I flip open my messages and text Bri.
ME:
this man is such an asshole. I cannot stand him.
It takes all of two seconds before she responds.
BRI:
but he’s so hot tho. look at him glaring at everyone. it’s giving zaddy.
ME:
you’re watching??
BRI:
ofc i’m watching. me and theentirecity of Great Lakes is on this live rn.
I blink, then check the live counter again.
Eighty-five. Thousand. Viewers.
My phone’s practically vibrating off my palm from all the comments. People are blowing up the feed like it’s the World Cup.
I should feel thrilled. Numbers like this are career-making. This live is already the most-viewed post I’ve ever put out, andif it keeps up, they might finally give me the assistant I’ve been begging for.
But beneath it all is this creeping, inevitable dread…
I’m going to have to work with him. A lot. Travel with him, film him daily, and spin this broody grump into someone the fans find charming. That kind ofa lot.
And ifthisis how he looks sitting down in a chair in a climate-controlled media room, I can’t wait to see what apractice sessionis like.
God help me.
Chapter 2
“Did you see him, though?” I ask, holding my plate like it’s a prop in my one-woman drama. “He didn’t even smile. Not once. Just sat there looking like someone made him eat drywall.”
Bri’s curled up on the couch in her hoodie and fuzzy socks, legs tucked under her, ready for one of my rants as if it’s her favorite show. She reaches into the paper bag in front of her for another spring roll. “Probably because he’s rolling in cash. That contract? For one year? I’d glare too. From my beach house.”
I plop down beside her, chopsticks in one hand, sesame chicken in the other. “It’s going to be thelongestyear of my life.”
She laughs—because she’s mean like that. “You say that like it’s not going to give us endless content for our nightly debriefs.”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Because you’re so dramatic.”
“Becauseheis so…ugh.” I shove a piece of chicken in my mouth and scowl at the coffee table like it owes me money. “Everyone is so obsessed with him. I posted one photo,one, and the comments section turned into a group thirst trap.”
“The manishot.” Bri shrugs. “The glare adds to the aesthetic. He’s got that ‘I’m emotionally unavailable and will ruin your life in the best way’ vibe.”
“Even themenare simping,” I say, reaching for my phone. “Listen to this.”
I pull up my latest post and read some comments aloud with a dramatic flair.“@striker4life: Daddy can ruin our playoff dreams and my marriage.”Bri snorts into her hoodie, so I keep going. “And then@bootsandbicepsadds:I’d let him punch me in the face, and say thank you.” Her laugh turns into a wheeze, and I bite back a grin. “Oh, and my personal favorite,@coachkev: I’m not into dudes but… I get it now.”
Bri is full-on wheezing. “Okay, Kev!”
