Free High Octane by Lisa Renée Jones Page B

chairs. “Please. You two sit down.”
    Ryan held out Sabrina’s chair, a perfect gentleman, something she would expect from a military man. But it was the soft touch of his hand on her back, just so, the silent comfort it offered, followed by a for-her-eyes-only look that said “say no, it’s okay,” that she found remarkable. As was the invisible blanket of awareness between them she’d never felt in quite this way.
    He claimed his chair, and she settled her napkin in her lap. A waiter quickly appeared, and both Sabrina and Ryan ordered coffee, declining food. He was apparently as much of a coffee addict as she was, which she probably found far too appealing for such a little thing.
    â€œWe ate right before we talked to you on the phone,” Ryan explained to Calista, sticking to the story they’d decided on in the car. They’d eat later, when this was over.
    â€œI’m just glad you were able to join me,” Calista chimed quickly. She glanced at Sabrina. “I really appreciate you taking the time to chat with me.”
    â€œChatting is great,” Ryan interjected. “But we need some clarification up front. Sabrina left the Prime and politics back in New York. She doesn’t want where she’s living to get spread all over the media. We need your word right here and now that her identity and location stays at this table unless she agrees otherwise.”
    Sabrina’s stomach fluttered at the unfamiliarity of Ryan’s protectiveness. It felt nice having someone else stand up for her. And to think she’d believed he might have a political agenda.
    Calista’s gaze settled heavily on Sabrina. “You…” She looked dumbstruck. “…you left the Prime ? I mean I knew you’d been gone a few weeks, but I assumed it was vacation. When Ryan said you wanted to interview my brother, I, in turn, assumed you were visiting, that you happened to cross his path and conjured up some political twist to a sports theme.”
    â€œNo,” Sabrina said. “No political twist. My idea for your brother is all about that wildly popular sport of his.”
    â€œSo you’re really gone from the Prime ? No more politics?”
    Sabrina nodded tersely and Calista asked, “Wasn’t your column extremely popular?”
    â€œI was blessed with a loyal following, yes,” she conceded.
    â€œThen why leave?”
    â€œIt’s complicated,” Sabrina said awkwardly, thankful the coffee attendant appeared just then, disrupting Calista’s scrutinizing stare.
    Ryan reached under the table and squeezed Sabrina’s hand, silencing her. “We need that promise, Calista. Nothing goes beyond this table.”
    Calista cut Ryan a short look. “Yes, okay. I promise.” Her gaze quickly flickered back to Sabrina. “This is about the rumors that your father is going to bid on the presidency, isn’t it? He can’t have his daughter writing open editorials destroying the policies he stands behind. If his own daughter doesn’t believe in him, who will?”
    â€œLike I said,” Sabrina repeated, “it’s complicated.”
    Ryan handed her the sugar, which she gladly accepted. Somehow, caffeine and sugar seemed appropriate right now.
    â€œDid your father force you out of the spotlight?”
    â€œNo,” Sabrina said, quick to purge that idea, irritated to have to battle such speculation, and wondering how many other people would make the same assumption. “I made the decision for myself.” And she meant that. Mostly.
    Calista looked as if she might question further but changed her mind. “Your column was brave,” she said,her voice filled with obvious admiration. “It inspired people to listen to an agenda that isn’t politically driven, but people-driven. You spoke your mind no matter who—your father included—might disagree. That’s what change is really