“You sound awake,” I say.
“Barely. Been dodging reporters all morning.”
“I figured.” I swivel in my chair, staring at the paused frame on my monitor, the moment his hand catches the dancer’s arm. “I saw the footage. You’re in the clear.”
A beat of silence, then a quiet, “You’re sure?”
“I’ve watched it three times, Carter. You didn’t do a thing wrong. I’m about to release a statement clearing it up.”
He exhales, the relief obvious even through the phone. “Thanks, Olivia. Really.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, half-smiling. “You’re still the headline, and Mark wants you smiling for the cameras by tonight. Think you can handle that?”
His chuckle is low and rough. “Guess that depends on whether you’re coming with me.”
“Nice try, Storm. I’m a PR manager, not a babysitter.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, and I can practicallyhearthe smirk.
I hang up before he can say anything else, but it’s too late, there’s a grin tugging at my lips.
Damn him.
Chapter Six
Carter
Flashes pop like lightning. Questions fire off from every direction, each one sharper than the last.
Sitting behind a long table, my shoulders squared, jaw locked. The team logo looms large on the banner behind me, the perfect backdrop for damage control. My suit’s pressed, my tie straight, my smile fixed. All part of the show.
Olivia stands off to my right, just out of the camera’s view. Calm. Composed. Clipboard in hand like a shield. Every time I glance her way, she gives the smallest nod, a steady, silent reassurance that I won’t drown out here.
“Carter! Carter!” A reporter leans forward, voice cutting through the chaos. “Can you comment on the incident at The Luxe last night? Witnesses say you were—”
I lift a hand, cutting him off with a practiced ease. “I appreciate everyone being here. The situation was blown out of proportion. I was at the club with friends. A misunderstanding happened, and I tried to prevent someone from getting hurt. The police reviewed the footage, and the matter’s been resolved.”
More shouting. Cameras flash. Someone yells, “Were you intoxicated?”
I force a smile. “I’d hadadrink. I wasn’t drunk.”
Another voice: “Will there be disciplinary action from the team?”
That’s when Mark Davidson jumps in from his seat at the end of the table, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The Dakota Dragons stand fully behind Carter Storm. The footage is clear—he was not at fault. Our focus remains on the upcoming season and continuing our work in the community.”
Translation:Crisis contained.
Still, the questions keep coming, about my image, sponsorship, leadership. I keep my tone measured, my words clipped and rehearsed. This is what Olivia prepped me for. What shetrainedme for in one morning.
The conference drags on another twenty minutes before Mark calls it. Security ushers the press toward the doors while the lights cool and the room starts to empty.
I stand, tugging my tie loose, and glance toward Olivia. She’s already gathering her notes, efficient as ever, but there’s a flicker of something, relief, maybe pride when our eyes meet.
I walk over, ignoring the low murmur of staff around us. “You didn’t tell me I’d have to sit through an inquisition.”
Her lips twitch. “You handled it fine.”
“Fine?” I echo, arching a brow. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”
