“Ayo.” His voice dropped, harder than it had been all afternoon, and Kennedi's ears pricked up before she could help it. “I don't care what he’s talking about. Tell that nigga the answer is no. He had his chance to get right, and he played with it. That conversation is dead.”
A pause. She kept her eyes on the monitor, pretending she wasn't listening. But she was listening to every syllable.
“Nah, nah. If he got a problem, I’ll be more than happy to revisit it in person, but for now I’m on legit business, respect that.” His voice was calm, but the edge underneath it was real enough that the sound guy glanced up from his phone. Derek found something interesting on the ceiling to look at.
Another pause. Then a low laugh that had nothing funny in it. “Exactly. I thought so. We done?... Aight.”
He pocketed the phone and looked up at Kennedi like nothing had happened. “Are we good to go?”
She studied him a second longer than she should have. The man who had just delivered smooth, network-friendly answers had switched into someone else entirely on that call. Voice harder, posture different, energy that said he went from boardroom to block in the span of a phone call and back again without breaking a sweat.
She didn’t know why her thighs pressed together under her notebook. She filed that reaction away under things to never, ever acknowledge.
“Yeah. We’re good. One more angle.”
He stood and rolled his neck, the movement pulling his shirt across his shoulders and chest. The crown tattoo peeked from under his sleeve when he stretched his arm overhead. She saw it and looked away. He saw her staring and smiled.
The second angle went smoothly. He gave his answers, she asked her questions, and the professional framework held. On the surface.
Between takes, Rolani filled the empty space. He stood too close when she showed him the monitor. His hand found the back of her chair when he leaned in to watch the playback, his thumb grazing the fabric near her shoulder. He asked her questions that had nothing to do with the interview.
“Where’d you learn all this? The camera angles and shit.”
“School. Then, ten years in newsrooms. It’s not just about angles; it’s about questions that uncover the core issues.”
“You miss it? The newsroom life?”
“Sometimes. The pace. The pressure.” She adjusted the monitor, hyper-aware of his proximity. “Being the first person to break a story. That rush is hard to replicate.”
“I know that rush.” His voice dropped, and the double meaning wasn’t subtle. “Hard to let go of once you’ve had it.”
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond to that without going somewhere; this conversation had no business going on in a professional setting.
“B-roll,” she announced, louder than necessary. “Derek, let’s get him walking through the set, interacting with the backdrop. Rolani, just be natural. Pretend the camera isn’t there.”
“I’ve been pretending shit ain’t there all day.” He said it under his breath, but she heard it. He wanted her to hear it.
The camera followed him, and Kennedi watched the monitor, directing Derek with small hand gestures.
He stopped at the workbench prop, picked up a wrench that was bolted down, and gave the camera a look that saidyou see this bullshit?Derek laughed behind the lens.
“That’s a wrap,” Kennedi said. “That's exactly what I needed.”
He drifted closer as she reviewed the playback, standing just close enough to be felt without touching. She stayed focused on the monitor, refusing to acknowledge how aware she was of him.
Derek powered down. The sound guy was already packing.
Rolani didn’t move right away. He leaned against the workbench, arms folded, watching her do the thing she did when she was uncomfortable. He was learning her tells. The notebook was a prop at this point, and they both knew it.
“So.” He pushed off the bench and closed the distance between them with three unhurried steps. “How’d I do, boss lady?”
“Everything turned out good. Clean takes. The network will be happy.”
“That ain’t what I asked.” He stood in front of her now, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “I asked howIdid.”
Its specificity made her pulse jump. He wasn’t asking about the interview. He was asking if she saw him. If the last two hours had moved whatever this was between them in any direction.
“You were...” She searched for the safe word. Professional. Adequate. Fine. “Surprising.”
