Their faces light up, wide-eyed, like I just handed them golden tickets instead of smartphones. A weird little thrill buzzes through me—me, the girl who once filmed from her couch, now running point on an operation like this.
“Marcus and Tasha, you’re with the fans. We want their voices, their energy, the chaos at the entrances and in the stands. Talk to people, get reactions, chase the chants, make them feel seen.”
They nod, already buzzing with ideas. God, they’re so eager. It’s contagious. For once I don’t feel like I’m begging people to care—these six already do.
“Dylan, you’ve got the team. The entire squad’s here tonight, and they’re hyped for Rogue, so stick close, be a shadow. Locker-room vibes, warm-ups, pre-event rituals, if it happens behind the curtain, we want it.”
He smirks. From watching his content, I know that is exactly his lane.
“Priya, you’re in the VIP box. Celebrities are trickling in all night, so please be extra kind, ask before filming. A smile and manners go a long way when you’ve got someone with ten million followers sipping champagne two seats over.”
She laughs, already typing notes in her phone.
“And for sidelines, Tasha, wait, no, my bad, Leo.” I hand the phone to the tall scruffy one I almost skipped. “Your job is the pitch itself. From the turf, from the player introductions to Rogue’s reveal. I want the raw reactions, the nerves, the cheers, the energy as it hits. Capture the grit, the immediacy, like the crowd is standing right there with you.”
Finally, I turn to June. Her eyes are huge, waiting.
“And last but not least, June. You’re with me. We’ll be shadowing Rogue, monitoring everything coming in, and making sure we’re live posting as we go. You’re my right hand tonight.”
Her lips part in disbelief.
“This—” She gasps, clutching the phone to her chest. “Has something like this ever been done before?”
I smile, feeling the buzz of adrenaline in my veins. “I don’t think so. Other teams have creators, sure, but tonight? We’re doing more than highlight reels. Tonight, we’re bringing every single person who couldn’t score a ticket right here with us. We’re creating a live experience.”
For a moment, they all just stare at me, half awe, half anticipation, like I’ve handed them the keys to something revolutionary, and maybe, I have.
The doors have been open for ten minutes, and the cloud is filling up with videos. Marcus and Tasha are out in the stands, capturing fans chanting before they even find their seats. Dylan’s feed is coming in steady, quick cuts of the team in the locker room, hyped and restless. June leans against the desk beside me, scrolling through the uploads as fast as they drop, flagging the best ones.
It’s… nice. Easy. She’s sharp, eager, reading my mind before I say it. For the first time, I let myself think how simple my life would be if I had someone like her at my side full-time. Maybe if this event blows up the way we’re hoping, I’ll finally get the assistant I’ve been begging for.
June tilts her screen toward me. “This one, Marcus just caught a fan sobbing at the gates. It’s raw, it’s perfect.”
“Good eye,” I murmur, tagging it for priority. “Tasha’s feeding us gold too, look at this, she found a kid in full Strikers face paint. Adorable. That’s the stuff that trends.”
We’re so focused we don’t even hear the door swing open until it hits the wall.
And then, him.
Rogue steps into the media room, and the air is sucked out of the rest of us and pulled into his orbit. Black joggers, dark shirt, shoulders too broad for the doorway. The hum of chatter fades. He scans the room once, then his eyes lock on me. My lungs forget their job. Heat prickles up my neck like he’s already touched me, and all he’s done is walk in.
“Kitten.”
My scowl is instant. June whips her head toward me, curious, but before I can speak, she’s already scrambling up from her chair. Her jaw practically hits the floor as she takes him in.
“June,” I grit out, “this is Roger Gallagher. Rogue, this is June.”
She beams, offering her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gallagher.”
His mouth curves, polite, charming in a way I’veyetto see directed at me. “Call me Rogue, lass.”
Her cheeks go pink, and my stomach sours. Good to know he can turn on the charm, just apparently not in my direction. Nope. I get the scowls while June gets the brogue and the gentleman act. Lucky her.
Then his eyes flick back to mine, steady, unreadable. “Well, your circus clown’s arrived. Where do you want me, then?”
I inhale, square my shoulders, and put on my game face. “Rogue, all eyes are on you today. We need you on your best behavior.”
“I’m always on my best behavior.”
