With Nate’s thinking face, you just never know.

Then he turns his head a few degrees and puts on his thinking face. I should know better than to have an emotional conversation when I’m exhausted. “You’re treating me like I have Ebola.” This complaint comes out sounding squeaky and weird. And when he speaks again, it’s still in his iceberg voice. At least I have enough of an instinct for self-preservation not to let anyone else hear it. “To me it sounds like you forgot my name.” I step into his office and shut the door behind me, because I seem to be picking a fight with the great Nate Kattenberger, which is colossally stupid.

“The eager intern called you Miss Rowley. That…” he makes a hand motion toward the hallway. I guess I’ll give her a call tomorrow and make sure she’s okay.” It wasn’t me who put her on the invite list.” “I was only going to ask if you knew why Alex didn’t show up tonight.” Letting on that it bothers me is probably a bad idea. “And what’s with this Miss Rowley business?” After I ask, I want to kick myself. Whereas my makeup is smudged and I feel as though I’ve summited a mountain in these clothes, he looks like a million bucks. His tie is straight and his shirt is crisp.

When I turn, I see he’s perched on the edge of the desk, probably because Georgia asked him to wait there until it’s his turn to step up to the press conference dais. Nate’s voice stops me as I pass his office door.

Brooklynaire book