Chapter 3He Remembers My Touch Not My Face

After the interview, the sky had turned a bruised purple. A fine, misty rain was falling outside the convention center. Mark patted his pockets. "Damn. Leah, I left the memory card inside. Can you run back and get it?"

I ran, my shoes slapping against the wet pavement.

The elevator chimed, the number 1 lighting up.

The doors slid open.

And I came face-to-face with the two of them.

Olivia had her head tilted, chattering away to Ethan about some trivial drama from her movie set. He wore a mask of indifference, but he was listening. Patiently.

The posture of intimacy was unmistakable.

When she saw me, Olivia’s expression soured into a look of pure disgust.

"…Sorry," I mumbled, turning to take the stairs instead.

"Wait." Ethan’s voice stopped me.

I froze, my back to him.

"You needed the elevator, didn't you? Go ahead."

I turned back slowly, deliberately lowering my voice to a mumble. "Thank you, Mr. Prescott."

He told me to go ahead, but he didn't move. He and Olivia blocked the entrance, his eyes fixed on me.

"You were at the press conference today? One of the reporters?" he asked. "I don't recall you asking a question."

I kept my eyes down. "I just graduated, Mr. Prescott. I'm an intern. I don't have questioning privileges yet."

"I see."

He said it softly, his tone unreadable.

Beside him, Olivia shot me a venomous look before tugging on his arm. "Ethan, let's go. We have that dinner with Director Hayes tonight."

Ethan’s gaze finally left me. "Right."