Chapter Fifteen Olivia
Chapter Fifteen
Olivia
It’s morning and for one perfect moment, wrapped in Carter’s arms, everything feels right.
Then, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
Carter stirs beside me, his hand tightening on my waist. “Ignore it,” he mumbles against my shoulder.
“I can’t.” I reach for the phone, squinting at the screen. Twenty-three missed calls. Forty-seven text messages. And they’re still coming in.
My stomach drops.
“Carter.” I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. “Something’s wrong.”
He’s awake instantly, reading the concern in my voice. “What is it?”
I open the first text. It’s from my assistant: CALL ME NOW. URGENT.
The second is from Ralph: Olivia, we have a situation. Do NOT speak to anyone until you talk to me.
The third is from Mark: My office. 8 AM. Don’t be late.
“Shit.” My hands start shaking. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Carter takes the phone from me, scanning the messages. His jaw tightens. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know.” I’m already out of bed, looking for my clothes. “But it’s bad. Really bad.”
My phone rings. Mark’s name flashes on the screen.
Carter and I lock eyes. He nods once, and I answer.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” Mark’s voice is ice cold.
“I’m—” I glance at Carter. “I’m getting ready to come in.”
“Are you with Storm?”
The question hangs in the air like a blade. I could lie. Should lie. But what’s the point?
“Yes.”
A long pause. Then: “I want both of you in my office in one hour. Not a minute later.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, heart hammering. “He knows.”
“Security cameras?” Carter’s already pulling on his jeans.
“Probably, but—” I stop as my phone buzzes again. This time it’s a link from my assistant with a single word: Sorry.
I click it.
The screen loads, and my entire world tilts.
It’s a gossip site. Sports Insider. And the headline makes my blood run cold:
PR SPECIALIST SLEEPS HER WAY TO THE TOP: Inside Olivia Rivers’ Calculated Seduction of Carter Storm
Below it is a photo. Not from last night. From three days ago, when I went to Carter’s house after we’d supposedly ended things. The angle is from outside, through a window, showing us in his kitchen. Him shirtless. Me in his shirt. Laughing.
Looking very much like two people who are together.
“Oh my God.” The phone slips from my fingers.
Carter catches it, and I watch his face go from confusion to fury as he reads.
“This is bullshit,” he growls. “Complete bullshit.”
He hands me my phone and I scroll through the article, my vision blurring as I read:
Sources close to the Dakota Dragons organization reveal that PR specialist Olivia Rivers has been using her position to pursue a romantic relationship with star quarterback Carter Storm.
The relationship allegedly began shortly after Rivers was assigned to “shadow” Storm following his arrest at a local strip club, an assignment that now appears to have been orchestrated to give Rivers access to the player.
“She knew exactly what she was doing,” says one unnamed source. “Olivia’s always been ambitious. Getting close to Carter was just her way of securing her position with the team.”
Photos obtained by Sports Insider show Rivers at Storm’s private residence on multiple occasions, often late at night. One source suggests that Rivers leaked information about Storm’s arrest to the media herself, then positioned herself as his savior to gain his trust.
The words blur together.
They’re painting me as some kind of predator. A manipulator who used Carter to advance my career.
“This isn’t true.” My voice comes out strangled. “None of this is true.”
“I know that.” Carter’s beside me, hands on my shoulders. “Everyone who matters knows that.”
“Do they?” I look up at him, tears burning my eyes. “Because right now, it looks exactly like what they’re saying. I was assigned to shadow you. We started sleeping together. And now someone’s made it look like I planned the whole thing.”
“You didn’t.”
“But how do we prove it?” My voice cracks. “How do I prove I didn’t leak your arrest information? That I didn’t manipulate you? That I’m not just some—some—”
“Stop.” His grip tightens. “You’re not anything they’re saying. And we’re going to prove it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But we will.” He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself break down for just a moment, sobbing against his chest.
When I finally pull away, I wipe my eyes and force myself to breathe. “We need to get to Mark’s office.”
“Together.”
“Carter, maybe you should—”
“Together, Olivia.” His voice is firm. “We face this together. That’s what we agreed.”
I nod, even though every instinct screams at me to protect him. To take the fall alone. To let him walk away clean.
But he’s right. We’re in this together now.
For better or worse.
The drive to the stadium is silent. Carter keeps one hand on my thigh, grounding me, while I stare out the window at the city rushing past.
My phone won’t stop buzzing. More texts. More calls. News alerts showing the story spreading across every sports network.
I turn it off.
When we pull into the parking garage, there are reporters camped outside the main entrance. Carter swears under his breath.
“Back entrance,” I say quietly. “Through the training facility.”
We make it inside without being spotted, but the damage is already done. Staff members stop talking when they see us. Eyes follow us down the hallway. Whispers trail in our wake.
Ralph meets us outside Mark’s office, his expression grim.
“I tried to warn you,” he says to me.
“I know.”
“This is bad, Olivia. Really bad.” He glances at Carter. “For both of you.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Carter says.
“Doesn’t matter.” Ralph opens the door. “What matters is what it looks like.”
Mark sits behind his desk, his face a mask of controlled fury. The team’s head of security stands beside him, along with someone I don’t recognize, a woman in an expensive suit who screams lawyer.
“Sit.” Mark’s voice could cut glass.
We do.
For a long moment, no one speaks. Mark just stares at us, and I feel like I’m being dissected.
Finally, he leans forward. “Explain.”
“The article is full of lies,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I didn’t leak Carter’s arrest information. I didn’t orchestrate anything. Our relationship developed naturally over—”
“Your relationship.” Mark cuts me off. “The one you both assured me didn’t exist.”
“It didn’t. Not then.”
“But it does now.”
“Yes.” Carter’s hand finds mine under the table. “And I don’t care who knows it.”
The lawyer makes a note. Mark’s jaw tightens.
“Do you have any idea what this does to the team?” His voice rises. “We’re already dealing with the fallout from Storm’s arrest. Now we have our PR specialist sleeping with the player she’s supposed to be managing. It looks like a goddamn soap opera!”
“Mark—” I start.
“I trusted you, Olivia.” His disappointment hits harder than his anger. “I put you in charge of Carter’s image because I thought you were professional. That you could handle it. And instead, you—”
“She didn’t do anything wrong.” Carter’s voice is hard. “I pursued her. I pushed for this relationship. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”
“Oh, I do,” Mark says. “But right now, the media’s blaming her. And they’re questioning whether she’s been compromising her judgment this entire time.”
The lawyer clears her throat. “Mr. Davidson, we need to discuss damage control.”
“Agreed.” Mark turns to her. “What are our options?”
“Legally, Ms. Rivers hasn’t violated any terms of her employment contract.
There’s no fraternization policy that explicitly prohibits relationships between staff and players.
” She glances at me. “However, the optics are problematic. Especially with the allegations that she leaked confidential information.”
“I didn’t leak anything,” I say firmly.
“Can you prove that?” the lawyer asks.
I open my mouth. Close it. Because how do I prove a negative?
“The leak about Carter’s arrest came from the police department,” Ralph interjects. “Security footage. Someone with access to their system sold it to the press. Olivia had nothing to do with it.”
“Can you prove that?” the lawyer repeats.
“I can verify that the footage didn’t come from our end,” the security chief says. “But that doesn’t change public perception.”
Mark rubs his temples. “Jesus Christ. What a mess.”
“There’s more,” the lawyer says, pulling out her tablet. “Social media is already running with this. #GoldDigger is trending. Along with several other hashtags I won’t repeat.”
She turns the screen toward us, and I see tweet after tweet, each one more vicious than the last.
She’s just using him for fame.
Poor Carter. He deserves better.
Typical. Woman sleeps her way to the top and ruins a good man.
She’s trash. Fire her.
My hands clench in my lap. Carter’s grip tightens on mine.
“This is bullshit,” he says. “Every word of it.”
“Maybe,” Mark says. “But it’s the reality we’re dealing with.” He looks at me, and I see the decision in his eyes before he says it. “Olivia, I’m putting you on administrative leave. Effective immediately.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “Mark, please—”
“Non-negotiable.” His voice softens slightly. “Look, I’m not firing you. But until we get this under control, I can’t have you working directly with the team. It’s too much of a distraction.”
“A distraction.” The word tastes bitter. “That’s what I am now.”
“That’s what the situation is,” he corrects. “And Storm, you’re benched for Sunday’s game.”
“What?” Carter’s on his feet. “You can’t—”
“I can, and I am.” Mark stands too, meeting him eye to eye. “You want to be with her? Fine. But there are consequences. And right now, those consequences include both of you stepping back until we figure out how to spin this.”
“There’s nothing to spin,” Carter says through gritted teeth. “We’re two adults in a relationship. That’s it.”
“In any other situation, I’d agree.” Mark’s voice is weary now. “But you’re not just any adult, Storm. You’re the face of this franchise. And she’s—” He stops himself.
“She’s what?” Carter challenges. “Go ahead. Say it.”
Mark’s jaw works. “She’s the woman everyone thinks used you to get ahead. And until we can prove otherwise, that’s the story.”
Silence falls over the room, heavy and suffocating.
I stand on shaking legs. “I understand. I’ll clear out my office.”
“Olivia—” Carter reaches for me.
“It’s fine.” I force a smile that feels like glass. “I’ll be fine.”
But as I walk out of that office, past the staring staff members and whispering colleagues, I know the truth.
I’m not fine.
I’m not even close.
And I have no idea how to fix this.
My office feels like a crime scene.
I pack my personal items methodically, my photos, favorite coffee mug, the plant that somehow survived my neglect. Each item goes into the box with careful precision, because if I let myself think too hard about what I’m doing, I’ll fall apart.
“Olivia.”
Turning, I find Carter standing in the doorway, and the pain on his face mirrors my own.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say quietly. “Mark’s watching.”
“I don’t care.” He steps inside, closing the door. “This is my fault.”
“It’s not.”
“Yes, it is.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I pushed for this. I convinced you to take the risk. And now you’re paying the price.”
“We both are.”
“But you’re the one who lost your job.”
“I didn’t lose it. I’m on leave.” Even as I say it, I know how hollow it sounds.
Carter crosses to me, taking the box from my hands and setting it on the desk. “We’re going to fix this.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But we will.” He cups my face, forcing me to look at him. “I’m not letting you go down for this, Olivia. I won’t.”
“You might not have a choice.”
“Then we’ll fight it together.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “That’s what we do, remember? We face things together.”
Tears burn my eyes. “I’m scared, Carter.”
“Me too.” He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself break down again, crying into his chest while he holds me.
When I finally pull away, I wipe my eyes and take a shaky breath. “I should go.”
“Where?”
“Home. I need to think.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“Carter—”
“Non-negotiable.” His voice is firm. “You’re not going through this alone.”
I want to argue. To protect him from more fallout. But the truth is, I don’t want to be alone right now.
“Okay,” I whisper.
We leave through the back entrance, avoiding the press still camped out front. And as we drive to my apartment, I stare out the window and wonder how everything fell apart so fast.
Last night, I was in his arms, happy and hopeful.
This morning, I’m unemployed and vilified.
And I have no idea how to get back to who I was before.
Or if I even can.