Off the Record: A Sweet Office Romantic Comedy (The Nashville Romantics Book 1)
Off the Record: Chapter 11

Hudson opens his door wearing a haggard expression. His eyes look tired, his hair is in disarray, and the man is wearing joggers. Not jeans, not slacks, not tuxedo pants. He’s in lounge wear. It goes without saying, but I’ll say what I’m thinking anyway: he looks good.

Distance, Paisley, I remind myself. Keep your distance.

“Put me to work.”

“Come in,” he says, gesturing inside.

I follow him to his dining room to replace papers all over the table and his computer open in the center. “What is all this?”

“Numbers. Statistics.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking at the mess. “I’ve tried appealing to my uncle’s sense of goodness, but he won’t hear it. The paper hasn’t brought in enough money. He wants to cut the dead limb so it doesn’t bring down the whole tree.”

“Dead limb,” I repeat.

He meets my eyes. “For the record, I intended to recommend you for the Tribune. I still have you on that list.”

My heart leaps to my throat. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Would I accept that job now? I can’t think about this. “And Simone?” I ask.

He glances away. “They already have an advice columnist.”

“She can write other things.”

“True.” He doesn’t say anything else.

“What can I do?”

“Help me look through these numbers. I’m putting together a presentation to give to my uncle about keeping the Rhythm on. I need concrete, scientific evidence it’ll make him more money. If we replace that, we have a fighting chance.”

The sheer number of papers covering the table is overwhelming. His efforts are incredible. I can’t let myself think about that, though, so I pull a chair out and start sifting through the reports and trends in the company. Hudson stands over his chair, watching me.

“You planning to help?” I ask without looking up, trying to lighten the feeling between us with a joke.

“Thanks for coming, Paisley.” His tone sounds hopeless.

I glance at him. “I’m here for the paper. For my friends.”

“I know.” He sits down, and together we get to work.

Hudson and I put aside our differences of opinion and spend the next few days poring over stats and figures and projections until our heads spin. I’m in his office on Friday afternoon, glancing over his final presentation and searching for anything he could add to give us an edge. It’s pretty thorough, and I don’t see how we can do anything else to raise revenue.

There are cuts listed on the proposal, against my wishes, but they aren’t steep. If anything, they’re less than the job cuts we were originally informed about.

“Want to come with me?” he asks, stacking the folders of printed presentations.

I smooth my brown hair behind both of my ears. “Definitely not. I’d rather sit here biting my nails for the next hour.”

His eyes are full and worried. Despite our working together the last few days, we haven’t touched each other at all. He’s keeping his distance, which is both a giant green flag and also makes me yearn for him.

I can’t help but feel like he’s a really good kisser, and I’ve had to mourn the fact that I’ll never get the personal experience to know for sure.

“You should come,” he says gently. “You put so much work into it.”

I’m a writer, not a speaker. I can help put a proposal together, but presenting it is outside of my wheelhouse. I did my part in forming the plan, now Hudson can do his part executing it. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’ll just wait here, though. I won’t be able to work.”

He nods, draws in a deep breath, then leaves.

I spend some time looking through his window at the Nashville skyline, then sit in his office chair. I can see Simone working and Stan on his computer, my empty chair and sleeping computer. I stare at it. From this position, it’s a straight shot to my desk. I close my eyes and hope everything is going well in the office upstairs. The next hour passes like honey through a sieve. I watch the clock move, ticking minute by minute.

Simone looks at me curiously, and a Slack message pops up on my phone.

I chuckle despite myself.

She obviously—probably?—knows this already, but I’m glad she’s distracting me.

My phone buzzes with a text.

What?

Trying not to overthink his choice of locations, I walk past Simone’s desk, doing my best to give her a reassuring smile. The bank of elevators is empty, so I have the place to myself. There is no button that says roof on it, so I hit the highest number and lean back, letting out a slow breath as I rise to the top of Prescott Media Group’s building.

The doors slide open to a floor of offices, but I walk toward the stairs. If they go down, they must go up. Honestly, for someone with a college degree and years working in a professional capacity, how long it takes me to locate the entrance for the roof feels ridiculous. I get there eventually.

It’s not what I expected to replace. There’s no fancy patio furniture or little tables or places to lounge. There’s a handful of old plastic chairs and an ashtray that looks like it’s never been emptied.

Hudson is standing near the edge, looking out over the city and neighboring buildings. He turns to face me, his eyes worried. A briefcase is sitting, discarded, near his feet.

“He said no to everything, didn’t he?” I ask, feeling like I can read his disappointment easily.

“Not exactly.”

My heart lifts, buoying. “Come out with it already,” I tease, but I mean it. The suspense has been killing me for so long now.

Hudson passes a hand over his face, showing me just how tired he is. I approach him slowly, leaning my hip against the wall that protects us from the edge of the roof. “We can postpone dissolving the company for one more quarter, but cuts are still moving forward as planned according to the consultant’s recommendations. He’ll give me the remainder of the year to clean house. Nothing will be decided until numbers are in for the first quarter of next year.”

“I’m failing to see the problem here. It’s not what we wanted, but it’s better than everyone losing their jobs.”

He runs his hand down his face. “This entire plan is contingent on me taking the managing editor position and leading the paper to its revival, or its ruin—whatever comes about.”

My breath hitches. “That’s bad because you want to remain up with the execs?”

“It’s not bad…it’s…you know I’d rather be editing. I never expected my uncle to give me this option at all.”

“I still don’t see the problem.”

He lets out a tired exhale, his eyes glued to mine. “You, Paisley. You’re the problem. I can’t take this job if you won’t even work with me.”

My heart thunders, beating in my throat.

“The last few days working at your side have been the worst level of torment. I won’t keep bothering you with drinks or trying to get you to talk to me—don’t worry. But I don’t know if I can sit in that office every day, knowing you hate me.”

Because he has a clear view of my desk. He’d have that reminder constantly. “I don’t hate you.”

“I hurt you.”

“You did.”

He puts his hands out, helpless. “What can I do to make you understand that I’ve had your best interests in mind all along?”

My brain snags there. Didn’t I just say that exact same thing to Simone? She’d accepted it without question because she knows and trusts me, because I’ve proven I deserve that trust. The trouble with Hudson is time—our relationship has only spanned a month, not enough time for me to know for sure. I feel in my gut that he’s speaking the truth, but when faced with this huge thing, he wasn’t forthright with me. He didn’t tell me.

But…I didn’t tell Simone what my plan was with Hudson today, did I? Because I was worried it wouldn’t work and she’d be devastated. I close my eyes, giving my head a shake. I can’t believe I just did that to someone I love when I was so infuriated with Hudson for doing the same thing to me.

Maybe he didn’t handle things perfectly, but clearly I’ve made mistakes too.

When I open my eyes again, he’s looking at me with fierce reservation, like he wants to take me in his arms but is doing everything he can to refrain. How can I hold anger against him when I’m guilty of the same thing?

“You can prove it moving forward,” I say.

Hudson goes completely still. “Are you giving me another chance?”

Am I? It’s what I want, and it feels right. The idea of letting the pain go and moving forward with him takes a burden of weight from my shoulders, making me feel lighter already. I let out a heavy sigh. “Yes.”

He steps forward, pulling me against him so quickly I’m not sure what’s happening until his arms are around me and our bodies are pressed tightly together. “I’m so sorry, Paisley,” he says, burying his face in my neck, his body curving around me like he can absorb me into his hug.

It feels good, so I sink into him. “Please don’t keep things from me again.”

“It’s not lost on me that we succeeded because we worked together,” he says, his voice muffled by my frizzy hair. He leans away to look in my eyes, his hands roving my back and waist. “Trying to save it alone got me nowhere. We make a good team.”

“We’re unstoppable. I have a good feeling about the fate of this paper.”

“I have a good feeling about us,” he counters, drawing my chin up and holding my gaze.

Fire flashes in his eyes while he waits a moment, giving me a chance to pull away before lowering his lips to mine. He kisses me tenderly, savoring each moment, his hands sliding over my waist while his lips explore. I push aside my reservations and fears and let myself have this moment. We only have two months to plan and one full quarter to succeed, but I think we can do it.

Hudson tips my head, deepening the kiss, his chest rising against mine while his hands cradle my face. My body and heart both react, reaching for him, needing more of him. When he leans back, his blue eyes sparkle down at me. “I want to do that every day for the rest of my life.”

I laugh at the absurdity of it, but my stomach jolts, because I want it too.

“One day at a time,” I tell him, before leaning in to kiss him again.