“I don’t give a damn what they want,” he said into the phone. “My personal life is my own fucking business. I’ve never commented on it before. I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”
Kate listened to his end of the conversation, not feeling any better judging by the number of times Ryan swore. When he was done, he tossed the cordless phone on the desk, dropped into Mitch’s leather chair, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “What do you want to do?”
The question was meant for her. Kate looked to Simone, then back at Ryan’s hard face. “If we ignore it?”
“They’ll hound us until we break.”
Kate caught Simone’s nod of agreement. “So we face them head on.”
He met her gaze with steely eyes. “I don’t want my personal life strewn across the front page of the National Star.”
“Ryan,” Simone interjected for the first time, “I don’t think you have a choice in the matter right now. Either we give them something to print, or they’re going to do their damnedest to make up something much worse. I realize your need for privacy, but it’s the lesser of two evils we’re concerned with now.”
Ryan turned his icy gaze on Simone. “I hate the fucking press.”
She smiled at the confrontation. “I’m sure they feel the same way about you.”
Simone slipped an arm around Kate’s waist. “I think we need to go over our game plan. We make it clear the children are off limits. You make a joint statement, act like you’re on civil speaking terms” —she shot a speculative glance at Ryan— “then answer a few brief questions. The whole thing will be over in a few minutes.”
Ryan let out a huff.
“And you, Mr. Multimillionaire,” Simone said. “You’ll be polite and courteous. The press will tear Kate to shreds if you’re an ass to them. I know it’s worked for you in the past, but this time you have other people to think about. This time, the press isn’t interested in your business. They’re interested in your family. It’s a whole new ball game.”
Not even a torrential downpour could keep the press away. Kate glanced out the window of the penthouse suite in the Hawthorn Hotel at the sheets of rain slamming the city. Dark and gray, much like her mood, no end in sight to the depressing day.
Turning away from the rain, she tried to refocus on what was about to happen, but every time she looked at Ryan, she was startled by the image he created. Surrounded by a group of men and one woman, he looked every bit the power player he was. He wore an expensive navy suit with a crisp white shirt and blue-checked tie, and somehow, dressed like that, in this environment, she could easily see why people were so intimidated by him.
She wished Simone was with her but she’d already gone downstairs to herd the press. While Ryan continued to ignore her and talk to his team instead, Kate’s anxiety amped. She’d seen how angry he was yesterday when the story had broken, but he had to know this wasn’t a normal event for her. Would a little humanity right now be too much to ask from the man?
A member of Ryan’s team peeked his head in the door. “It’s time, Mr. Harrison.”
Kate’s stomach fluttered. Here we go. She dropped her arms, straightened her jacket, all the while wondering how the hell her life had gotten so complicated. Before she could take a step toward the door, the lone woman in Ryan’s group approached her.
“Ms. Alexander, I’m Hannah Hughes, Vice President of Public Relations for AmCorp. Ryan’s brought me up to speed. I realize this is probably a lot to deal with right now and if there’s anything AmCorp can do to make you more comfortable, please let us know.”
Kate was about to respond when Hannah stepped past her and out into the hallway with the rest of Ryan’s team. Okay, so much for chitchat. That felt scripted.
Kate turned when Ryan walked up beside her.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and swallowed the growing lump in her throat.
He stayed next to her as they walked down the hallway, the expression on his face blank and emotionless. For the first time since she’d met him, Kate wished desperately he’d say something, anything to her. Even yelling at her was better than this.
They rode the elevator in silence. No one—not a single member of his team—spoke. When the elevator pinged and the door opened, though, they were instantly swarmed by the press, by cameras flashing and reporters hollering questions. Ryan reached for her elbow and guided her into the conference room. TV cameras were shoved in their faces, blinding lights and microphones. For the first time, Kate caught a glimpse of Ryan’s public image, of how frustrating it must be to be in the spotlight. She didn’t like it. And she didn’t want it.
At the far end of the room sat a long table and a podium with a bank of microphones. Ryan’s team of lawyers filtered to the mikes where Simone was already waiting. Kate and Ryan stepped up behind them.
Simone leaned over. “You okay?”
Kate nodded, though what she really wanted to do was throw up.
Hannah Hughes spoke first, bringing a hush over the fifty or so reporters gathered in the room. “Good morning,” she said in a firm and confident voice. “I’m Hannah Hughes, Vice President of Public Relations for AmCorp. I’d like to lay some ground rules before we get started. Mr. Harrison and Ms. Alexander have asked me to read a statement, during which we request you refrain from asking questions. Afterwards, Mr. Harrison and Ms. Alexander will open the floor up for a brief question-and-answer session.”
She slipped on her glasses and glanced down at the prepared statement. “Five years ago, Mr. Harrison’s wife of seven years, seismologist Anne Harrison, boarded flight 1466 bound for Denver, Colorado.” What followed was a vague description of the events that brought them together.
Hannah didn’t seem to miss a beat as she read through the statement. She kept right on going, her gaze steady across the sea of reporters, never looking at any one person for very long, never showing a hint of emotion. The reporters listened intently, jotting notes and focusing on her words. Hannah glanced up when she finished, then stepped back and let Kate and Ryan approach the mike. Nervous tension ran through Kate, but she did her best to smile when the cameras turned on her.
“Good morning,” Ryan said. “If we’d have known there was going to be a three-ring circus here today, we’d have booked a clown for the festivities.” He flashed a mesmerizing smile—one Kate had never seen before—and several people in the audience laughed.
“Unfortunately,” he went on, his face hardening, “this situation is anything but a laughing matter. I don’t think I need to tell you that we’re just as shocked by recent developments as you are. Upon completion of this press conference, neither Ms. Alexander nor myself will be answering questions regarding our personal lives. I’d appreciate your cooperation in this, and request that you give us the space we need to deal with this situation on our own.”
As soon as he paused, a wave of arms shot into the air, followed by voices trying to be heard. Ryan pointed to one reporter and waited. “Can you tell us who recognized Ms. Alexander?” the man asked.
“Yes. Simone Conners, a lawyer here in the city.”
“Ms. Alexander,” another reporter asked, “can you explain how your memory has been affected since your accident?”
“I can try,” Kate said with a smile. “I’m not able to remember anything before waking up from that coma. My memory basically started eighteen months ago.”
Hands went up all over the room, and Kate pointed to a young female with red hair. “Ms. Alexander, how did you end up in Houston?”