the fact she wasn’t pacing, there was a kind of frenetic energy surrounding her.
“I’m thinking.”
“That usually means trouble.”
“Usually,” I agreed.
She turned to face me fully then, arms crossing—not defensively, but to anchor herself. The dress she’d worn on air yesterday was gone, replaced by tailored black slacks and a silk blouse she hadn’t bothered to button all the way. Professional. Composed.
Still dangerous.
“I know what they’re saying,” she said quietly. “About me.”
“Of course you do.” If she had tried to say the least surprising thing to me, that would have been it.
“They think I’m bait.” Hard to tell what she thought of that assessment, but the wrinkle of her nose said dislike was definitely topping the list.
“They think you’re leverage,” I corrected. Then flipped open the takeout boxes to pull out the grilled ham, cheese, and egg stuffed sandwich that smelled like heaven’s best of bad decisions. “There’s a difference.”
Her mouth tightened. “That’s worse.”
“Yes.” I glanced at her just in time to catch her making a face at me. Amused, I took a bite of one of the sandwiches, careful to not let any of the grease get on my shirt. In fact, I paused to wipeoff my fingers and toss my tie back so it didn’t hang down, then leaned over the containers.
Better. Silence settled—not awkward, not empty. Charged. This was the line I’d shut years ago, one I’d sworn I wouldn’t cross. Hadn’t when I’d been married. Wouldn’t when she’d been involved and I got divorced. Kept it delineated clearly when I took the job and she started working for me.
“Eat,” I said, washing down a bite with coffee.
“Not really hungry,” she murmured, but she did sip her coffee as she began a slow pace of the conference room.
