Chapter Nine
Olivia
By the time I hit my car, the shaking hits hard.
My hands tremble as I fumble with my keys, dropping them once before managing to unlock the door. I slide into the driver’s seat and grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, breathing hard.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That’s the problem. For one reckless, stupid, beautiful moment, I stopped thinking entirely. I just felt. His hand on my waist. His breath on my skin. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Tell me to stop.
I should have. I should have pushed him away, reminded him of all the reasons this is impossible, and walked out with my dignity intact.
Instead, I’d leaned in.
God help me, I’d leaned in.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, dreading what I’ll find.
Carter: I’m sorry.
I stare at the message, cursor blinking in the reply box. What am I supposed to say? Don’t be? I wanted it too? Let’s pretend it never happened?
I type: Nothing to be sorry for. Nothing happened.
His response is immediate.
Carter: That’s the problem.
I close my eyes, head falling back against the seat. He’s right. That’s exactly the problem. Because now I know how close we came. Now I know what it would feel like to cross that line.
And worse, I know I want to do it again.
Another buzz.
Carter: For the record, I don’t regret almost kissing you. I regret getting interrupted.
Heat floods through me, dangerous and intoxicating. I should shut this down. Should remind him of every rule we’re breaking just by having this conversation.
Instead, I type: Me too.
The moment I hit send, I regret it. But it’s too late. The truth is out there, floating in the digital space between us, impossible to take back.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Carter: Dinner tomorrow? Just to talk. I promise to behave.
I laugh despite myself. Your promises aren’t very reassuring, Storm.
Carter: Fair. But I’m asking anyway.
The rain pounds against my windshield, turning the world outside into a blur. I should say no. Should tell him we need distance, not more time together.
But when I look down at my phone, my fingers betray me.
Fine. But somewhere public. And you’re REALLY buying this time.
Carter: Deal. See you tomorrow, Rivers.
See you tomorrow.
I set the phone down and start the engine, but I don’t pull out of the parking lot right away. Instead, I sit there in the rain, replaying the moment over and over in my head.
The way his hand felt on my waist. The heat in his eyes. The almost-kiss that’s somehow more intimate than if it had actually happened.
By the time I finally drive home, one thing is crystal clear:
I’m in serious trouble.
And the worst part? I don’t want to be saved.
The next morning arrives too quickly and not quickly enough.
I wake up at six, having slept maybe three hours total. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that office, back in the dark with Carter’s hand on my waist and his voice rough with want.
Coffee doesn’t help. Neither does a shower. By the time I’m dressed and heading to the office, my nerves are strung tight enough to snap.
My phone buzzes as I’m pulling into the parking garage.
Carter: Morning. Still on for tonight?
Yes. Where?
Carter: There’s a place on the north side. Quiet. Good food. I’ll text you the address.
Okay.
I stare at the single word, wishing I could inject it with some of the professionalism that’s supposed to define our relationship. But it’s gone, burned away in a power outage and a moment of weakness.
The office is already buzzing when I walk in. Mark’s assistant waves me down before I even reach my desk.
“Mark wants to see you.”
My stomach drops. “Now?”
“Five minutes ago.”
Great.
I detour to Mark’s office, knocking once before pushing the door open. He’s on the phone, but he waves me in, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.
“—no, I understand. Yes. We’ll have a statement ready by end of day. Thank you.” He hangs up and fixes me with a look that’s equal parts exhausted and exasperated. “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The kind where one of our players was seen leaving the stadium last night during a storm with our PR specialist, and now there’s speculation on social media.”
Ice floods my veins. “What?”
Mark turns his monitor toward me. On the screen is a blurry photo—clearly taken from a distance—showing two figures walking through the rain toward the parking lot. The caption reads: Carter Storm and mystery woman leaving practice late. New romance?
My breath catches. “That’s not—we weren’t—”
“I know.” Mark’s voice is firm but not unkind. “I know what this looks like, Olivia. But I also know you. You wouldn’t cross that line.”
The guilt twists, sharp and immediate. Because he’s wrong. I would cross that line. I almost did.
“It was just rain,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “We were reviewing talking points for his interview today, the power went out, and we waited for the storm to pass. That’s all.”
Mark studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Good. That’s the story. I’ll have social media put out a statement clarifying that you’re shadowing Carter per my request for the next month. Professional relationship. Team business.”
“Right. Team business.”
“Olivia.” He leans forward, elbows on his desk. “I’m trusting you with this. Carter’s image is critical right now. Sponsors are watching. The league is watching. One misstep, and everything we’ve built, everything he’s built, could come crashing down.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” His gaze sharpens. “Because if there’s any chance that this is becoming more than professional, I need to know now. I’ll assign someone else. No judgment.”
The offer sits there, tempting and terrifying all at once. I could walk away. Pass Carter off to another handler, put distance between us, save us both from whatever this is turning into.
But when I open my mouth, the words that come out are, “There’s nothing unprofessional happening. I can handle this.”
Mark nods slowly. “All right. I’m counting on you.”
I leave his office feeling like I’ve just lied under oath.
The restaurant Carter chose is perfect. It’s small, tucked away, with dim lighting and booths that offer privacy without feeling romantic. I arrive first, sliding into a booth near the back, and pull out my phone to distract myself.
Another text from Carter: Running 5 minutes late. Order me a water?
Sure.
The waiter brings two waters, and I sip mine slowly, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicks every time the door opens.
Then he’s there.
Carter Storm, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted henley that does absolutely nothing to help my resolve. He spots me immediately, and the smile that crosses his face is warm, genuine, and entirely too dangerous.
“Hey,” he says, sliding into the booth across from me.
“Hey.”
For a moment, we just look at each other. The memory of last night hangs between us, thick and undeniable.
“So,” he says finally, breaking the silence. “That was…”
“Stupid,” I finish. “Reckless. Unprofessional.”
“I was going to say ‘intense,’ but sure, those work too.” He picks up his water, his fingers drumming against the glass. “For what it’s worth, I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.”
“You should.”
“But I don’t.” His gaze holds mine, steady and unwavering. “Do you?”
The honest answer is no. The smart answer is yes. I go with neither. “Mark saw a photo of us leaving the stadium. There’s speculation on social media.”
Carter’s jaw tightens. “Shit.”
“He asked if there was anything unprofessional happening between us.”
“What did you say?”
“I lied.” The admission comes out sharper than I intend.
“I told him there wasn’t. Because if I’d told him the truth, that I almost kissed you in your office, that I’ve been thinking about it nonstop, that sitting here right now feels like the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done—he would’ve pulled me off this assignment. ”
Carter leans back, studying me. “Would that be so bad?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I press my palms to the table, grounding myself. “I’ve worked so hard to get here, Carter. To be taken seriously in this industry. If anyone finds out that I’m… that we’re…”
“That you’re what?” His voice is low, coaxing.
“That I’m falling for you,” I whisper, the words ripping out of me before I can stop them.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Carter’s eyes widen, just slightly, and then something shifts in his expression. Softens. “Olivia—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Please. Let me finish. I’m falling for you, and it terrifies me.
Because you’re not just some player I have to babysit.
You’re… you’re Carter Storm. You’re complicated and vulnerable and kind in ways I didn’t expect.
You make me laugh. You make me think. And when you look at me like you did last night, I forget every single reason why this is a terrible idea. ”
He doesn’t speak, just watches me with an intensity that makes my skin heat.
“But it is a terrible idea,” I continue. “Your career is everything. My job is everything. And if we cross this line, we’re risking all of it. For what? A fling? A few stolen moments before reality catches up?”
“Or,” Carter says quietly, “for something real.”
My breath catches. “Carter—”
“You think I don’t know the risks?” He leans forward, voice rough.
“You think I haven’t spent every minute since last night trying to talk myself out of this?
But here’s the thing, Olivia. I’m thirty-seven years old.
I’ve spent my entire life playing it safe, following the rules, being the guy everyone expects me to be.
And where has it gotten me? Alone in a big house with a career that’s ending and no idea what comes next. ”
His hand crosses the table, palm up, an invitation.