Chapter 15
Avery
I sit across from Jennifer in her office, spine straight, hands folded in my lap, every inch the composed professional. Never mind that I got maybe three hours of sleep. Never mind that I can still feel Liam's hands on my body, his mouth on mine, his weight pressing me into his mattress.
Never mind that my entire carefully constructed world is now a hot mess. If Sadie could see me now. I’m sleeping with a client, racing across Manhattan in a panic, spending the night in his bed. She wouldn't recognize me. I barely recognize myself.
“The Lamborghini story is everywhere,” Jennifer says, her tablet turned toward me, showing a cascade of headlines. “Some outlets are questioning his mental state.”
I force myself to look at the screen, at the photos of the mangled Lamborghini that made my heart stop last night. “I've seen the coverage.”
“This is exactly the kind of impulsive behavior we hired you to prevent, Avery.” Jennifer's voice isn't accusing, but it's pointed. “We brought you on to clean up his image, to show he's maturing. And then he goes and does this.”
Because I hurt him. Because I pushed him away, and he didn't know what else to do with the pain. Because people don't make good decisions when they're hurting.
But I can't say any of that. So I say what I can. “The accident wasn't his fault. The other driver ran a red light. Liam was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That may be true, but Avery, why is it always Liam in the gossip columns? What triggers him? Did something happen after the media day?”
My throat tightens. “Athletes make impulsive decisions sometimes. The important thing is managing the narrative going forward.”
“You've been working closely with him.” Jennifer's gaze is assessing. “How is his mental state? Is there something we should be concerned about?”
I keep my expression neutral, professional. “He's fine and focused on tonight's game. I spoke with him this morning, and he's cleared to play. I'll be monitoring the situation closely.”
“The board is watching this closely, too,” Jennifer says, a warning tone in her voice. “If Liam continues to be a PR liability, they may reconsider the budget we've allocated to crisis management. Which means your contract could be in jeopardy.”
Ice floods my veins. “I understand,” I manage. “I've already drafted a statement about the accident.”
I pull up the document on my tablet and turn it toward her. She reads it silently, her expression giving nothing away.
Last evening, Liam Novak was involved in a motor vehicle accident when another driver ran a red light, causing a collision.
Liam was evaluated at the hospital as a precaution and has been cleared by team physicians to play in tonight's game against Detroit.
He is grateful for the support of fans and teammates during this time.
The New York Renegades organization asks for privacy as the police investigation continues.
Jennifer nods slowly. “This is good. Factual, doesn't address the car purchase, emphasizes that he's fine and ready to play.” She looks up at me. “Get this out within the hour. And Avery? Stay close tonight in case the media asks questions.”
“Of course.”
“One more thing,” Jennifer says as I stand up. “Are you alright? You look exhausted.”
The concern in her voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. “I'm fine. Just a long night managing the crisis.”
“Well, get some rest before the game.”
I leave her office on shaky legs. I make it to the elevator before pulling out my phone.
There's a text from Liam, sent twenty minutes ago. Last night was incredible. This morning was even better. Can't stop thinking about you.
My heart does somersaults in my chest. I lean against the elevator wall, staring at the message. Dear God, what did I get myself into?
But even as panic rises, my body is humming with awareness. With memory. With want.
I type back: Had a great time too. Good luck at morning skate.
The elevator doors open on my floor, and I step out into the PR department's open workspace. Eliana is at her desk, and she immediately looks up when I enter.
Then she whistles. “Well, well, well. Look who's getting the full romantic treatment.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
She gestures toward my office, and I follow her gaze to see a massive arrangement of roses sitting on my desk. At least two dozen, deep red and lush, in an expensive crystal vase.
“Someone works fast,” Eliana says, grinning. “Must be nice being one of the beautiful ones. You get hit on immediately.”
I force a laugh that sounds hollow to my own ears. “It's probably someone trying to butter up the new PR person.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” She winks. “Well, whoever he is, he's got good taste. Those are gorgeous.”
I make my way to my office on autopilot, closing the door behind me. My hands are shaking as I reach for the small card tucked among the roses.
What if someone recognizes Liam's handwriting? What if this gets traced back to him?
I pull out the card. It's not signed. Just a simple hand-drawn heart.
Relief floods through me so intensely that I have to sit down. He was careful and smart. But sending me flowers is a problem. They're too much, too noticeable. Everyone in the office has seen them. Eliana is already speculating.
I touch one of the soft petals, and despite my anxiety, warmth spreads through my chest. He sent me flowers. The morning after.
Like I mean a lot to him.
The thought terrifies me.
I'm frightened by the intensity of what I'm feeling. How I've been completely unable to stay away from him, no matter how many logical reasons I list. How much headspace he's taken up in my mind.
This is exactly what I was afraid of. Losing myself. Losing control. Becoming someone who makes decisions based on feelings instead of logic.
I stare at the roses, at that simple hand-drawn heart, and make a decision.
There’s no point in torturing myself. I can't stay away. That much is clear. Every time I try to push him back, I just end up running to him again. So I'll have to be very careful instead.
Keep it secret and contained. Maybe this stupid attraction will burn out. Maybe if I just let it run its course, the intensity will fade, and I can go back to being Avery, the professional.
It has to burn out eventually. All chemistry does.
No one can know. Not Jennifer, not my team, and not his teammates
I'll manage this like I manage everything else. With careful planning and strict boundaries.
My phone buzzes with an email from a reporter at ESPN requesting comment about the accident. Then another from the New York Post. Then Sports Illustrated.
I spend the next three hours fielding media requests, sending out the official statement, and monitoring social media. The story is trending, and the narrative is shifting from ‘Nova's reckless behavior’ to ‘Nova's lucky escape.’
But I can't escape thinking about him. About the way he looked at me this morning, telling me he wanted to do “us” for real.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Liam.
Liam: Morning skate went well. Ribs are sore but I can play. See you tonight?
Careful planning and strict boundaries. That’s the only way this will work.
Me: I'll be in the press box. Focus on your game.
Liam: Always do. But I'll still be looking for you.
The flutter in my chest grows.
Me: The flowers are beautiful. Thank you.
“Avery?” Matt's voice comes through my office door. “We've got another situation. Someone leaked photos of Liam being carried from the accident scene.”
I'm up immediately, following him to his desk. The photos are grainy, clearly taken on someone's phone, but they show Liam on a stretcher being wheeled into an ambulance, blood on his forehead.
Relief floods me. For a second, I’d worried that between me leaving Liam in the morning and now, he’s done something else.
“This will work in our favor. It’ll elicit sympathy.” I stare at his forehead a bit longer. Memories from last night come flooding in. I’ve never been so scared in my life.
My phone buzzes as I return to my office. I glance down, expecting another media request.
Instead, it's Liam. I wasn't sure if you'd like them. Wanted you to know I was thinking about you.
I press my hand to my chest, where my heart is racing.
I'm so screwed.