2. Graham #3
Someone near the rope laughed. Another reporter called her name from the side.
Graham let the wording slide. Riley understood him better than anyone alive. That was not even a question. Nicolle understood the version of him that existed under studio lights, which was useful for one reason: she could take a press pen full of cameras and make the product look effortless.
A reporter raised a recorder above the others. “So this is more than a standard endorsement pairing?”
Nicolle turned her smile toward him. “You don’t build a campaign at this scale by standing next to each other and reading cue cards.”
That earned another rush of shutters.
Graham almost smiled. She was good at this. Give her one opening and she could turn a hockey presser into a launch event before the sports desk realized it had lost the room.
A woman with a network badge pushed closer to the rope. “Nicolle! The global launch of the Ice Royalty campaign drops tomorrow morning. Are you leveraging shared private training data to optimize the new apparel?”
“We share everything required to build a dynasty,” Nicolle said. “The bond we’ve established is what makes the Ice Royalty campaign untouchable.”
The phrase drew an approving hum from somewhere behind the cameras.
Graham looked across the press line. The hockey questions had vanished. Reporters who had been asking about neutral-zone coverage now wanted partnership language, launch strategy, and whatever version of chemistry the campaign team had sold them.
None of it required much from him.
Stand on the mark. Let Nicolle carry the brand language. Give them a clean quote when they ask. Then get out, find Riley, finally drink his water, and leave the arena.
The reporter’s microphone shifted toward Graham.
“Graham, do you agree with that assessment of your dynamic?”
Nicolle’s arm remained looped through his. The cameras waited, and somewhere beyond the press line a PR staffer pointed at the logo behind them, urging the shot to continue.
Graham knew what the question required. Nobody wanted nuance three minutes before a network hit. Correcting Nicolle’s language would turn a routine campaign quote into a headline, and he had no interest in spending tomorrow explaining why two paid co-stars had contradicted each other on camera.
Riley knew the difference anyway.
She knows what’s real.
Graham met the reporter’s gaze. “Nicolle brings an unbelievable dynamic to the table, and this campaign gives us the stage to use it. Right now, our priority is delivering a strong return for the fans and the sponsors.”
The answer produced another run of shutters.
Nicolle angled toward the reporters. “Exactly. We share one vision out there. We’re primed to deliver a record-setting season across the board.”
Graham let the words stand.
A campaign was supposed to sound larger than life. That was the point. Nicolle could call it a dynasty, a bond, or whatever phrase the marketing team had printed on tomorrow’s press release. None of it changed who had been beside him before there were contracts worth protecting.
Riley had built the foundation.
Nicolle helped sell the finished product.
The distinction seemed obvious.
A reporter lowered his recorder. “Thank you both for your time. Good luck closing it out in Game 7 on Wednesday.”
“Appreciate it.” Graham stepped away from the microphone line. “We’ll see you out on the ice.”
A PR staffer raised a hand to signal that the segment was clear. Reporters began peeling away from the rope, some checking recordings while others called questions toward the next interview station.
Graham slipped his arm free from Nicolle’s and adjusted the jacket where the fabric had pulled across his shoulder.
“Good save,” Nicolle said, glancing toward the remaining cameras. “They’ll use that quote everywhere tomorrow.”
“That’s what they wanted.”
The roar of the crowd had faded enough that the rumble of the Zamboni starting on the rink carried through the arena walls. Graham rubbed the back of his neck and turned toward the rear of the media area.
Riley should have been behind the stanchion.
The space was empty.
He scanned the perimeter once, then checked the space near the tunnel entrance. No bottle. No familiar face waiting beyond the press staff. Just a pair of assistants winding cables and a security worker moving a section of rope.
For a moment, he considered asking someone where she had gone.
Then it made perfect sense.
Riley hated standing around while the media machine dragged everything out. She had probably waited through the hockey questions, watched Nicolle hijack the rest of the interview, and decided there was no reason to keep holding his water while reporters repeated the same campaign lines.
He could hardly blame her.
They would be back at the hotel soon enough. He could shower, get something into his stomach, and tell her about the goal without a dozen microphones between them.
The argument over thirty seconds in the tunnel would be forgotten by then.
Graham turned toward the exit as another camera fired behind him.
She had already gone back to the hotel.