The Prime-Time Experiment (Psychology of Love #1)

An Uncontrolled Social Experiment

Riley

The first thing Riley Lorrent noticed was that the lighting was wrong.

Not wrong enough to draw comment, no one here would have noticed, but wrong in the way it softened everything it touched.

It blurred edges, warmed tones that didn’t require it, turned the set into something more palatable than precise.

It wasn’t designed for clarity; it was designed to make things easier to accept.

She supposed that was the point.

Riley adjusted the sleeve of her navy blazer, smoothing the fabric back into place with a quiet, deliberate movement.

The feeling from the lights had made the fabric shift onto her skin just enough to be distracting.

She stilled her hands in her lap a moment later, posture settling into something composed and unremarkable.

Unremarkable had been the intention. It had not, unfortunately, been the instruction.

“You present well.”

The memory surfaced uninvited, the implication obvious even to her. Her boss had not looked up from his desk when he’d said it. Had not hesitated, as though the statement required no further context or clarification. Riley had not responded, so he had continued.

“They want someone who can translate the research for everyday viewers, and you’re… approachable.”

Approachable.

Riley resisted the urge to adjust her sleeve again.

She had drawn the conclusion quickly, almost automatically.

She was selected, it seemed, not solely for her work, but for how she could be positioned within the format itself.

She fit visually. At twenty-five, she contrasted cleanly against the middle-aged men she worked alongside.

Where they were authoritative, she was accessible.

Where they were dense, she was expected to be digestible.

Acceptable, within the parameters of a morning show segment designed to hold attention rather than interrogate detail.

And she agreed.

Not because the reasoning had been sound, but because the opportunity was strategically useful.

Visibility, however imprecise, still carried weight when it came to funding.

She understood that. Even if the platform distorted the work, it still extended its reach. Even if the medium for that was… this.

Around her, the studio moved with quiet efficiency. Voices low and controlled. Someone counting down. Someone else adjusting something just out of view. The faint hum of equipment threaded through it all, steady and constant.

Riley preferred environments that did not require filtration.

“Thirty seconds.”

She didn’t turn, she already knew. The structure of the segment had been outlined clearly enough: designed to give the impression of spontaneity without allowing for too much deviation. A question framed simply, a contrast established quickly. A resolution reached just in time to maintain pacing.

It was not designed for precision.

Across from her, there was a shift. Riley let her gaze move, unhurried.

He looked exactly like someone who never had to consider whether he belonged in a space like this.

The thought arrived fully formed, and Riley dismissed it almost immediately.

His posture was relaxed without appearing careless, shoulders loose, one arm resting along the back of his chair as though the environment required no adjustment from him.

There was no visible tension in the way he held himself, he looked comfortable.

Comfort, Riley thought, was often mistaken for effortlessness.

Physically, he aligned with her expectation of the segment’s physical specialist. His muscles were not overly defined or exaggerated, but the way his shirt fit showed he was consistent with disciplined training, strength built through repetition rather than display.

Up close, the details followed the same pattern.

Dark hair kept short enough at the sides and back to avoid distraction.

His hair seemed to sit longer on top of his head in a loose array of curls.

He held structured facial features, a well-defined jawline and a strong set of brows.

There was nothing unconventional about him, nothing that required a second look to understand why he worked.

It was balanced, predictable in the way symmetry often was.

Objectively, she could recognise the appeal. If she were inclined toward that kind of engagement, her physiological response would likely align with what others would classify as attraction.

She was not.

What she was willing to respond to was the way his attention settled. On her.

Riley held his gaze for a moment, registering rather than engaging.

There was no obvious challenge in his expression, no immediate attempt to assess or dismiss, just a quiet kind of focus that felt intentional.

The tops of his lips lifted into a smile that she could imagine would normally give him power over women, and yet as she looked at him, she could not understand why.

Not why, as in why he could look like that, but why he was smiling at her.

He must have read her reaction to her staring as interest because he leaned forward extending a hand across the space between them.

“The name’s Declan Montgomery.”

The introduction was direct, offered as though she should know or remember his name.

Typically in this segment of an interaction, she would return the pleasantries with her name.

Here, she saw no logical reason to do so.

Riley did not initiate contact with strangers.

In fact, it was rare Riley let anyone touch her at all.

She wasn’t a germaphobe, but she didn’t see the appeal in having someone you do not know or trust touching your body.

She could not control that. She looked at his hand, then up into his hazel eyes.

The pause extended long enough to register as deliberate before she withdrew her attention entirely, turning her focus back to the front of the room.

Normally, moving something out of her eyesight gave her a small relief from the situation, but she was aware of him even after turning away. The way one becomes aware of a change in atmosphere without being able to immediately define it.

Irritating.

“Five seconds.”

The host’s voice lifted, brightening as it slipped into something more polished.

Around them, the energy in the room tightened, drawing inward as the camera light flicked on.

The room was cute, with corduroy rust-coloured couches and bright blue, orange and yellow coloured knick-knacks.

It felt like a cosy 70’s house from an old TV show, which gave the network the appeal of being original and a long-standing trusted show.

She almost wanted to commend whoever strategised it, even if it meant sitting on a couch that she could not guarantee had a life before the events of his show.

Riley’s attention shifted, not to the camera but to the host. She only appeared in the last thirty seconds, after seemingly fixing up her hair and makeup. She pulled her finger across the corner of her mouth, as if checking her lipstick was on properly.

Her blonde hair was styled immaculately, in an intricate twisted bun that suggested effort had been applied into styling it.

Her features were obviously chosen for visual retainership: petite, heart—shaped face, cosmetically enhanced nose and breasts.

Nothing appeared like it would distract on screen, yet Riley thought she looked like she could easily be a model rather than a broadcaster.

She supposed that the distinction had become increasingly irrelevant, and more purposeful.

Riley did not lack confidence in herself, at 5’6 and relatively proportionate in height and weight, she had been told oftentimes at university that she could’ve chosen a modelling career.

She couldn’t think of anything worse, having people look at you all day, touching you.

But sitting next to her, Riley could see how it could appeal to others.

Presentation, Riley noted, was part of the function of television. She did not believe that was a good model for their future generations.

“And we’re back.”

Riley straightened slightly, the adjustment automatic. Hands still, posture aligned, expression composed.

“Joining us this morning,” the host began, turning smoothly toward her, “we have Dr Riley Lorrent, a leading cognitive psychologist specialising in mental performance and behavioural optimisation—”

Riley inclined her head, brief and assured.

“—and Declan Montgomery, a fitness coach and digital creator whose approach to health and training has reached millions.”

A fractional shift in emphasis.

“Today we’re looking at what it actually means to optimise your health not just physically, but mentally and behaviourally, and how those pieces work together to improve in our everyday lives.

” She paused, glancing between the two of them on their opposite couches.

“Now, before we get into it, I would love to start simple. For viewers at home, what exactly do you both do?”

Riley let the question settle, unsure of how much detail the host was wanting. Declan answered first.

“I help people build routines they can actually stick to,” he said, voice easy. “Training, nutrition. Nothing extreme or crazy, just try to show consistent changes that fit into everyday life.”

Accessible and clear. Riley noted it, her explanation only needed to be simple. The host turned to her.

“And you, Dr Lorrent?”

Riley folded her hands neatly in her lap.

“My work focuses on cognitive training,” she said, her tone even, matter of fact.

“Specifically, how mental processes such as attention, decision-making, and behavioural regulation can be structured to improve long-term performance.” She paused, that was too clinical.

She took a small breath in her nose, before clarifying, “Across environments.”