Hold Her Close

She shakes both of their hands and makes a point of looking them in the eye. More than some people do when I introduce them. I’ve met my fair share of people who’ve looked straight over everyone—especially Ben—because they don’t think that he’s important. When I see that happen, I know those aren’t people I can trust.

“Right this way,” she says leading us through the lobby and into a hallway. “We’ve got the studio set up, so we’ll be ready shortly once we can get you lit properly and in make-up.” Pushing through a door, we enter a cozy studio made up to look like a living room. The kind of thing that you see on news shows when they want someone to be in a comfortable environment. There are a couple of couches facing each other and a small coffee table in between. Huge professional lights are in each corner, but there are smaller lamps to the sides of the couch to make it look intimate. Despite this cozy façade, now that we’re in here, Sadie looks anything but comfortable.

“Mr. Lawson,” she says, “I was wondering if I could speak to you privately for a moment.”

Jeremy snorts. “I don’t think so.”

She looks so unsure, but pulls it together. “Just a minute. I just need to clarify something for the interview.”

“No,” Jeremy says, finally looking up from his phone. “Absolutely not.”

I hold out a hand. “Jeremy, it’s okay.”

He gives me a suspicious look, but shrugs. Sadie blows out a breath in relief, and leads me to another doorway off the studio. It’s just a small room, like some kind of booth that’s not being used, dim with only light from a darkened window.

Sadie turns to me, hands twisting in front of her. She looks nervous. And the last thing I want her to be is nervous. I want her to be ravenous. For me. “You remember the last time we went to a private room together?” I ask.

“Of course I do,” she says quietly. “Which is exactly why I can’t do the interview.”

“What do you mean?”

She groans, and moves to run her hands through her hair before she remembers that she’s camera ready and drops them. “Because it’s not right. Believe me, I want to do it. This is the first thing they’ve actually offered me, and it’s because you insisted that I do it. But as a journalist, I can’t interview you without the caveat that we’ve met before. And people would ask why. If that comes out, my reputation won’t recover.”

Anger surges under my skin. “Show me anyone who says anything to you about having consensual sex and I’ll knock them into the ground.”

“No,” Sadie says, stepping forward. She puts her hand on my chest almost instinctively. And she freezes when she does, like she didn’t realize it was happening until it did. I lift my hand and lock her hand against me. “My professional reputation, Jon. You’re one of the interviews that everyone wants. If they find out that I slept with you and that now I have an exclusive interview with you, they’ll think…”

I shut my eyes. “That you fucked me so that I’d do the story.”

“Yeah.” Looking down at her, her gaze is unflinching on mine, but I can see why she’s anxious. But there’s no regret there either. That’s a relief. “I’ve typed up my notes for another reporter here. Would you please consider doing the interview with him?”

Sadie said herself that this story would help her—that it’s the first thing that they’ve given to her. So the fact that she’s holding her ethics above personal gain is impressive. Even if no one around her would do the same. I could guarantee that. I may not have been in the real fighting business that long, but I already know that everyone works for themselves no matter what anyone else says. The fact that she wants to keep her hands clean is beautiful, even if it’s a little naive.

But if I can help her keep her reputation, I’ll do it.

“One condition,” I say, still keeping her hand on my chest.

“Name it.”

“Go on a date with me,” I say. “A real one. Just you and me. No back rooms or secrecy. You can tell whoever you want because we met here when I came for the interview and we hit it off. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

She pulls away from me, and I let her go. There’s annoyance on her face, but I don’t care. I want her.

“I was never supposed to see you again,” she says. “You were my last night of freedom before my face was splashed over Nashville. No names, no regrets, nothing.”

Slowly, I nod. So that’s why she disappeared without a word. After seeing her on the news I kind of figured, but it is nice to have a confirmation.