Under Pressure. Kira Sinclair

      “All right.” Daniel clapped his hands. The room went silent, everyone stopping what they were doing.

      “We’re going to take our time here, folks. Asher is new to being in front of the camera, although Kennedy assures me he’s a natural.”

      A natural. Jesus, could she have told a bigger lie?

      Daniel smiled at Kennedy. Asher had no idea how she’d managed it, but the man’s earlier irritation had disappeared. Kennedy grinned back at him, her enthusiasm glittering and contagious.

      For a minute he wanted to believe everything was going to be okay.

      And then his gaze swung to the empty eye of the camera and panic seized him.

      His tongue swelled. His chest tightened, one pound of pressure adding to two and then more, as if he’d gone fast beneath the waves without taking the time to pressurize. The heaviness settled deep, pressing on his lungs and making it difficult to pull in a full breath.

      Closing his eyes, Asher tried to find a center of calm, but all he got was a memory of his mother. Her expression full of impatience, anger and disappointment. As if he’d been a reminder of everything that was wrong with her life.

      He’d been young when she left, just six. Those were the only memories he really had of the woman, her presence in his life limited even before his father had died and she’d abandoned him for good.

      Asher forcibly pushed the memories away. It had been years since his mother had invaded his thoughts, and he didn’t like her there. It bothered him that he’d let her in, especially when he was already fighting to keep his cool.

      He remembered nights out in harsh environments with only the supplies he could carry and the men beside him standing against death and disaster. He hadn’t felt this kind of panic then, not even when they’d been ambushed, lost communications with their evac team and spent hours trading gunfire and trying to figure out an exit strategy.

      “Asher.” Kennedy’s soft voice pulled him out of the mental tailspin. His gaze snapped to hers, zeroing in on those warm brown eyes. “Daniel wants you to just talk a bit about the Chimera. How did Trident get involved with hunting for the ship? Go into a bit about how you, Jackson and Knox met.”

      Asher clung desperately to the excuse she’d given him. “You know I can’t talk about our missions with the SEALs.”

      She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. Or not exactly. Just...how did you guys become friends, start the business?”

      “All right.”

      Asher took a deep breath. With Kennedy close, he suddenly felt as if he was going to suffocate sitting in this tiny room.

      She frowned at him, creases forming right between her eyes. He could imagine the disappointment that would fill them when she finally realized he was about to ruin everything.

      “Are you okay?”

      “Fine,” he gritted out, not meaning it at all. But he wasn’t about to tell her the truth.

      Her whiskey eyes toured his face. Years of practice allowed Asher to clamp down on his reactions, forcing a calm he didn’t feel to settle over his features.

      Her mouth compressed into a tight line, but before she could say anything more, Daniel squeezed between them.

      “Kennedy has explained what I’m looking for?”

      “Yes,” Asher answered, forcefully pulling his gaze away from Kennedy.

      “Excellent.”

      Everyone backed away from him, and for the first time since walking into the room, his personal space was his own. He’d wanted that, but the relief was short-lived when the people who’d crowded in scuttled off to the edges of the room.

      They were lined up against the wall, out of the line of the camera, but available should they be needed.

      And they were all staring at him. Silent. Waiting.

      He’d lived through this nightmare before. Sitting in the middle of a classroom with all the kids around him playing witness to his humiliation and failure. Impatience oozing from them because he couldn’t open his mouth and get a simple goddamn word past his uncooperative vocal cords to answer the teacher.

      The frustration and resentment.

      But this was different than those moments. So much worse. Everything he said and did would not only be witnessed by these people, but recorded and reflected back. Every flaw and gaffe magnified for the entire world to see.

      He’d faced down terrorists, bombers—men, women and, hell, children—who’d wanted to kill him merely because of who he was and what he represented. With the SEALs he’d gained a reputation for having ice in his veins, walking into the most chaotic situations with a confidence that bordered on insanity.

      Because he trusted in his training, his skills and those of the men fighting beside him.

      It was terrifying not to be able to trust his own body to perform the way it should. Not to have the skills to conquer the irrational fear roiling inside of him because of a stupid inanimate object—a camera.

      He would not lose his shit now. Not over this.

      Swallowing the gigantic lump that was trying to suffocate him, Asher’s gaze found the expectant eye of the lens...and Kennedy. She stood several feet behind the camera positioned on the large metal frame.

      To her left the director said, “Action.”

      To her right the camera moved. Asher’s system flooded with adrenaline. His senses, dialed up to a ten already, kicked into overdrive.

      His fingers curled around the edge of the desk, the wood biting into his skin hard enough to leave marks.

      His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

      The director cut a glance at Kennedy, who frowned and shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

      “Asher, why don’t you start by telling us who you are and how you got involved with Trident Diving?”

      He nodded, swallowed and tried again. But nothing came out.

      Shit.

      The quiet that had descended over the room began to fade. Feet shuffled. Someone murmured. Somewhere paper fluttered.

      He wasn’t going to be able to do this.

      The memory of every humiliation he’d ever experienced because of his failures came flooding back to him. His struggle to be understood through the debilitating stutter that all the experts claimed was psychological, but that he couldn’t seem to stop. Each time he’d seen sorrow, frustration and disappointment in his grandmother’s eyes when therapy didn’t work. His inability to make his mom happy. Make her stay. Walking into his home, after being gone for months, to find it absolutely empty of everything but the divorce papers Krista had left for him.

      “Fuck this,” he growled, shoving away from the desk and stalking toward the door. He didn’t need to add another failure to a list that was already plenty long.

      No one tried to stop him. The crowd stared even as they parted to let him pass. He didn’t look at any of them.

      He didn’t need to.

      The expression of utter horror on Kennedy’s face was enough.

      * * *

      HOLY HELL, WHAT had just happened?

      One minute Asher had been leaning against the desk looking all remote, brooding and eminently lickable, and the next he’d been cursing and storming out.

      The second he disappeared every eye in the place turned to her. She had no clue what to say.

      Daniel scowled at her. “What was that?”

      She shook her head, at a complete loss. “I have