He looked up at her. “What’s what?”
“Your cologne.” She kept her tone casual, like she was asking about the weather and not inhaling this man like oxygen. “I noticed it on the plane.”
His eyebrows rose slowly, and that grin spread across his face as if he had just been handed a gift. “So you’ve been thinking about how I smell since yesterday?”
“I asked a simple question.”
“Azzaro. The Most Wanted.” He leaned back on the stool, completely at ease. “That’s mine on your brain now.”
She shook her head. The laugh escaped anyway. “Well, it smells good, it fits you.”
“Was that a compliment, Kennedi?”
She grabbed the lapel mic from the cart just to give her hands something to do that wasn’t strangling him. “Can I?” She held it up, gesturing toward his collar.
He leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his thighs, giving her access. “Go ahead.”
Her fingers worked the clip onto his collar. She’d mic’d hundreds of interview subjects. Senators, athletes, CEOs. Her hands never shook. But his chest was right there, rising and falling slowly. She fumbled the clip once, caught it, and pressed it into place. His cologne was going to be a problem for the rest of this shoot as it attacked her senses again.
“You good?” His voice was low, close enough that she felt the vibration of it in her own chest.
“Fine.” She stepped back quickly, smoothing her hands down her pants. “We’re going to start with the partnership, how you and Giovanni built Customs. Then we’ll talk about the show, the premiere, and what it means for the brand. Standard promo stuff.”
“Cool.”
“I need you to answer in full sentences. Don’t just say yes or no. Repeat the question in your answer so we can edit around my voice if we need to.”
He studied her while she talked, his head tilted, watching her with open fascination. She’d seen that look on the plane—thatquiet intensity that had nothing to do with the words being said and everything to do with the woman saying them.
“You hear me?”
“I hear you.” His eyes didn’t move from her face. “Damn, you run a strict program, don’t you?”
“When I’m working? Yes.”
“I like it.”
She ignored that and turned to the cameraman. “Derek, are we good?”
“Rolling whenever you are.”
Kennedi settled into the chair across from Rolani, crossed her legs, and opened her notebook. The red light blinked on. She shifted into journalist mode, her spine straightening, her voice dropping into that professional register she’d spent years perfecting.
“Tell us about Customs by Giovanni and what viewers can expect from the show.”
He gave her the answers. Good ones, clean, she could chop into fifteen-second clips for Instagram and trailers. He talked about business, the vision, and how the show captured the culture behind the cars. He stayed on script, hit every talking point, and looked good doing it. The camera loved him. That part wasn’t surprising.
What surprised her was his discipline. On the plane, he’d been all charm mixed with chaos. Here, with the red light on, he was measured. Controlled. He gave exactly what was needed and nothing more. She recognized that. The ability to perform without revealing. She did it herself every time she was on camera.
“And what does the premiere tomorrow mean for you personally?” she asked.
“The premiere means the work paid off. Simple as that.”
She made a note to revisit that question later, off camera, for TKL.
“Cut. Let’s reset for the next angle.”
Derek adjusted the camera position while the sound guy checked levels. Kennedi stood and walked behind the monitor to review the footage, scrolling through the playback with her pen between her teeth. Rolani stayed on the stool, pulling out his phone.
