1. Walter #2
“It’s ancient history.” Walter rearranged his silverware so he wouldn’t have to look Corinne in the eye.
“You’re both super over it,” she said with a faux-wistful sigh. “It’s inspiring.”
Derek cleared his throat. “Incoming.”
Hildy’s dress was closer to gray than silver at this distance, like dolphin skin—or the sky before a storm. What a useful observation, when Walter should have been bracing for impact. Somebody needed to slap some sense into him.
Hildy would probably volunteer.
His thoughts skidded backward, to the first industry event he’d ever attended. It was Hildy who’d coached him on how to dress, make small talk, and style his hair. Walter felt the phantom memory of her hands tugging lightly as they tamed the mushroom cloud on his head.
“We’re over here, Corinne.” Hildy’s voice snapped Walter back to the present in time to feel her glance slide over him like a raindrop against glass. “Gentlemen,” she said to the table at large before treating them to a view of her departing figure.
The dress dipped almost to her tailbone in back.
She sat down at the next table over, directly in Walter’s line of sight. It was no big deal. He’d seen shoulder blades before—including hers.
“Great posture,” Dean whispered.
“Like a dancer,” Oliver chimed in.
One thing they didn’t teach you in J-school was that reporters were a bunch of pot-stirring gossips.
“I hate all of you,” Walter said.
As the plates were being cleared from dinner, Walter excused himself to stretch his legs.
He took his time, doing a full circuit of the lobby.
A former boss had encouraged him to take up smoking so he could corner sources when their guard was down, but Walter figured he already had enough self-destructive habits—chief among them the woman who was sitting in his chair when he returned to the banquet hall.
His traitorous tablemates appeared delighted by this development.
“Walter!” Derek beamed at him. “We’re playing a drinking game.”
That explained the flushed cheeks and goofy grins.
“I’m not sure—” Walter broke off when Hildy’s dark eyes dared him to say no.
He was sitting down before he realized he’d made up his mind. As fate would have it, the only empty spot was right next to Hildy. Good thing he was wearing several layers of clothing, or their bare arms might have accidentally brushed. “What are the rules?”
“Choose a buzzword.” Oliver held up a bottle of tequila of unknown origin. Did he travel with his own bar cart? “If they say yours, the rest of the table drinks.”
“What if one of us has to go up there?” Walter angled a thumb at the stage, thinking of Hildy’s deathtrap stilettos, which he had only noticed because of their vivid scarlet hue. As opposed to a prurient interest in her wardrobe.
“Sounds like somebody’s already planning his speech,” Hildy said, not quite under her breath.
She touched her collarbone, and Walter’s gaze snagged there before trailing up the column of her neck.
No jewelry that he could see, but maybe you didn’t need accessories when your dress was made of starlight.
It occurred to him that he was staring, and the rest of the table was watching him do it. “Things going well at the magazine?” he asked.
“Extremely,” Hildy replied. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“The subscription someone mailed to my home address? It was hard to miss. Once I realized it wasn’t a Restoration Hardware catalogue.”
Hildy’s nostrils flared, though she had to know he was lying through his teeth. Her magazine was as sharp and stylish as its editor in chief.
“Don’t be jealous, Burns. We know we look good. It’s that tactile quality newsprint can’t match.” She skimmed a finger along her silk-clad thigh.
Derek notched an invisible mark in the air, like he was keeping score.
“Forget it,” Corinne stage-whispered. “It’s a permanent stalemate. Minus the mating.”
Walter made a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation. “Working on anything interesting?”
“As opposed to our usual drivel?” She fanned her lashes at him, an expression of innocence that would fool no one who had known her longer than ten minutes, never mind ten years.
“Yes, I was insulting you. Because what I do is so different.”
“Some would say it’s practically identical.” Hildy took a casual sip of wine. “Almost derivative.”
“And yet you’re the one who always seems to be following me.”
“I suppose you’d rather I just roll over and let you have your way?” Hildy let that idea dangle between them, twisting a curl around her index finger.
Walter did his best to match her tone. “It’s no fun if you don’t participate.”
“Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?” Derek whispered to Corinne.
“Always,” she sighed.
“The wedding beat,” Hildy said, before returning her gaze to Walter. “That’s the only thing the two of us have in common.”
Walter broke eye contact first, draining the contents of the nearest water glass before slamming it on the table. “My word is ‘disruptive.’”
“Mine is ‘ignite,’” Hildy said half a second later, like even this was a competition.
Dean flicked a not-subtle glance between the two of them. “I’ll take ‘agitate.’”
“I’m going with ‘elevate,’” Corinne said. “As in, the thing we should all strive to do with our behavior.”
“Fine,” Oliver whined, as if this happened to him every time. “I’ll take ‘core values.’”
At the podium, the emcee announced the keynote speaker, a rumpled city editor with a few wisps of hair draped over his bare cranium like tinsel.
“If it ever gets to that point, I need you to do an intervention,” Dean said to Derek, patting the top of his head.
“Deal,” Derek promised.
“Welcome, game changers. We are here tonight to honor the vanguard of our profession. Voices who have elevated the field—”
Corinne pounded the table with her fist. “Line ’em up, losers.”
By the time the second speaker stepped to the microphone, Walter was shit-faced. It was a miracle Hildy was still upright, though her posture had gotten a lot less perfect. He imagined running a knuckle down her back to iron out the curve of her spine.
That would be a good way to get his hand bitten off. He poured himself another shot and tossed it back.
“What?” he asked, when the rest of the table stared at him.
“Nobody said any of the words,” Derek whispered.
Hildy shook her head, like his lack of gamesmanship came as no surprise. “Walter likes to play fast and loose with the rules.”
That was rich, coming from her. “What rules?”
“Like you don’t know.” She stood abruptly, shimmying her dress back into place. Walter squeezed his eyelids shut, too late to prevent that image from searing itself into his retinas.
When he opened them, Hildy was on the move.
“Have you ever tried walking in heels?” Derek asked, conversationally. “It’s a lot harder than it looks.” He paused to watch Hildy sashay across the carpet. “She’s got skills. The red is a nice touch too. Gives the look that little pop.”
“He has a great sense of color,” Dean informed the table, slurring slightly.
Walter ignored the unsolicited commentary, looking around for Corinne before pushing his chair back. He didn’t like the idea of Hildy wandering hotel corridors alone with that much tequila in her system.
The hallway was empty. Walter peered around the corner. “Hildy?”
The hangers on a wheeled coatrack slid apart to reveal her face. “Who wants to know?” When she saw it was Walter, she groaned like a toddler. “Figures.”
He strolled around the line of hanging jackets to join her. “What are you doing?”
“Decompressing. What are you doing?”
“Looking for you.”
“Ta-da.” She waved a hand at herself, and Walter noticed she’d kicked off her pointy red shoes. It was like seeing a gladiator postcombat, without their armor.
“Those can’t be comfortable.”
“You get used to it. Once the circulation cuts off.” She rubbed her instep against the opposite calf, and Walter had the insane urge to offer to massage her foot.
“Are you enjoying looming over me?” Hildy tipped her head back to look up at him with an exaggerated squint. Walter found that he missed having her right there in his face. It hadn’t occurred to him until then that she almost always wore some kind of heels.
“Yes, looming is one of my top hobbies.”
“Lucky for you there are plenty of other shadowy corners in this hotel.”
That was probably his cue to leave, but his feet seemed to be stuck to the carpet. He wondered if it was only the urge to free her toes that had brought Hildy out here. “Are you worried about the awards?”
“Maybe,” she replied, after a microscopic pause.
“Too much tequila?” he guessed.
“Are you implying I can’t hold my liquor?”
Walter shook his head, not rising to the bait.
“Can I be honest?” Hildy asked, before the silence got too heavy.
“Honest or transparent?” he countered, after biting back a knee-jerk I don’t know, can you?
“What are you, the copy desk?”
“I just meant it’s not like you to hold back. Or ask permission to speak freely.”
“You’d be surprised how much I keep inside.”
She might as well have poured lighter fluid on his curiosity. Walter tried to play it cool. “Such as?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She mimed turning a key in front of her lips—and then dropping it down the front of her dress. He tried not to look, but it was a losing battle.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” She gestured between them. “Of this. It’s exhausting.”
“Is that all it is?”
Her lips puckered with suspicion, or possibly annoyance. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it just a teensy bit exciting?” he teased, pinching his thumb and forefinger together. “Gets your blood pumping?”
“Speak for yourself.” She leaned back until her shoulder blades touched the wallpaper, springing forward again so fast Walter instinctively reached out to steady her. “It’s scratchy,” she said, ignoring his outstretched hands. “The wall.”
And that dress would offer as much protection as a soap bubble. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She took another step toward him, chin raised in defiance. “Like you care.”