I deliver that line with saccharine sweetness, which shuts him up and draws more laughter from the crowd. Juliette gives me a thumbs up as nosy-ass Bob slumps in his chair, chastised.
“Once again,” I say pointedly, “Miles and I are friends. We dated some last summer, but when he was traded, we decided we would only be friends. We support each other’s careers, but that’s it. You see, I can’t be involved with Miles because I’m in love with someone else.” That proclamation gets some gasps.
“Who is it?” a reporter asks from the back.
“His name is Phoenix Hale.”
The room goes silent for a moment and then bursts into an uproar with everyone yelling. Apparently one of the Hale brothers being taken off the market is very exciting news to the press.
“From the cosmetics family?” one of the women asks, her voice rising above the noise.
I nod at her, and everyone begins to quiet. “Yes, he’s the marketing director for Hale Cosmetics.” I can literally hear the tapping of thumbs on phones as they take notes. “Before anyone asks, Phoenix is thirty-two, and I’m twenty-three. That’s nine years difference for thoseof you who don’t want to do the math.” I receive smiles from a few of the reporters in the crowd.
“I believe that love is love. Sometimes it comes at you from a direction you weren’t expecting, and that’s okay. Sometimes the person is older or younger than you, or the same sex as you, and that’s okay too.”
“Are you afraid he’s dating you for your money and status?” a woman in the third row asks, and I shoot her anare you fucking kidding me?look.
“Phoenix is a billionaire, and I’m far from it, so that’s going to be a no,” I say to the idiot, and I hear a snort from behind me. Pretty sure that was Liz Weston.
I pull my ponytail over my shoulder and smooth the ends against the chest of my Dragons polo shirt. “I spoke with team owners, Lavinia and Winslow Harrington, a couple days ago. Did you know they have an eleven year age gap?” A few people raise their eyebrows. “They’re also an interracial couple and received a lot of criticism in the beginning of their relationship. Now they’ve been married for almost forty years.”
A hint of a teasing smile crosses my lips. “Again, for the math-impaired people, that age gap is two more than mine and Phoenix’s, and I don’t hear anyone criticizing the Harringtons.”
“How long have you been dating?” a man standing at the back asks.
“We met in May of this year when I came in to discuss my ad campaign with Hale Cosmetics. It was a rough start because I didn’t like him much at first.” I glance offstage to see Phoenix laughing, and I wink at him before speaking into the mic again. “But then I got to know him. We had a few platonic business-related dinners together, and the more time I spent with him, the more I softened. I found him to be kind and funny. He supports my career one hundred percent.” I look at him again, and my heart wants to burst. “Phoenix Hale is a wonderful man, and I couldn’t imagine my life withouthim.”
He makes heart hands at me, and I do it back, drawing the interest of the reporters. A few of them stand and crane their necks, trying to see backstage.
“Is Phoenix here today?” one of them asks eagerly.
“He is,” I say. “Would you like him to come out so you can see what all the fuss is about?”
Every single reporter nods in unison like a gaggle of bobblehead dolls, and I turn to give my man a questioning look. He’s grinning as he steps up onto the stage and into full view. And what a view it is.
Phoenix is in a designer navy-blue suit that hugs him like a second skin. His hair is styled to perfection, and his dimples are on full display. He’s wearing a lavender-and-white polka-dot tie over a crisp, white shirt.
A reporter on the front row looks from Phoenix to me and says, loudly, “Goddamn, Jordie. I don’t blame you.” That earns laughter and some applause, mostly from the females in the room.
“Yes, I know,” I say smugly as my man preens, striking a couple GQ poses like he’s in some kind of man auction. A guy catcalls from the back, and I crane my neck to see who it is. Fucking Reno.
That only encourages Phoenix, who lifts the hem of his pants suggestively to show off his polka-dot socks and a little bit of leg. Someone whistles. This time, it’s Bubba.
I rub my forehead and shake my head, laughing. “And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. If you don’t fall for a man who matches his socks to his tie, what are you even doing?”
The mood in the room is so much lighter now that everyone can see Phoenix’s charisma. And yes, his good looks too, though his personality is the star of the show.
“Phoenix, do you have any brothers?” one of the women in the audience yells, and he laughs.
“I have two, but one is taken. The dashing Remington Hale is still single though, ladies.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I see at least five women typing on their phones.
“Phoenix!” Someone else calls and he raises both hands.
“Sorry, I’m not taking any more questions. I’m just here to be the eye candy for my beautiful lady.” His loving eyes meet mine. “This is her show, and she’s fully capable of handling you rowdy folks. Because she can do anything.”
There areawwwsfrom the crowd as he crosses and kisses the top of my head. “I love you. You’re doing great,” he whispers. And thenhe’s gone. The room seems more relaxed now after Phoenix’s tension-breaking antics.
“Any more questions?” I ask, and a man in a brown suit lifts his pen.
