“Sure. You, too,” she says evenly, but I know she’s pleased.
Taylor steps forward. “And I’m Taylor,” she says.
Angie and Taylor shake hands as they exchange smiles. I greet Taylor, too, but my eyes quickly move back to Elliot.
Recovered, he looks even more youthful. Clearly younger than me when we stand next to each other, I realize. Although no one will be looking at us and thinking about it that way, hopefully.
“You look like you’re doing well,” I tell him. “I can barely shower without needing a nap.”
“I’ll likely collapse again in a few hours,” Elliot answers. “Did you get these canned responses?” he adds, indignant.
“At least it’s all fairly bland. And they say this press conference will put an end to the media speculation.”
I assume Elliot must want that, too, since he’s here. He’s not inclined to do favors for his family, although he did text that the return home has him feeling sentimental.
Taylor flips through her phone. “I’ve been monitoring social media so Elliot doesn’t have to. It’s generally positive since the rescue. People who thought you dismembered each other have been proven wrong.Gay cannibalseven stopped trending.”
Elliot smiles at me again, but I don’t let my guard down. His father is nearby, and I can hear media filing in through the front entrance.
He reaches out, carefully resting a hand on my elbow to comfort me. “Don’t worry,” he says. “This will be easy. You’re a professional, and I know how to keep up appearances when I need to.”
It’s at that moment that his father emerges around the corner. My boss, Darryl Peterson, has on a suit fit for a funeral, and there’s a severe cut to his serious expression.
“There you both are,” he says, and Elliot has already retrieved his hand.
His father can’t know what happened between us. I have to act normal, even though moving away from Elliot bothers me.
“Mr. Peterson,” Angie says.
“Hi, Dad,” Elliot says blankly, and Taylor looks up from her phone with a nod.
“Hi, Darryl.”
He frowns, clearly not like being called that by one of his son’s friends, but turns his attention to me and Elliot. “You received the talking points?”
“Received,” I confirm. It’s in my nature to be polite, and the man is my boss, but I also now know that he’s been a poor father to Elliot. It clouds my usual sense of professional respect.
“It’s been a horrible fright for everyone involved,” he says, not convincingly. “We’ll be grateful to you both when we finish this press conference and never have to think about it again.”
“Sure,” Angie says. “Move forward the healthy way.”
He doesn’t catch her sarcasm, but both Elliot and Taylor have to hide their smiles.
“Some quick words from the crisis management team,” he mutters. “And we’ll begin.”
Once we’re brought to the PR professionals and separated from Angie and Taylor, Elliot and I don’t get another chance to talk. A barrage of rapid-fire instructions come at us, and when we’re marched out to the conference room, my stomach drops.
The room is packed. Countless cameras are pointed our way, and there’s a buzz of conversation that quiets as we walk to the long table.
Terrifying. And I am not at all prepared for this. I look to Elliot, and he raises up a half smile.
“It will be over in no time,” he says quietly.
I breathe deeply and sit with him at the table.
Being next to Elliot does help. Being a team with him helps in ways I can’t begin to understand. But with my boss waiting backstage and a room full of international media recording us, that’s something to think about later.
This is no different than a corporate presentation, I tell myself.
