#Chapter 22 - The Press Conference From Hell

The following morning felt like a circus show—and I was sitting in the center of it. Having barely slept no more than a few hours, I dragged myself to the vanity table where two maids were in the frantic process of getting me picture-worthy-ready for the conference. I’d hoped that at least some of my disgruntled anger toward James would have faded by now. But no. In fact, I was fairly certain that it all intensified the moment I’d been squeezed into a fitted, mid-length dress and my hair was roughly brushed and curled to frame my face. My makeup was applied with perfect precision and before I knew it I was being escorted out the door by James. We spent the majority of the car ride over to the conference hall in complete silence. I think after I’d left work yesterday, James didn’t exactly know how to approach me since then. There was still a thick bout of tension around us. James suddenly cleared his throat. “Remember, you don’t need to say much. Should someone ask you a quest