7. Marcus
Marcus
By the second interview of the morning, I realize Sloane has started anticipating the press before they finish asking the question. Not the general direction of it. The exact angle.
Which reporter is looking for a headline instead of an answer, which one wants a reaction, and which one thinks sounding conversational makes them less obvious when they’re digging for blood.
She reads all of it almost instantly. And worse, she’s good enough at redirecting them that half the room doesn’t even notice she’s doing it.
The studio overlooking downtown is smaller than the first appearance, but louder.
Production assistants move between cameras carrying clipboards and coffee, someone argues quietly near the lighting rig, and three different screens behind the stage cycle through graphics featuring Crossridge, the Crossridge Events Foundation, and photos from the charity appearance earlier that morning.
Including one of me touching Sloane’s back while guiding her away from a glare bouncing off the display glass.
That photo is apparently everywhere now.
Dana warned us about it in the elevator on the way up.
Protective Billionaire Energy was the phrase she used before Sloane threatened to take her phone away.
The internet remains deeply embarrassing.
“You’re staring at the monitors again,” Sloane says beside me without looking up from her tablet.
“I’m assessing damage.”
“That implies concern.”
“There’s concern,” I admit.
“About the company?”
“About the internet,” I say, because that answer is safer.
That earns the faintest shift at the corner of her mouth before she smooths it away. “Unfortunately, the internet appears emotionally invested in us now.”
Us. The word sounds strange coming from her. Not soft or intimate, just functional.
Dana steps toward us, holding two coffees. “Good news. The morning segment from earlier is trending with business accounts instead of entertainment pages.”
“Meaning?” Sloane asks.
“Meaning people are discussing investor stability instead of your relationship dynamic.”
I take the coffee Dana offers me. “And the bad news?”
Dana hesitates just long enough to tell me I’m not going to enjoy whatever follows.
“The charity photos are spreading faster than the interview clips.”
Sloane closes her eyes briefly.
Dana scrolls through her phone. “Apparently, the photos from the event made you both look ‘suspiciously real.’”
“That phrase should be illegal,” Sloane mutters.
I shouldn’t find her irritation amusing, but I do anyway.
A producer appears near the stage entrance. “We’re ready for you in two.”
Sloane immediately shifts focus, sliding the tablet beneath her arm as she turns toward me. “This host likes conversational traps. He’ll soften the tone before he pivots.”
“I noticed.”
“He’ll probably ask about the kiss.”
“Everyone asks about the kiss.”
“Yes, but he’ll try to make it sound personal instead of strategic.”
Her gaze lifts fully to mine for the first time since we walked into the studio. Calm, direct, and entirely too aware.
“If he pushes,” she says, “don’t engage emotionally.”
“I don’t engage emotionally.”
The look she gives me says she finds that statement deeply questionable. Before I can decide whether to be offended by that, the producer gestures us toward the stage.
The audience is small. Mostly staff, a few invited donors connected to the Crossridge Events Foundation, and two rows of local business sponsors positioned just off-camera to make the room feel fuller than it actually is.
The lights overhead are bright enough to warm the back of my neck by the time we sit.
Sloane settles beside me with the kind of effortless composure that would look natural to anyone who doesn’t know how much work control actually requires. I’m starting to realize hers requires more than she lets people see.
The host, Elliot Marsh, smiles as the cameras go live.
“Welcome back. We’re joined this morning by Marcus Vale and Sloane Parker from The Crossridge Group, who have certainly had an interesting week.”
Sloane smiles politely. “That’s one word for it.”
A few people in the audience laugh.
Elliot grins wider, encouraged. “I imagine you’re both looking forward to a quieter news cycle.”
“That would depend entirely on whether people stop inventing new theories every six minutes,” Sloane replies.
Some more laughter.
I glance at her briefly.
She doesn’t look at me, but I can see the shift in the room already. She’s disarming them. Making herself approachable enough that the audience relaxes before she tightens control again. It’s strategic. It’s also impressive.
Elliot leans forward slightly. “You’ve both been appearing together constantly since the press conference. Has that been difficult?”
“No,” Sloane says smoothly. “Mostly repetitive.”
That gets another laugh.
He turns to me. “And you agree?”
“I think Sloane has developed a personal vendetta against microphones.”
“That is not inaccurate,” she says.
This time she does look at me, and for half a second the exchange feels less like media training and more like something dangerously close to familiarity. The cameras catch it immediately. They notice everything.
Elliot notices too. “You two seem very comfortable together.”
There’s the pivot. Softened exactly the way Sloane predicted.
“We work well together,” she says.
“And personally?” he asks.
Sloane’s posture doesn’t change, but I know immediately she’s choosing her next words more carefully. Not uncertainty. Calculation. Deciding how much distance the answer needs.
Before she can respond, he continues casually, “Because people online are very convinced that whatever happened at that press conference was not entirely for show.”
The audience reacts immediately—quiet laughter along with renewed attention. People are leaning in instead of pulling back.
Sloane inhales quietly. I know that sound now. It means she’s choosing her next move carefully.
“The internet,” she says evenly, “has never met a situation it couldn’t overanalyze.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No,” I say before she can, “but it does answer why the question exists.”
He turns toward me.
“So the kiss was strategic?”
“It was public,” I say.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Beside me, Sloane shifts slightly, enough that her knee brushes mine beneath the small studio table. It was most likely accidental, but the contact sends a jolt of electricity through me.
“The situation required clarity,” I continue. “That’s what we provided.”
Elliot studies us for a moment. “You both sound very aligned.”
“We are aligned,” Sloane says.
The answer comes quickly. Something about that catches my attention, though I’m not entirely sure why.
Elliot smiles. “That almost sounded defensive.”
“It wasn’t,” Sloane replies calmly. “It was accurate.”
Again, the room subtly aligns toward her, and I’m beginning to understand why she’s so effective in crisis situations.
People underestimate her because she sounds controlled instead of loud.
They mistake composure for softness right up until she redirects the entire conversation without them noticing where they lost control of it.
Elliot glances down at his notes again. “There’s also been speculation about whether this relationship changes the internal dynamics at Crossridge.”
“It hasn’t,” Sloane replies immediately.
“And you’re confident about that?”
“Yes.”
Elliot hesitates briefly before pushing further. “What about perceptions internally?”
“That’s manageable.”
He tilts his head. “Manageable?”
Sloane starts to answer, but I already know where the question is heading. Toward her. Toward whether she can still lead communications objectively now that she’s become part of the story herself.
I cut in before he gets there.
“The internal structure at Crossridge hasn’t changed,” I say. “Sloane still runs communications because she’s the best person in the company at it. That’s not a complicated conversation internally unless someone is looking for one.”
Sloane’s head turns slightly toward me, and the audience probably reads the look as chemistry. It isn’t. It’s annoyance. Possibly frustration. Lately, the difference is getting harder to read.
Elliot smiles carefully. “You seem very protective of her.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward, but it carries weight. Sloane’s fingers stay loosely wrapped around the pen in her hand while the audience waits and the cameras linger for a reaction.
I answer before the pause stretches long enough to become useful to anyone else.
“I’m protective of the company,” I say evenly. “And Sloane is important to the company.”
The answer is clean, professional, and technically true. It still feels insufficient the second it leaves my mouth. Sloane looks forward again before I can fully read her expression.
“Crossridge employs over eight thousand people,” she says smoothly. “The company functions because talented people are trusted to do their jobs well. That hasn’t changed.”
Elliot nods slowly, but I can see it in his face now. He’s losing ground. Sloane sees it too.
The interview shifts after that. More questions about The Crossridge Events Foundation. About expansion plans. About community investment. Safer territory, though the cameras continue drifting toward us whenever one of us speaks while the other watches.
I notice it. So does Sloane. Neither of us acknowledges it.
By the time the segment wraps, the audience is applauding lightly while Elliot thanks us for coming on.
The second the cameras cut, the atmosphere loosens around the edges.
Staff start moving again. Producers talk over one another.
Someone from makeup rushes past holding powder brushes like medical equipment.
Sloane reaches automatically for the microphone clipped near the collar of her dress, but the wire has twisted beneath the edge of the fabric and caught in the loose strands of hair near her shoulder.