These Games We Play

chapter forty eight:charities

Wind whipping in my hair, I called Alisa from the roof to ask about the will. With Jameson still in front of me absent mindedly brushing it out of my face whilst playing with it.

"I'm unaware of any special copies of Mr. Hawthorne's prior will, but McNamara, Ortega, and Jones certainly has an original on file that you could view." I knew exactly what Alisa meant when she said "special," but just because there wasn't an equivalent to the Red Will didn't mean that this was a dead end. Not yet.

"How soon can I see it?" I asked, my eyes still on Jameson's. Who was now tracing his hand over my arm. I smacked him and he went back to playing with my hair. Calling off the bet meant I was getting the full Jameson Hawthrone charm. It also meant I had to not get annoyed with it and as a result push him off the roof.

"I need you to do two things for me first." I scowled. When I'd asked to see the Red Will, Alisa had leveraged my request to put me in a room with a team of stylists.

"Not another makeover," I groaned. "Because this is about as made over as I get."

"You're perfectly presentable these days," Alisa assured me. "But I will need you to clear some time in your schedule for an appointment with Landon right after school."

Landon was a media consultant. She handled PR-and prepping me to talk to the press. I had wanted to talk to Cam and Lia and give them an update about my life. Leaving out the part that Toby might be my father. That stayed between Jameson and I for now.

"Why do I need to meet with Landon right after school?" I asked suspiciously.

"I'd like you interview-ready within the next month. We need to be sure that we're the ones controlling the story, Eva." Alisa paused. "Not your father."

I couldn't say what I wanted to say, which was that Peter Radways wasn't my father. It wasn't his signature on my birth certificate.

"Fine," I said sharply. "What else?" Alisa had said "two things."

"I need you to recover your senses and let your poor bodyguard onto that roof."

☆☆☆☆

After school, I met with Landon in the Oval Room.

"Last time we met, I taught you how not to answer questions. The art of answering them is a bit more complicated. With a group of reporters, you can ignore questions you don't want to answer. In a one-on-one interview, that ceases to be an option."

I tried to at least look like I was paying attention to what the media consultant was saying. I wasn't though. My mind was spinning because of kisses from a certain Hawthorne and the fact my father was Toby.

"Instead of ignoring questions," Landon continued, her posh British accent pronounced, "you have to redirect them, and you must do so in a way that ensures that people are interested enough in what you're saying that they fail to notice when you take a detour directly toward one of your preordained talking points."

"My talking points," I echoed, but my thoughts were on Tobias Hawthorne's will.

Landon's deep brown eyes didn't miss much. She arched an eyebrow at me, and I forced myself to focus.

"Lovely," she declared. "The first thing you need to decide is what you want people taking away from any given interview. To do that, you will need to formulate a personal theme, exactly six talking points, and no fewer than two dozen personal anecdotes that will humanize you and redirect any category of question you might receive toward one of your talking points."

"Is that all?" I asked dryly. Landon ignored my tone.

"Not quite. You'll also need to learn to identify 'no' questions." I could do this. I could be a good little heiress celebrity. I could refrain from rolling my eyes and I could refrain from thinking about the will.