20. Press Conference

20

PRESS CONFERENCE

EVANGELINE

N erves hit as soon as I see how much press has showed up.

“We can turn around right now,” he says, and I love him for it.

“Would you drive the getaway car?” I ask teasingly.

“Absolutely,” he offers. “So long as you don’t try to give me road head on an icy highway again.”

I laugh. “Oh well, if that’s how you feel about it then I won’t ever do that again.” I blink up at him.

“I didn’t say never .” He smiles right before kissing me.

“You’re very good at distracting me,” I grin against his lips.

“I’m glad it’s working.”

His arm snakes around my waist as we walk further into the room, just behind the line of sight of the press.

“You’re still not going to tell me what this is about?” Angie asks Darren.

I step in. “No.”

“But I don’t understand. If it has something to do with the campaign…”

“We didn’t want to risk having the subject leaked,” I explain, and her eyes widen.

“I would never divulge campaign strategy,” she insists.

“This isn’t campaign strategy,” I retort. “This is of a personal nature that you will never understand. That’s a good thing,” I reassure her, and Darren squeezes my hand.

“Understood,” Angie concedes.

I peer into the room full of waiting press. “Is that all just press?” I ask.

“I called all the reporters on the list you gave me but word travels fast. There are a few more regional papers than I expected,” she explains. “Is that a bad thing?” She looks between Darren and me.

“It’s fine,” Darren replies.

“Says you,” I say nervously.

“The mic is live. All you have to do is flip the switch. I can moderate questions if you like?”

“No, it’ll be fine,” I tell her.

Before I take my place at the podium, Darren grabs my wrist, and I can feel my own rapid pulse. “Hey,” he whispers, and I angle my head so I can look at him.

He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. There’s a whole conversation in his eyes: I don’t have to do this.

I might be nervous but I’m not backing out.

Darren lets go of my hand and I stride across the room to the podium. Angie brings the room to order, and I set the speech I wrote onto the raised surface below the mic. I brought it in case my nerves made me forget, but I don’t need notes to tell my own story.

I clear my throat and the mic picks up the feedback. As I look out at the sea of reporters packed into the room, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and pale eyes.

Rebecca Langley.

What is she doing here?

I didn’t think there would be anyone here I knew. Telling a room full of strangers is easier than telling the people you care about.

I suck in a breath and smile. “Thank you for coming.” I grip the edges of the podium. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we called you here today, so I’ll get right to the point. My name is Evangeline Walker, but before I was married to Darren, I was Evangeline Bowen, and I worked for a high-end escort service.”