I grab a spot near the back, behind a cameraman adjusting his tripod. I flip open my notebook and click my pen, same as everyone else. Just another reporter covering a donor photo op on a Tuesday afternoon. Nothing to see here. Who, me? Sleeping with the CEO?! No, no, of course not! You’ve got the wrong woman.
At the top of the hour, Kir emerges through a side door flanked by two hospital administrators and a woman I recognize as Vera, the press liaison I met yesterday. He’s wearing black suit pants with a crisp white shirt and no jacket or tie. It’s casual and charmingly at-ease, with none of the predatory menace of the man who darkened my door and murmured filthy promises in my ear twelve hours ago.
For starters, this version of Kir is smiling. It’s a smile that makes you trust him ins
