Page 1 of The Prime-Time Experiment

Chapter 1

An Uncontrolled Social Experiment

Riley

The first thing Riley Lorrent noticed was that the lighting was wrong.

Not wrong enough to draw comment, no one here would have noticed, but wrong in the way it softened everything it touched. It blurred edges, warmed tones that didn’t require it, turned the set into something more palatable than precise. It wasn’t designed for clarity; it was designed to make things easier to accept.

She supposed that was the point.

Riley adjusted the sleeve of her navy blazer, smoothing the fabric back into place with a quiet, deliberate movement. The feeling from the lights had made the fabric shift onto her skin just enough to be distracting. She stilled her hands in her lap a moment later, posture settling into something composed and unremarkable.

Unremarkable had been the intention. It had not, unfortunately, been the instruction.

“You present well.”

The memory surfaced uninvited, the implication obvious even to her. Her boss had not looked up from his desk when he’d said it. Had not hesitated, as though the statement required no further context or clarification. Riley had not responded, so he had continued.

“They want someone who can translate the research for everyday viewers, and you’re… approachable.”

Approachable.

Riley resisted the urge to adjust her sleeve again.

She had drawn the conclusion quickly, almost automatically. She was selected, it seemed, not solely for her work, but for how she could be positioned within the format itself. She fit visually. At twenty-five, she contrasted cleanly against the middle-aged men she worked alongside. Where they were authoritative, she was accessible. Where they were dense, she was expected to be digestible. Acceptable, within the parameters of a morning show segment designed to hold attention rather than interrogate detail.

And she agreed.

Not because the reasoning had been sound, but because the opportunity was strategically useful. Visibility, however imprecise, still carried weight when it came to funding. She understood that. Even if the platform distorted the work, it still extended its reach. Even if the medium for that was… this.

Around her, the studio moved with quiet efficiency. Voices low and controlled. Someone counting down. Someone else adjusting something just out of view. The faint hum of equipment threaded through it all, steady and constant.

Riley preferred environments that did not require filtration.

“Thirty seconds.”

She didn’t turn, she already knew. The structure of the segment had been outlined clearly enough: designed to give the impression of spontaneity without allowing for too much deviation. A question framed simply, a contrast established quickly. A resolution reached just in time to maintain pacing.

It was not designed for precision.

Across from her, there was a shift. Riley let her gaze move, unhurried.

He looked exactly like someone who never had to consider whether he belonged in a space like this.

The thought arrived fully formed, and Riley dismissed it almost immediately. His posture was relaxed without appearing careless, shoulders loose, one arm resting along the back of his chair as though the environment required no adjustment from him. There was no visible tension in the way he held himself, he looked comfortable.

Comfort, Riley thought, was often mistaken for effortlessness.

Physically, he aligned with her expectation of the segment’s physical specialist. His muscles were not overly defined or exaggerated, but the way his shirt fit showed he was consistent with disciplined training, strength built through repetition rather than display.

Up close, the details followed the same pattern. Dark hair kept short enough at the sides and back to avoid distraction. His hair seemed to sit longer on top of his head in a loose array of curls. He held structured facial features, a well-defined jawline and a strong set of brows. There was nothing unconventional about him, nothing that required a second look to understand why he worked. It was balanced, predictable in the way symmetry often was.

Objectively, she could recognise the appeal. If she were inclined toward that kind of engagement, her physiological response would likely align with what others would classify as attraction.

She was not.

What she was willing to respond to was the way his attention settled. On her.