Off the Record: A Sweet Office Romantic Comedy (The Nashville Romantics Book 1)
Off the Record: Chapter 8

“Explain this to me again,” Simone says from her bathroom, leaning close to the mirror to affix fake eyelashes to her lids. “You’re going with me, but also with Hudson Owens? And we’ll be sitting at his table? Are you two-timing me, but warning me about it?”

“It’s not a real date.” I sit on her bed and lean over to fasten my black strappy shoes. “He only offered to help me show Leo I’ve moved on so he’ll quit trying to have conversations about our feelings.”

Simone leans out of her bathroom to look at me, one eye lashed up and the other totally naked. Her red dress is sparkly and stunning. “That sounds like a line.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering how much of the dating-his-secretaries thing is real. I hardly ever see him flirting with Andrea when they talk, and she told me his schedule is pretty empty outside of work obligations.”

Simone rolls her eyes. “You’re totally into him.”

Why lie? “Can you blame me?”

“No, but I can worry about you.”

That’s fair. “You’re my date. He’s my decoy.” I grin. “Now, if things go well between you and Phil, I have a ride home.”

She tries to hide her smile, going back into the bathroom to finish her eyelashes. “Fine. But be careful.”

After revealing the situation with Leo and Kyla, I looked into the HR fine print. There are no direct rules against dating coworkers. I didn’t think so, since Leo and I never got reprimanded for dating. HR prefers to have statements on file so they won’t be liable, but aside from that, it’s not prohibited. But there are conduct rules, and Leo has definitely broken a few of those. Hudson said I could trust him, though, so I try not to worry about it.

When Simone is ready, her pixie styled perfectly and dazzling earrings on, we order our Uber. She doesn’t live too far from the city, so it’s cheaper and easier to Uber in than to park downtown.

“What will you do if Phil has a date?” I ask while we ride toward the hotel hosting the event.

“My sources at Outdoors say he’s single and won’t be bringing anyone. Apparently, he’s shy.”

I give her an appraising look.

“What?” she asks, though she’s fighting a smile. “I don’t want to show up and replace out he’s with someone else.”

“Of course not.” Her detective skills are impressive all the same.

The awards banquet is set up in the ballroom, a small stage erected at one end while tables fill the remaining space. There is no assigned seating except for the executive tables at the front, so if we replace Phil alone, we can invite him to sit with us.

Simone cranes her neck, holding my arm and searching the room. I have no idea what he looks like, so I can’t help her search, but I’m still looking over the groups of familiar and unfamiliar faces for one in particular.

Then I spot Hudson. Jeez, Instagram didn’t embellish at all. That man looks good in a tux. All crisp black and white, his hair impeccably combed, his blue eyes sparkling at the middle-aged woman he’s speaking to.

He’s clear across the room, but I can’t help watching him. His smile is kind, his posture straight, and he looks distracted. He keeps glancing up, like he’s searching for someone.

His gaze lands on me, and I’m rooted in place. The heavy attention he bestows on me is powerful, going straight to my head. His gaze travels my black floor-length gown before snapping back to my face, and a smile spreads over his lips.

“Found him,” Simone breathes.

“Oh yes, I did.”

“What?” she asks.

Right. She’s talking about Phil. I tear my gaze away from Hudson. “Where is he?”

“Near the drinks. Come on, let’s go see if he has a place to sit already.”

I follow her in the opposite direction of Hudson, hopeful he doesn’t see it as a dismissal. He knows I’m here for Simone, so I’m sure he understands.

We reach a tall, lanky man with overgrown golden hair and creases that prove he smiles regularly. He looks sharp in his blue suit, and I can see the appeal. More artsy than outdoorsy, but he has the vibe of a photographer, bowtie and all.

“Phil!” Simone says, her cheeks blushing already. It gives her a pretty glow. “Congrats on your nomination.”

“Thanks.” He glances at me, his smile friendly but distant. I wonder if he’s panicking about the speech he’ll have to make if he wins. He seems like the kind of guy who would worry about that preemptively.

Simone introduces us. “This is my work wife, Paisley. She’s a columnist for the Rhythm too.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “I loved your piece on the chicken lady. It’s nice to meet you.”

I go warm with the glow of praise. He’s read my article? That’s both exciting and makes me feel weirdly giddy. “Thanks. She was pretty great.”

Simone chats with him about a piece he recently photographed for The Tennessee Outdoors while I stand there and try to seem interested. Really, I’m fighting the desire to scan the crowd and locate Hudson again. My disinterest is fine, though. Simone and Phil are clearly only thinking of each other. At least she’s getting his mind off his possible speech later.

“Good evening,” a rich, deep voice says behind me.

Chills run down my bare arms and up my neck. I turn enough to see Hudson standing close. “Good evening. You look nice.”

“You look incredible,” he counters.

My cheeks flush.

Simone clears her throat, and I notice her and Phil watching us—Simone with reservation, Phil with slight awe. I guess I’d feel the same if I hadn’t gotten to know Hudson over the last few weeks. I did feel that way when he stopped to help me with my tire.

“I came to let Paisley know I’ve saved seats for you both.” Hudson glances at Phil. “There’s another seat open, if you’d like it.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. That would—uh, be…thank you.”

Not quite sure what he meant to say there. The man really is shy. His cheeks go red, and he looks at Simone like a lost child in need of help.

“Thanks, Mr. Owens,” she says calmly. The woman knows how to be in charge. “We’d like that.”

“Great.” He reaches for my hand, sliding it over his arm and sending me into a heart attack. What even is this? Mr. Darcy and his special lady out on the town? The man has old school manners, and I’m here for it. “I think they’ll begin serving soon,” he mutters. “We should head to our seats.”

I glance up and see Leo standing near a table in the center of the room, his eyes on us.

Oh. Hudson probably noticed him too, and he’s playing his role. Very, very well, I might add.

We don’t quite make it to the front of the room when Leo reaches us, a wide, forced smile on his face. Kyla hangs on his arm, her blonde hair curled in glamorous waves like Sabrina Carpenter, wearing a light pink dress that makes her look amazing and delicate. Intrusive thoughts start their way into my brain, but I shove them right back out before they have a chance to form.

“Good luck tonight, Leo,” I say, sending him a smile and tugging on Hudson’s arm like we can keep on walking.

“Thanks.” Leo says. “Did you⁠—”

“We should probably take our seats,” Hudson says with a perfunctory smile before pressing his hand to the small of my back. It was done so smoothly, I’m not entirely sure we’ve made it away until he’s pulling out my chair and showing me where to sit.

When I glance over my shoulder in search of Leo, he’s still standing where we left him, Kyla tugging on his hand and urging him toward their table. His eyes are lost, like he’s confused by what happened, or possibly how it happened. There’s no sense of victory in it. If anything, I feel more unsettled now, even though I’m a sad little meerkat and it’s obvious Hudson is doing his best to protect me from who he thinks the hyena is in my life.

Simone takes the chair next to me and invites Phil to sit beside her. “Did anyone come with you?” she asks him. He starts telling her about how his mom was going to join him but came down with a stomach bug, so he’s on his own. His mom. I like him so much already.

Simone seems to like that, too.

Hudson leans close, his lips almost brushing my ear when he speaks. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I say, a little too brightly. “I’m not holding on to anything, remember?”

“You looked disappointed back there.”

I do feel that way, but only because I’m not sure this is the right way to handle Leo anymore. Also because Hudson is making me feel things I shouldn’t. He’s only trying to help me. I guess I wish it was real. “I’m not.”

“Okay.” He takes me at my word, which is a nice comfort. “I was looking at the numbers today, and your clicks on the website this week have tripled.”

I sit up a little taller. “Seriously?”

His smile is sweet. Not overly wide, but soft like it’s just for me. “I think you’re onto something with this column.”

“I told her she should go micro. I was right,” Simone says.

Hudson looks confused. “Micro?”

“Like thinking of the small people. The small stories,” I explain. “Simone nudged me in that direction.”

“Well, it’s working.” Hudson leans back in his chair, getting comfortable. His arm goes around the back of my chair. I fight the urge to lean into him, just a little. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I could very easily replace myself falling for this guy.

The open seats at our table don’t remain empty when the food is brought out. We get our salad plates from servers along with the arrival of the last four dinner companions—Hudson’s uncle, Mr. Prescott, with a woman in her thirties and another middle-aged couple I don’t recognize.

Hudson stiffens once they’re seated. “Mom. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

Mom? Is the other man his dad? The resemblance is there, but it’s not overt. I have to search for it in the shape of his dad’s eyes and the olive tone of his mom’s skin—though she is more sun-kissed. The pair of them look like they’ve stepped off a plane from some warm, tropical location, with bleached hair and impeccable tans. The big lettuce leaf I just stuffed in my mouth is awkwardly angled and won’t let me chew it away, so I’m stuck with my mouth closed, unable to speak as Hudson performs introductions.

Simone watches all this with faint disinterest, but I think Phil might have a stroke, given how strained his expression is. It makes me wonder if he would’ve turned down the offer to sit with us if he’d known who would join our table and that we’d be right in the front of the room. Heck, I might have turned down the offer, but I’m too interested to see what kind of people Hudson came from.

The emcee tonight is the woman who runs advertising with the Tribune, Lucy. She has curly gray hair and a commanding voice. She welcomes everyone, telling us to enjoy our meal and that the awards will begin shortly.

“Can’t be soon enough,” Mr. Prescott says, puffing his chest. “These things do drag on.”

“No one knows how to give a concise speech,” his sister agrees. She swirls her wine and takes a large swallow. “I might need to duck out early.”

Hudson spears a bite of salad. “I thought you were packing for Cabo, Mom.”

“We don’t leave until Wednesday,” Mr. Owens says. “Your mother thought it would be good to support the company tonight.”

“I’m not doing very well at remaining a silent partner, am I?” she says to no one in particular, following it with another drink.

Mr. Owens leans over her, toward Mr. Prescott. “I should plan longer trips, eh? Get her out of the country so you can run the company in peace.”

Mrs. Owens scowls.

“Enjoy your retirement, Moira,” Mr. Prescott says, then glances at Hudson. “Your son has everything well in hand.”

Ice crashes around my cup as I jerk in surprise. What does Hudson have well in hand? The entire company? The Nashville Rhythm? Why would the Owens even care about that?

“The consultants are analyzing the data,” Hudson says smoothly, pushing credit. “Together we’ll have a report for the board by the end of the month.”

“Loop me in,” Mrs. Owens says. “I can be retired and still give you my thoughts on the operations. I’ll replace a quiet room in Cabo.”

“Doubt it,” Mr. Owens mutters.

Mr. Prescott’s date quietly sits between them, picking at her salad as though the conversation isn’t happening around her.

“I give good advice,” Mrs. Owens says, not even bothering to pretend to eat her salad. “If you wait until I’m back, I’ll be there in person.”

“Of course,” Mr. Prescott says, though he doesn’t sound at all sincere.

My mind is spinning. Be here for what? Hudson looks like he wants the earth to open and swallow him whole. I can’t even form a proper question, because I don’t know what to ask.

Lucy takes the stage in her sparkly violet gown and calls attention. “We’ll begin our evening with the award for best layout.”

Hudson leans back in his seat. His leg presses against my knee beneath the table, his hand replaceing mine and holding it lightly. It’s more forward than I’d expected, but I can’t deny how good it feels. I’m sure he wants Leo to see how closely we’re sitting.

When the winner is announced—Jackson Merritt for a late July layout in the Tribune—Hudson leans into me a little more. “Get comfortable,” he says. “It’s going to be a long night.”