Page 23 of Tempt Me
“I’ve been performing for the media since you were watching cartoons and playing with dolls.” Her lips went even thinner. “I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. I made my millions from nothing but the brain in my head, not a trust fund. I don’t need you to teach me how to speak to journalists.”
I took a deep breath. I knew how many advantages I’d had growing up. I needed to prove to Jamila that it hadn’t come with a sense of entitlement. “I’m not trying to teach you anything. I only want you to be ready to answer whatever questions they fire at you and for you to remain calm and professional.”
“Calm and professional?” She leaped out of the chair and paced on the carpet. “I amnothingbut calm and professional. I put on my mask and smile at the investors and the press and whoever else I have to so I can run my goddamn company, and they’ll leave me the fuck alone!” She stopped and whirled on me. “You should know, with that empty-headed pretense you put on at that Christmas party. At every party. You’re playing by their rules, just like me.”
Pain sliced through me at the direct hit.
This wasn’t about me. It was about making the bad PR go away so Jamila could focus on running her company. I shoved down the hurt and leaped to her side, but she shrugged off the hand I put on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were anything less than professional.”
She rubbed her thumb between her eyes. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
“I know. I wish I didn’t have to ask you to do this, but I want to be sure you do the excellent job I know you’re capable of, and that you’re ready for whatever ridiculous questions they might throw at you.”
She glanced at me sidelong. “Isn’t it your job to fill the room with people whowon’task ridiculous questions?”
“I’ve tried to fill it with as many friendlies as possible. However, hope for the best, prepare for the worst is my motto.”
She grunted. “Fair.”
“Come sit down,” I said. “I think we can knock it out in less than an hour.”
“Won’t I be standing at a podium tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then I’ll stand.” She planted her feet on the carpet and rolled back her shoulders. “You play like you practice. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I…” I was too distracted by the column of her neck rising above the shoulders of her jacket and the glimpse of her collarbones over the scooped neck of her blouse to think clearly.
“Hit me.” She lifted her chin.
Right. I was here to help her practice, not to ogle that neck I’d wanted to kiss since I’d hugged her earlier. She didn’t want that from me. The insults she’d thrown at me earlier—cartoons, dolls, trust funds, and masks—still stung. She’d never see me as anything but Jackson’s annoying, privileged little sister. Never as an equal, as someone she wanted to kiss.
Though if she thought I was annoying, I could use that to help our practice.
“So, Jamila,” I said, looking down at my tablet like it was a reporter’s notebook, “why’d you try to punch my colleague yesterday?”
“I did not—” She stopped when her shout bounced off the office walls and rang back into her ears. She cleared her throat. “I think the video will show that I did not, in fact, punch anyone.”
“That was okay,” I said. “Though I think the talking points for questions like those are, one, the reporter said something offensive that made you angry. Care to share what it was?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“It’s probably best to focus on your response. Two, you responded informally—”
“Informally? That’s what we’re calling it?”
“I think ‘informally’ is better than ‘crudely.’ Three, you recognize that your response was ill-advised, and you’re sorry for its impact on your shareholders and employees. Let’s try again. Jamila, why did you try to punch my colleague yesterday?”
She inhaled and exhaled before responding. “I think the video shows that I did not punch anyone. However, I apologize for the negative impact that my informal word choice had on Jamilow’s shareholders and employees. Better?”
“Perfect.”
After forty-five minutes of practice, Jamila’s responses were press conference ready despite her surly expression.
I grabbed the tablet and stood. “Great job. Go home and rest. I’ll see you in the large conference room downstairs at nine a.m. Wear that white suit with a pastel blouse.”
“Now you’re telling me what to wear? You think I’m incapable of dressing myself?” she growled.
