There was a long pause. A pause she didn’t feel the desire to fill.
“Why isn’t this a normal day?” Jack finally asked.
“Because you’re here making me relax.” She turned her head toward him, opening her eyes the barest of millimeters. Jack, in her backyard, sitting in the morning light, did not suck. The angle of his clean-shaven jaw made her fingers itch to reach over and touch the skin there. Apparently, this pull to him was something that would not be going away.
Which was a bummer and a complication. But something she’d manage. She always managed.
“How doyouusually start your mornings?” April asked.
A slip of a lopsided grin settled on his mouth. “I’m in the office before the sun. But I watch it through the windows of my office sometimes.”
April closed her eyes again, letting her mind settle on the grass blades between her toes. Feeling the cool pull of gravity and wishing every moment could be like this one. “You work a lot.”
“I love what I do.” He paused for another long moment. “That’s why I came here to Denver.”
April was being handled. She knew it. Understood it. And, also, hated it more than a little. Yet, oddly, on some level she appreciated Jack’s handling. Now, how could she appreciate it and also hate it? Well, that was one of those great mysteries of emotion.
But Jack’s physical presence made her feel as though she were truly part of a team.
Sure, she had friends. And, to some extent, her parents. But it’d been awhile since she really felt like part of ateam.
She sat taller, reaching for her mug that he’d held onto for her and cradling it in her palms, ready to move on to the next part of her day. She sipped the delicate herbal brew.
Jack lifted his coffee mug to his lips. “The team can monitor your comments this morning.”
She stilled mid-swallow, the chamomile suddenly too hot against her tongue. She shook her head, swallowing it down. “I sort of have to. I have to respond to things.”
He gave a subtle head shake. “Comments get in your head.”
“I’m already in my head.” And wasn’t that just the truth?
“Not just now.” He gestured to her backyard with his cup. “I don’t know where you were just now, but you were not thinking about comments that will only drag you down.”
“At least my numbers are up.” They were, too. She’d taken a teensy tiny peek at her follower numbers, and they were better than they’d ever been. The apology video had worked.
Because it wasn’t live, and there wasn’t an opportunity to muck it up.
“Mm-hmm.” He made the sound deep in his throat. “Numbers are up.”
“Do you think they’re just following me hoping I’ll mess up again?” She scratched at the bridge of her nose.
“Maybe.” He moved his head from side to side in thought. “Our initial statement helped, but we need to do more to really get you back on track. Find you a cause. Deflect. Get good media out there—directed and well placed—to draw attention away from the video.”
Huh. He hadn’t even brought upPractical Parentingyet. She’d been waiting for him to broach that subject, since that was the one he seemed to be most interested in yesterday.
“What kind of cause?” Because here’s the thing, April was very much into giving back and paying it forward. She’d subscribed to karmic law long before she knew it had a name.
However.
She wasn’t at all into using philanthropy as an angle for her career. The whole idea left a sour taste in her mouth and, instead of grounded, her feet just felt dirty.
“Pick something that accents with your brand. Adds value to what you’re doing.”
That didn’t sound very altruistic.
“Ideally, it would be something you’re already involved in,” he said. “We need to get it rolling quickly—”
“I don’t know that I feel comfortable with this.” She held up a hand.
