Chapter 9
Nine
KAI
I only know the exact time because I sort of believe in the meaning of “angel numbers,” and I wonder if the appearance of four ones is my Mom trying to send a symbolic message from the grave.
That’s the only explanation for why I stare at it for a full thirty seconds before I open it, feeling in my bones that the email is probably important.
From: Professor Murphy
Subject: Follow-Up — Opportunity Discussion
My stomach tightens.
Professor Murphy doesn’t even like me, so a late email from her means it must really matter.
I glance around my bedroom like it might offer guidance. Sue’s door is shut, music faintly bleeding through the wall. My desk is a mess of notes, highlighters, and a half-empty mug of muddy green tea I forgot about hours ago.
I click.
Kai,
I wanted to follow up on our earlier conversation regarding your performance in the Strategic Communications assistantship.
While we identified areas you can tighten up, your work with the hockey program has not gone unnoticed.
Whoa!
My pulse picks up.
I sit back in my chair, tucking one leg underneath me, grounding myself.
Each year, a select group of faculty are asked to recommend one senior for consideration with a private talent and sports representation agency run by Sabrina Stevenson.
My breath catches.
I know that name.
Everyone does.
Sabrina Stevenson is NFL phenom Saint Stevenson’s wife, and she started a firm that specializes in athlete branding, NIL management, and long-term reputation strategy for high-profile clients.
Their focus is not on star power alone, but on risk management, behavioral consistency, and long-term marketability.
And the best part? She’s a champion of women in the industry.
My eyes skim faster now.
The agency does not offer traditional internships. Instead, they select one graduating senior per year for a paid, post-graduate fellowship that often leads to full-time placement.
Holy shit!
I press my fingers to my lips.
One.
Per year.
I have been in contact with Mrs. Stevenson regarding the evolving nature of collegiate athlete branding, particularly in high-risk sports environments. Your ability to maintain professionalism, discretion, and analytical clarity under pressure stood out.
It does? I thought Dr. Murphy couldn’t stand me.
The words “under pressure” suddenly stand out.
They land differently now.
At this stage, this is not a formal offer, but an invitation to be considered. The continuation of this conversation will depend heavily on how you navigate the remainder of your assistantship.
My heart thumps hard enough to make my ears ring. Everything I’ve worked for is right here in this email. It’s a chance of a lifetime, and I know it.
If you are interested, I would like to discuss expectations and what this opportunity would require of you moving forward.
Sincerely,
Professor Murphy
I stare at the screen long after the words stop making sense.
A fellowship.
My ability stood out.
This email was not a vague “maybe someday after you pay your dues” email. And it’s not an offer for an unpaid internship fetching coffee for men who think I should smile more.
This is real.
This is…everything.
I close my laptop slowly, like the opportunity might vanish if I move too fast.
My hands are shaking.
I knock on Sue’s door without thinking.
She opens it with a sock half on and a face mask smeared across her t-zone. “If this is about the weird noise the pipes are making again, I can’t help you, girlie.”
“No, I need you to read something,” I say, shoving my laptop at her.
She squints at the screen, scrolls, then scrolls back up.
Then freezes.
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“Kai.” She looks at me like I just told her I got accepted into NASA. “Isn’t Sabrina Stevenson—”
“Married to Saint Stevenson,” I finish. “Yes.”
“The Saint Stevenson?” she hisses. “Like NFL royalty Saint Stevenson?”
“Yes.”
Sue lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeal and grabs my shoulders. “This is major, honey!”
“I don’t even know if it’s real yet,” I say, even though my chest feels like it’s about to burst. “It’s just a consideration.”
“For one senior,” she emphasizes. “One.”
I nod. “Which means I can’t screw up.”
Her expression shifts, excitement giving way to something more serious.
“And what about Bass?”
There it is.
The name drops into the room like a weight.
“I know,” I say quietly.
Sue closes my laptop and sets it on the bed like it’s something fragile. “Okay. Talk to me.” She pulls out a bag of gummy bears from her nightstand drawer. “This warrants sugar.”
“Agreed.” I hold out my palm so she can give me a few, then I sink onto the edge of the mattress, suddenly exhausted. “This project with him isn’t just about a class grade anymore. It’s a test. They’re watching how I handle everything.”
“And man, is he a delicious way to fail a test,” Sue chuckles.
“I’m not going to fail the test,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “And he’s not that delicious.”
“Uh, okay.” Sue raises an eyebrow. “Say whatever you need to make yourself feel better, but what I know is that your huge hockey hottie could be a problem. Hell, he should be a problem. You haven’t gotten any dick in ages.”
“Okay, fine, you’re right. He may be a problem.” I nervously run my fingers through my curls, detangling as I go. “This agency cares about risk management. Boundaries. Professional judgment.”
“And you’re sleeping with a hockey player you’re supposed to be advising.”
“I’m not sleeping with him!” I say as if I’m horrified by the suggestion.
Sue just looks at me with that infamous “who are you fooling” look on her face and says, “Yet.”
I have no doubt that sex with Bass would be amazing, but if this goes sideways, it’s not him who pays the price; it will be me. He’s a hockey captain on a nationally recognized college team. I bet he already has offers from the NHL.
“The mind controls the body,” I say resolutely. “And I won’t lose control of mine.”
“Okay.” Sue studies me for a long moment, then nods. “When in doubt, just keep in mind what you want more. The job or the nob.”
She’s being a little facetious, but her point is still valid, and the answer to myself is immediate. Frankly, it’s the only right answer.
I want the job.
Later, alone again, I sit cross-legged on my bed, laptop closed, phone face-down beside me.
I replay the last few weeks like a highlight reel I didn’t ask for.
Bass leaning against the boards, his smirk sharp and dangerous, listening when I talk about branding strategy like it actually matters.
And then there are the other images. Me reminding him to stay on message.
Me enforcing boundaries. And me telling myself I can handle this.
I twist my ring around my finger.
You cannot afford to be careless, Kai.
Not now.
Not when something this big is finally within reach.
My phone buzzes against the bed. Something tells me not to look at it, but I do because I feel an inexplicable pull towards it. I already know it’s him.
Bass: You alive, beautiful?
I stare at the screen, and a laugh slips out before I can stop it. He’s so damn corny and sexy at the same damn time. There’s something sweet about the attention. But this is exactly the kind of distraction Professor Murphy is talking about. The kind that looks harmless until it isn’t.
My phone buzzes again.
Bass: For the record, I was a perfect angel at practice today. I think even Coach was impressed. I can be a bit aggressive in practice.
I bite my lip.
Annoying.
Charming.
Dangerous.
I type, delete, then type again.
Me: It’s late, Morelli.
Bass: But you’re awake. Were you thinking about me?
Me: I’m busy.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Then:
Bass: That sounds ominous. Busy conquering the world or busy pretending you don’t miss me?
My chest tightens.
I don’t answer.
I flip my phone face-down and let it sit there, buzzing quietly against the mattress like a heartbeat I’m trying to ignore.
This post-graduation opportunity is a real possibility.
It’s earned.
And if I want it, I have to choose myself first.
Even if it means wanting him second.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, caught somewhere between ambition and temptation, knowing one wrong step could cost me everything. And knowing, somehow, that Bass Morelli is going to make that choice harder than it has any right to be.
I reluctantly take another glance at my phone screen, and my core aches when I read his final text.
Bass: Your silence tells me everything I need to know. Sleep tight, sexy. I’ll see you soon.