I flip it open. Curfew violation. Bar ‘misunderstanding.’ Verbal altercation with a reporter. Questionable TikTok live.
“Impressive, right?” I say.
“No,” she replies. “Concerning.”
I raise a brow. “Most of that is exaggerated.”
“That’s not the defense you think it is.”
Her sarcasm is lethal.
“So, what exactly are you here to do?” I ask.
“Fix you.”
I blink. Dex wheezes.
“Fix me?”
“Yes. Your behavior. Your image. Your… everything.” She lifts her clipboard. “Starting now.”
I stare at her. She may be small, but she looks like she’d fight a dragon with office supplies.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” I say.
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
She turns to leave, tossing a final look over her shoulder.
“Be dressed and outside my office in ten minutes,” she says. “We’re not done.”
The door shuts behind her.
Gregory grins. “Future wife, dude.”
I throw a glove at his head.
But I’m staring at the doorway she just walked through, more intrigued than I want to be.
And I absolutely hate that.
***
Annabelle’s office looks like someone condensed authority, efficiency, and a vanilla-scented candle into one aggressively tidy space. I step inside and she’s already behind her desk, flipping through a folder like she’s preparing to ruin my day professionally.
“Have a seat,” she says.
I don’t sit. I lean on the doorframe instead, crossing my arms. Her eye twitches. Good.
"Let's discuss the list of violations I handed to you before, in the locker room."
“Like I said, some of it is exaggerated.”
“Great,” she says. “Then it’ll be easy for you to fix.”
She reaches for another sheet. “Here are the consequences if you don’t.”
Fines. Potential suspension. Sponsors pulling out. PR team threatening mutiny.
