Page 2 of The Prime-Time Experiment

Riley held his gaze for a moment, registering rather than engaging. There was no obvious challenge in his expression, no immediate attempt to assess or dismiss, just a quiet kind of focus that felt intentional. The tops of his lips lifted into a smile that she could imagine would normally give him power over women, and yet as she looked at him, she could not understand why. Not why, as in why he could look like that, but why he was smiling at her. He must have read her reaction to her staring as interest because he leaned forward extending a hand across the space between them.

“The name’s Declan Montgomery.”

The introduction was direct, offered as though she should know or remember his name. Typically in this segment of an interaction, she would return the pleasantries with her name. Here, she saw no logical reason to do so. Riley did not initiate contact with strangers. In fact, it was rare Riley let anyone touch her at all. She wasn’t a germaphobe, but she didn’t see the appeal in having someone you do not know or trust touching your body. She could not control that. She looked at his hand, then up into his hazel eyes.

The pause extended long enough to register as deliberate before she withdrew her attention entirely, turning her focus back to the front of the room.

Normally, moving something out of her eyesight gave her a small relief from the situation, but she was aware of him even after turning away. The way one becomes aware of a change in atmosphere without being able to immediately define it.

Irritating.

“Five seconds.”

The host’s voice lifted, brightening as it slipped into something more polished. Around them, the energy in the room tightened, drawing inward as the camera light flicked on. The room was cute, with corduroy rust-coloured couches and bright blue, orange and yellow coloured knick-knacks. It felt like a cosy 70’s house from an old TV show, which gave the network the appeal of being original and a long-standing trusted show. She almost wanted to commend whoever strategised it, even if it meant sitting on a couch that she could not guarantee had a life before the events of his show.

Riley’s attention shifted, not to the camera but to the host. She only appeared in the last thirty seconds, after seemingly fixing up her hair and makeup. She pulled her finger across the corner of her mouth, as if checking her lipstick was on properly.

Her blonde hair was styled immaculately, in an intricate twisted bun that suggested effort had been applied into styling it. Her features were obviously chosen for visual retainership: petite, heart—shaped face, cosmetically enhanced nose and breasts. Nothing appeared like it would distract on screen, yet Riley thought she looked like she could easily be a model rather than a broadcaster. She supposed that the distinction had become increasingly irrelevant, and more purposeful.

Riley did not lack confidence in herself, at 5’6 and relatively proportionate in height and weight, she had been told oftentimes at university that she could’ve chosen a modelling career. She couldn’t think of anything worse, having people look at you all day, touching you. But sitting next to her, Riley could see how it could appeal to others.

Presentation, Riley noted, was part of the function of television. She did not believe that was a good model for their future generations.

“And we’re back.”

Riley straightened slightly, the adjustment automatic. Hands still, posture aligned, expression composed.

“Joining us this morning,” the host began, turning smoothly toward her, “we have Dr Riley Lorrent, a leading cognitive psychologist specialising in mental performance and behavioural optimisation—”

Riley inclined her head, brief and assured.

“—and Declan Montgomery, a fitness coach and digital creator whose approach to health and training has reached millions.”

A fractional shift in emphasis.

“Today we’re looking at what it actually means to optimise your health not just physically, but mentally and behaviourally, and how those pieces work together to improve in our everyday lives.” She paused, glancing between the two of them on their opposite couches. “Now, before we get into it, I would love to start simple. For viewers at home, what exactly do you both do?”

Riley let the question settle, unsure of how much detail the host was wanting. Declan answered first.

“I help people build routines they can actually stick to,” he said, voice easy. “Training, nutrition. Nothing extreme or crazy, just try to show consistent changes that fit into everyday life.”

Accessible and clear. Riley noted it, her explanation only needed to be simple. The host turned to her.

“And you, Dr Lorrent?”

Riley folded her hands neatly in her lap. “My work focuses on cognitive training,” she said, her tone even, matter of fact. “Specifically, how mental processes such as attention, decision-making, and behavioural regulation can be structured to improve long-term performance.” She paused, that was too clinical. She took a small breath in her nose, before clarifying, “Across environments.”

The host smiled. “So, we have the mind,” she said, gesturing lightly toward Riley, “and the body,” a glance toward Declan, her eyes staying locked on his exposed shoulders, “both working toward the same goal: helping people function better.”

Riley inclined her head slightly. “Broadly, yes.”

She felt it then, that familiar internal check. The instinct to refine, to clarify, to narrow the statement into something exact. She let it pass. This was not a setting that rewarded precision. She had never fitted well into environments that lacked the professional language due to instances exactly like this. Riley could not see how people could talk so casually. The other kids in her high school had called her a human textbook because of her inability to speak unprofessionally. They never understood that she spoke the way she thought, always truthful and factual.

The host brightened at the agreement. “Which is what people are really looking for, right? Something that helps them feel better, stay motivated, build habits?”

Declan smirked, before leaning back into the couch, resting both arms along the top of it. “Exactly,” he said easily.

Riley didn’t look at him immediately, but she felt the shift in the space opposite her, the ease in his tone, the way he spoke without needing to measure every word before it left him. He was a natural in front of a camera.