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“I’m up for it.” She didn’t look at me right away. When she did, she managed a smile that almost reached her eyes. “You’re the one who has to talk. I just have to sit there and make sure you don’t say anything that’ll be clipped and twisted.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee. I didn’t need it. I hated being nervous and that was exactly what I felt. Cameras I could handle. A lens didn’t ask follow-up questions.

“Any tips? This is the part I hate. Looking good is easy. Sounding like a person with thoughts is the hard part.”

“You’ll be fine.” She set the mug down and came over, smoothing the collar of my shirt. “Just be yourself. You’re pretty likable when you forget you’re supposed to be impressive.”

“High praise.”

“Take it.” Her hands stayed on my chest. “Answer what they ask. Don’t fill silence just to fill it. And if you don’t know something, say you don’t know. Charm doesn’t replace honesty.”

“I’m always honest.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I embellish,” I corrected. “Selectively.”

That got a real smile. I bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. For a second she leaned into it. Then she stepped back and grabbed her coat.

“Try not to look like you’re walking into a firing squad,” she said.

The interview was in a boutique hotel in the village. I tugged at my collar as we walked through the lobby, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety lodged in my stomach.

“You’re fidgeting,” Lucy said beside me.

I dropped my hand.

“You’ll be fine,” she said for at least the third time that morning.

The interview setup was in a private room off the main lobby. The lighting resembled a photoshoot. There were two comfortable chairs arranged to look casual but were obviously positioned for the cameras. The interviewer was a woman named Marissa. She represented one of the biggest fashion magazines in Europe. Sebastian had prepped me on her style. She was known for asking unexpected questions, digging beneath the surface.

Just what I didn’t want.

Lucy found a spot off to the side, out of frame but close enough that I could see her if I glanced over. She gave me a small nod of encouragement as I settled into my chair. We’d gone over signals. If I got a sticky question, she’d signal for me to gloss over it. I did not want to be a gif, a meme, or any of the other things that would turn me into a joke online.

“Ready when you are,” Marissa said, crossing her legs and picking up her tablet.

“Let’s do it.”

The camera light turned red.

“Jeremy Blackwell,” Marissa began, her accent giving my name an elegant twist. “Thank you for joining us. The Blackwell Couture campaign has been making waves across the fashion world. How does it feel to be at the center of such a massive project?”

Easy question. I could handle easy questions. I gave her the response we’d practiced. The words flowed.

“The images from Alaska were particularly striking,” Marissa said. “What was that experience like?”

“Cold.” I laughed. “No, but seriously, it was challenging and amazing. We were all pushed to our limits, but that’s what made the images so great. You can feel the rawness of the environment in every shot.”

“And now Switzerland. Another cold location.”

“What can I say? Apparently, I’m drawn to frostbite.”

Charming worked. I could do this. I risked a glance at Lucy. She was watching the monitor and then looked at me, nodding once. All good.

“Let’s talk about your family for a moment,” Marissa said. “The Blackwells are, of course, one of the most prominent names in fashion. Your uncle founded the brand that your cousins now run and your parents are Hollywood royalty. Your cousins in Chicago are kings of the business world. How has growing up in such a famous family shaped your career?”

“It’s been both a blessing and a challenge. On one hand, I’ve had access to opportunities that most people can only dream of. On the other hand, there’s always the pressure of living up to the family name. I’ve worked hard to carve out my own path.”