She glances at me, then back at him, and in a stage whisper that carries down the entire hallway, asks, “Is she your girlfriend?”
My face flames. Carter’s eyes widen for a split second before he laughs, low and genuine. “This is Olivia. She’s… she works with the team.”
“She’s pretty,” the girl announces, matter-of-fact.
“Yeah,” Carter says, still looking at me. “She is.”
The mother apologizes, mortified, but Carter waves her off, signing another football for the girl before we finally make it to the elevator.
The doors close. Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.
“That was smooth,” I say, pressing the button for the ground floor.
“What was?”
“’She works with the team.’” I mimic his voice, teasing.
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “What should I have said? ‘This is the woman who saved my ass from a scandal and now has to babysit me for a month’?”
“Accurate.”
“Cold.”
The elevator dings. We step out into the lobby, the fluorescent lights harsh after the softer glow of the children’s ward. Outside, the late afternoon sun slants through the glass doors, turning everything golden.
We walk side by side toward the parking lot. Neither of us speaks. My car’s parked on the opposite side from his truck, but somehow we end up walking the long way, extending the moment.
“You’re good with them,” I say finally. “The kids.”
He shrugs. “They’re easy. They don’t care about stats or sponsorships. They just want to feel like they matter.”
“You made them feel like they matter.”
Carter stops walking. I take two more steps before I realize he’s not beside me anymore. I turn back.
He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, the sun behind him creating a halo effect that’s almost unfair. “Why does that surprise you?”
“It doesn’t,” I admit. “Not anymore.”
His eyes search mine, looking for something. I’m not sure what. “You had me pegged as all ego and no heart, didn’t you?”
“At first, maybe.”
“And now?”
Now I’m in trouble.The thought slams into me, unbidden and unwelcome. I clear my throat. “Now I think you’re more complicated than you let on.”
“Is that your professional assessment, Ms. Rivers?”
“It’s my personal one, Mr. Storm.”
The air shifts. His gaze drops to my mouth, just for a second, before dragging back up. Heat unfurls low in my belly, dangerous and distracting.
A car horn blares somewhere in the distance, breaking the spell. I step back, creating distance that feels both necessary and wrong.
“I should go,” I say. “I need to write up the appearance report for Mark.”
“Right. Work.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Hey, Olivia?”
