Public Relations

Chapter 10: Brett

It's infuriating how beautiful she looks.

I've rarely seen her in anything other than her business casual attire, which are always very chic outfits, but equally buttoned up. I can tell the dress isn't hers, and she wears it like it's not, but it shows off a tattoo on her shoulder I've never seen before - a dove. Glitter twinkles on her skin, her bare shoulders shimmering with a pink haze. It looks a bit like a slumber party makeover, something she's not as comfortable in.

She clutches a burger between both hands, savoring the bites like she's having a sexual encounter. For my own sake, I keep my eyes glued to the fluorescently lit road in front of me.

"Are you cold? Feel free to adjust the AC as you need," I tell her, gesturing weakly to the knobs on the dash, where they are in literally every car.

"It's perfect, Brett."

I hum, then spare a single glance at her. She's almost completely inhaled the burger, eyes closed in bliss, glossy lips pursed while she chews. I smile at the sight.

"Hey, President Mia, whenever you come back to Earth, could you punch your address in to my phone? I don't know where you live."

"Thank God for that," she says, but punctuates this with a fry. "What's your password?"

"Twelve oh eight ninety nine."

"Birthday?"

"My sister's."

She makes a soft, agreeable sound. "Cute." Then Siri is blaring through my speakers to tell me to turn around.

We're silent for a while; she's fixated on the warm, greasy food in her lap while I stare at the sky, starless and almost orange. There's a gentle hiccup from the girl beside me, whom I can hardly recognize with her guard down. She glances at me, wide-eyed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

"I'm not hiccupping because I'm drunk," she says firmly.

"Right."

"I just hiccup a lot."

I shoot her a glance from my peripheral, trying to mask a grin of my own. "But you are drunk."

"We love an observant king," she responds, her voice laced with sarcasm.

I snort. "Really drunk people say they're not drunk."

"If you're trying to get a read on me, use your words. We're grownups." She tosses a few fries into her mouth, then reaches deep into the bag to grab another. She holds it out to me, saying, "You should always be direct with me and I'll be direct with you."

I go to reach for the fry but she slaps my hands away. "On the wheel!" she insists. I give her a confused glance, but she just looks back at me, as if to say Well?

I open my mouth and she feeds me the fry, delighted as could be.

I chew tentatively, both the food and her words. "You don't like when I'm direct with you, Mia."

Her lips part in surprise and shifts in her seat to face me almost head-on. I catch her in glimpses, trying to keep my eyes on the road, or even just off her. It feels wrong, disrespectful somehow to be soaking in the sight of her like this. Like I'm violating her trust by catching the real Mia, when I know PR Mia wouldn't like it.

"What makes you think that?" she asks, up to her elbow in the paper bag. She fishes out nuggets, then sauce. I got one of each, but she chose Sweet and Sour. I file this information away, partially against my will, and know I'll likely remember it forever.

"Mia. I've always tried to get to know you. You aren't too keen on the idea."

She's got the box of nuggets balanced on one knee, the sauce tucked safely in the crevice created between her thighs. "That's not being direct. You beat around the bush with surface level shit, like where I'm from and what I majored in college. I don't have time for games like that."