While we drive, I update him on the basics of the piece, and his excitement shows in the white of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter. “When can we push it?”
“I’d like to get the okay from Mr. Kim for the portion related to his tip.”
He nods. “I’m fine with that.”
My stomach gnaws at itself. This thing with me and Alec… every passing day it feels less like a fling. It’s one thing to explain away a temporary conflict of interest, easy to justify that Alec came forward as a source only after we’d already slept together. But at this point, I should tell Billy about it.
He glances over at me, and at the eye contact, the car shrinks down to a thimble. His gaze is notoriously sharp, stonily intimidating. Doubt drips into my blood like ice water and my confession dies in my throat.
“And actually, he’ll be there tonight,” he continues unaware, looking ahead. “If he gives a thumbs-up, we can run it tomorrow. Send it to me.”
It’s a few seconds before I find enough courage to push back on this. The pit in my stomach is the instinct I need to follow, and this isn’t only about Alec being my secret lover. It’s about social grace. “I don’t think I can approach Mr. Kim like that at a gala. Not about a story related to his sister’s assault.”
Billy blinks at me again and then turns back to the road. “Ah, you’re not cutthroat.” I can’t tell from his tone whether that’s a simple observation or a criticism. “Send it over to me as is, George.”
I can tell he’s not going to ask nicely again, so I open my email and forward it. “Don’t pass it until I say.” These words are out before I think better of them.
Billy lets my demand sit for a few seconds and then he glances at me slowly, like I’m very stupid. He could chew me out for being a jerk insubordinate, but he doesn’t, thankfully. He says only a dryly amused, “I won’t.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Without question, Billy will be reading this on his phone and mulling it over most of the night, and I will be at his side, trying to very slowly sip my wine and find the best moment to casually mention that I’ve slept with my source. But at least I’ll also get a chance to people-watch and covertly spy on Alec being hot in his element.
Once we park, we bypass the red-carpet photograph area and sign in. The party itself is as sparkling and upscale as one would expect a gala held at the Beverly Hilton to be. Pulsing, upbeat music that doesn’t drown out conversation. A cash bar with proceeds going to Human Rights Watch. Clusters of seating dot the perimeter of the room. Billy and I grab drinks and then he points us to a side of the room that gives us a good view of the entrance and the bar, where most people will congregate early on. I approve of his choice, too, because the lighting is great. Imaginary Eden high-fives me.
He sips his drink and pulls his phone out just as I expected.
“I knew it.”
Billy doesn’t look up. “Knew what?”
“That you wouldn’t be able to resist reading it as soon as we were situated inside.”
“You wouldn’t have, either.” He scans the words and lets out a low whistle. “Unreal. Unreal.” He pauses, taking a sip of his beer. “Who wrote the part about the tech guy—Sano?”
“Me.”
He nods, gesturing to me with his bottle. “It’s great. Sharp breakdown of his timeline. These guys are fucked.”
I open my mouth to reply, to thank my boss for this rare praise, but my gaze trips over Alec walking in with Yael at his side. For the duration it takes to inspect him head to toe, I stop breathing. He must have bought a new tux today. This one is modern—slim lines, jet-black. His shirt is black, too, and open just at the collar, exposing the smooth skin of his throat. No tie. Long, lean legs. Hair combed off his forehead. He looks like he was designed by scientists to make females spontaneously ovulate.
“What’re you—？” Billy pauses and follows my attention. Alec moves deeper into the room, and heads turn. “Oh.” I feel my boss look back at me—I register that I’m being weird levels of quiet—and struggle to get my face back under conscious control.
I point out the obvious: “Mr. Kim is here.”
Billy gives a low mm-hmm in his throat, adding, “I see that.”
Why didn’t I tell Billy in the car? It’s a blatant omission now, an intentional one.
A board member for the AP approaches Alec, whose smile is bright, but I recognize the formality at the edges, the way he keeps his physical distance, shakes hands, doesn’t hug. My brain pulls an image forward, pointing to it with gloating urgency: Alec bringing me into his arms in our suite. Telling me I’m a tease. Kissing me in a loud, playful smooch.