21. No Photos, Please
Chapter twenty-one
No Photos, Please
Apiece of popcorn collides with the middle of my forehead, making me look up.
“Earth to Johnson.” Ness’s smile is less of a friendly grin and more of a sit the fuck up and pay attention. “Did you hear any part of what I said?”
“Sorry.” I automatically reach to shuffle the stack of papers in front of me, searching for the meeting agenda. “Thinking about that brand deal. Where were we?”
Ness always has a perfect, glossy dark red lip. She purses them tightly now. “We’ve been approached by Valerie Adams for an interview.”
Valerie Adams is about as big of a bigwig as it gets in Blackwater. She’s a regional anchor for a national news station, and I know Ness has been stalking her for a national slot for the team’s playoff push promotion. Seems like it’s paid off. “That’s great.”
I glance down at the table. Lauren is watching me, a faint crease between her eyes that I choose to ignore in favor of Ness’s undivided attention. Interviews aren’t normally something I’d get involved in, unless it’s wrangling one of my alphas into taking part. “Who for?”
Ness raps her knuckles on the table. “That’s the thing. She wants human-interest, not sport. But she’s interested in you and Carter.”
I stop rummaging through my papers. “Me and Cart? Why?”
I know why. But Ness looks awkward. “Well… you’ve got a great story. She’s interested in his rise to the top. Thinks it’ll draw more if she gets both of you in for a sit down.”
“I see,” I say softly. She reaches for her laptop, tapping on it instead of meeting my eyes. “Orphan kids climbing out of the gutter is a good sell, I suppose.”
“It’s not like that.” Ness hesitates at my look. “Okay, it’s like that. But it is a great story.”
It wouldn’t be the first time or the second that it does the rounds. There were plenty of articles around the time he got drafted, highlighting his struggling roots, his harsh childhood. But none of them came from him, only what journos could dig up from public records.
Carter rejected every request for an interview. I shake my head. “It’s gonna be a no, Ness. Sorry.”
“You’d control the narrative.” I’ve seen Ness bullish when it comes to other people, but it’s never been aimed at me.
I’m suddenly in the crosshairs of a target I didn’t know was raised.
She leans forward. “We could really use this, Rosie. The Aces are pulling in a lot of sympathy with their underdog angle. Boone Mercer is front and center in every outlet. Titans are starting to look like the big, undefeated powerhouse, and that doesn’t look great. You could persuade Carter.”
My fingers tighten against the edges of the meeting table. “Has Boone done an interview?”
“No.” Ness tilts her head in question. “But I’d say it’s only a matter of time.
If we get you and Carter out there, we can undercut their whole media strategy.
The public already loves you. We give them a little more and nothing the Ace team pulls will matter.
It’s all hearts and minds at this stage. ”
She wants me to trot out beneath bright lights, Carter beside me. To share a stage with him and pull up all of our worst memories to buy ten seconds of sympathy from people who only truly care if the Titans win on the ice.
It sounds like my worst nightmare.
And Liam wouldn’t be happy. I suspect Jonas wouldn’t be, either, if only because he’s not included in the invitation.
“I do a lot for this team,” I say finally. My eyes stay on the table. “I always have. But I’m not doing this interview, Ness. Sorry.”
I can sense her circling, looking for a way in. “What if we—”
“She said no.”
Lauren’s voice is distinctly cool. “Rosie’s part of my team, Ness. She’s a colleague. Not an angle to be exploited. Perhaps we could discuss another approach after this.”
I dart a quick glance at her. She’s not looking at me. Lauren and Ness lock gazes, and I’m glad not to be in the middle of whatever that is.
Lauren pushes her hair behind her ear. It exposes a long, deep, scabbed-over scratch across her temple, and I look away. “Let’s move on to the Sponsor Day schedule. We still have some gaps.”
Ness sighs, turning to the screen as Lauren plugs in her laptop. “Worth a try. We’ll find another angle, Rosie. No stress.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. “Sorry.”
***
“Rosie!”
Lauren catches up with me after hanging back to speak to Ness. Her hand curls around my elbow, and she stops me with an insistent tug. “What’s going on?”
It’s interesting. I feel curiously deflated when I look at her.
As if a hand is pressing down, pushing back against the pain.
It’s still there—if anything, it feels worse.
More intense, more compact, pushed into a smaller box than it was meant to fit.
But none of it comes out, and I’m glad. “What do you mean?”
She steps back, giving me space I don’t need. “You’re going to make me say it? Something’s up with you. What’s wrong?”
Liam did his work well. I even manage to smile. It’s the kind of smile I might give a bank clerk, or someone in the street. Polite. Distant.
It’s hard to summon up anything more than that. My eyes linger on her scratched skin. The scab is perilously close to her left eye. “Nothing’s wrong. Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” She shakes her head and spreads out her hands. “This… you’re acting weird.”
“I’m fine.” I hoist my bag, my feet already seeking an escape. “The other night put some things in perspective for me. That’s all.”
“That’s not all.” She dogs my footsteps as I attempt to make a swift exit, grabbing my arm again and releasing it as quickly. “You’re not even reacting to me. You don’t think that’s strange?”
“I’m adjusting.” I glance over the balcony at the sound of a shout, down to the circular space that splits off to the downstairs levels. A group is gathering. “I figured you’d be pleased.”
“I am many things right now.” Lauren looks stressed. Even a few perfect hairs are out of place. “Pleased is not one of them. Will you look at me?”
My head snaps toward her, and her brows knot. She has a new bag, I notice absently. Black leather embossed with her initials. Very nice. The gold clasp holds a familiar emblem. Jonas has at least three wallets from the same brand. “Nice bag.”
There’s no vitriol in my voice. There’s nothing at all.
“This is what I mean,” she says after a moment.
Lauren takes a step closer, looking over her shoulder.
Her voice lowers. “You know where this bag came from. This is… this isn’t right, Rosie.
Seriously. If it’s because of the other night, things got out of hand. I shouldn’t have come into your nest.”
“I’m fine,” I say tonelessly. “It was a compliment.”
She looks like she wants to argue. “What about your scent?”
I’m doused in so much de-scenter that I’m surprised it’s not leaving a tell-tale trail behind me. It irritates the inside of my nose, bleach-like in its intensity. The tiniest flicker of panic threatens to break through the hard shell encasing me. “You can’t smell anything.”
It’s almost a question. But my voice wavers, and Lauren’s frown only grows deeper. “That’s what I mean. Why are you using de-scenter? My scent should be the issue if anything. Not yours.”
“It helps.” The lie slides so smoothly from my tongue that I almost believe it myself. “Did you need anything? For work?”
I glance over the rail again. Liam stands beside Georgio’s cart, arms folded. Ryker is talking to him animatedly, but his eyes are pointing up, looking between Lauren and I. He focuses back on me, and I feel my breathing quicken.
“Actually—”
“Excuse me.” I blurt out the words, pushing past her.
My pulse hammers, a drumbeat in my head as I dart down the hall, away from her eyes and the suspicion lurking in them.
I jab the button for the elevator. Lauren doesn’t follow, and I hurtle my way inside, my hands bouncing painfully off the mirrored wall before I blindly hit a button.
I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to get away.
The sixth-floor bathroom is blissfully empty. Slamming the door to a cubicle closed with shaking hands, I sink down on the closed toilet seat and burrow my hands beneath my armpits.
My forced inhale brings the faint scent of burning to accompany the small hit of oxygen. I dive for the de-scenter spray in my bag, trying not to choke as I let loose the full can, covering myself in it.
When I can’t smell anything but a slightly metallic undertone, I slump back and stare at the cubicle door. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Once, and then again.
My fingers twitch toward it, before I curl them inward.
Don’t.
Stay here. Stay hidden.
The second time it buzzes, the pull grows stronger. Until it’s unbearable. Snatching it up, I hold it to my ear and close my eyes.
“Ro,” he says urgently. “Tell me where you are.”
No is a word. A very good word. And it would be fucking fantastic right now, except my body refuses to let me say it. I slam my hand over my mouth, trying to pull the phone away.
“Rosie.” The noise behind him cuts out. And his voice changes. “Tell me right now.”
My face crumples. “I…”
Hold it. Hold it, and you can tell them. You can tell all of them.
Tears leak out of my eyes as I curl over, my teeth biting into my lower lip so hard I draw blood.
But I can’t stop it. My hand shakes as I lift it again.
“Sixth floor,” I croak out. “Bathroom.”
He hangs up without saying anything. I lean my head against the wall, the phone still in my hand.
I wonder what he’ll come up with this time. If he’ll add anything new to the growing list of commands. The faint swoop of the bathroom door opening is followed by a sharp rap. “Let me in.”
When I unlock the door, Liam bundles me back, squeezing us both inside. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll fix it.”
I want to scream. But I can’t. Because he took that. He took all of it. My hands scrunch into his jersey, yanking on it, and he only holds me tighter. “I know, baby. I’ll take it.”