However, Abby looked less than impressed when I showed her around.
“There isn’t, I don’t know—a public relations level or anything?” she asked.
“Not like there was back in Minnesota, no,” I said. “You’re not the P.R. for the company. You’re my personal public relations representative.”
“Ah,” she said.
“If you don’t like the office, I could—”
“No, no, no. It’s wonderful, Colin. Really.”
She stood onto her toes and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek that left me worried rather than settled.
Was she second guessing the proposal?
“Are you hungry? I have dinner reservations for us, but—”
“I’m starving. I fell asleep on the plane ride and didn’t eat much before the flight.”
“Then let me treat you to one of the finest dinners in L.A. then,” I said.
All throughout dinner, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Abby was telling me about the plane ride and how she was impressed that nothing happened to interfere with the flight. She even made some quip about the smooth flight happening because I wasn’t on it and dubbed me her own personal ‘bad luck charm.’ She tossed me a sultry little grin across the table that sent my heart racing, and as I reached over to take her hand I could feel her trembling.
“Abby, are you all right?” I asked.
Her eyes rose to mine as she set her wine glass down. The light from her eyes faded as she drew circles on top of my skin. I braced for the worst as my brain prepared my body for the rejection it was about to face.
But instead of rejection, I got something completely different.
“Do you think people will take me seriously?” she asked.
“What?”
“This personal public relations position. It wasn’t something you originally had, right?” she asked.
“Not until Beddingfield started stirring the pot making all his crazy statements about me. Media-baiting me and stuff like that. I knew I needed to create a position then. Most prominent businessmen have a position like this one, which I’m sure you know. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
But I knew what was worrying her and I thought knew how to settle her mind.
“Abby, you are—first and foremost—completely qualified for this position. You are a brilliant P.R. representative and overqualified for any other P.R. position we have except this one. It is well-deserved given your educational background and your experience in the field.”
“Even my screw up at the magazine?” she asked.
“Especially that one. True character is realized in our moments of failure. It makes no sense to hire a P.R. representative that doesn’t have a decent character.”
I watched the hesitation slide from her face, but there was still a bit lingering behind her eyes.
“I’ve missed you,” I said.
“It’s only been a few days,” Abby said, snickering.
“It has seemed like forever, I said.”
Her eyes rose to mine and I could still see silent questions rushing behind her beautiful brown eyes.
“How about this?” I asked. “Why don’t we get our dinners packed up to go, then head back home? We can curl up next to the fire, I can open up a bottle of wine, and we can enjoy this food from the comfort of our own couch.”
“You mean your couch?” she asked.
“What?”
“You said ‘our couch.’ You mean ‘your couch,’ right?”
“Um, yeah. Yeah, my couch at my apartment,” I said.
“I think that would be nice.”
I signaled for the waitress who quickly came and boxed up our food. Relief was washing over Abby’s features, but her words were weighing heavily on my mind. Semantics. Public relation representatives dealt with semantics on a daily basis. It was the difference between a decent public image and a repulsive one. As a media representative, Abby was not only good with twisting bad truths to look like decent ventures gone wrong, but she was also good with verbiage that communicated lines that needed to be drawn in the sand.
Abby was drawing lines with me that made me very uncomfortable, and it made me wonder if she even knew she was doing it.
“Ready?” I asked, as I offered her my arm.
“Ready,” she said.
She took my arm and I escorted her out of the restaurant. I felt her clinging tightly to me as we made our way to the parking lot. The bag of food was clutched at my side as I led her to my car, but a sound in the bushes caught my ear.
A clicking sound that Abby was already trying to locate.
“Hello?” she asked, as she released my arm. “Is anyone there?”
“Abby, don’t. Just get in the car.”
“There’s someone in the bushes, Colin. I can hear—”
Just then, a man with a camera jumped out of the bushes and started taking rapid pictures. Abby jumped with a fright as I ran towards her, my arm wrapping around her waist. Her eyes were wild as I tried to shield her from the paparazzo, his camera shutter rapidly clicking as I opened up Abby’s door.
I shoved her in and gave her the food before I ran around to my side.
Opening the throttle, I quickly pulled out of the restaurant as Abby sat quietly. She was clutching the food tightly to her as her wide eyes stared out the window. I reached over and took her hand, feeling her fingers trembling against mine.
But no matter how much I urged her to, she wouldn’t turn to look at me.
Chapter 2
Abby
My mind was racing a million times a second as we pulled into Colin’s apartment complex. It really wasn’t a complex, but more like a looming tower of suites that overlooked the ocean. I hadn’t been ready to come here yet and see all my boxes strewn about, but after the paparazzi attack at the restaurant, I couldn’t wait to get inside. I hadn’t understood I was going to be Colin’s personal P.R. representative.
