“You couldn’t mess this up if you tried.”
“You have a lot of faith in me.”
“No, I just see you. That’s different.”
Something soft and startled flickers through her eyes as if I nudged a truth she wasn’t ready to have touched. We slow near the edge of the room again, a small cluster of donors drifting past us. She turns her face slightly toward me, voice barely above a breath.
“Kyle,” she says. “What if… wanting this makes everything else worse?”
“It probably will, but…” Her breath catches as I lift our joined hands between us. “It doesn’t mean you have to pretend it isn’t happening.”
Her lashes lower, like a weight that hits somewhere deep. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts sharply through the air. “Kyle! Alycia!”
She stiffens instantly, and my jaw clenches. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. Bennett Reed, of course. Of all the reporters present at this gala, he had to be the first person we ran into. The man who set this whole fake dating thing into motion because he wanted to get to me. It’s like the universe is incapable of letting us have one unruined moment.
Alycia’s hand tightens in mine in preparation, and that’s all it takes for something in me to shift. Whatever this reporter thinks he’s about to do, he’s not ready for what I’ll do back.
We turn together and face him. Bennett’s eyesflick between our still-linked hands and Alycia’s composed expression, and I can see the moment he decides he’s going to push.
“Quite an entrance,” he says lightly, recorder already in hand like this is a conversation we agreed to have. “You two making things official tonight?”
Alycia straightens a fraction, her grip on me never loosening. “We’re here to support the foundation, Bennett.”
“Right,” he says. “And that’s the story you’re sticking to?”
My jaw ticks once, but Alycia’s thumb presses into my palm, reminding me to let her handle this.
“If you’re looking for a comment,” she says, voice even and professional, steady in a way that makes pride twist hot through my chest, “it needs to be about the foundation. Otherwise, we have nothing to add.”
“Strange, considering the chatter online. Lots of people are wondering if this little… partnership,” Bennett’s smirk sharpens, “is mutually beneficial.”
Alycia’s spine goes rigid, but she doesn’t falter. “Speculation?”
He shrugs, faux apologetic. “Some are saying it’s convenient timing. A PR golden girl getting cozy with the team’s newest Hendrix. Helps clean up certain messes. Makes the organization look unified and gives you some padding if the season gets… choppy.”
“Bennett,” she says slowly, each syllable wrapped in steel, “if you’re implying I use my relationships to maintain my position?—”
“Hey,” he cuts in, palms lifting like he’s innocent, though the glint in his eye says otherwise. “I’m just asking what people want to know. Transparency is good for the franchise, right?”
I take a step toward him before I realize I’ve moved. Alycia moves with me, not pulling me back, but staying with me. Matching my energy and holding the line so I don’t cross it.
“You’re out of line,” I say, and my voice is low, razor-sharp, the kind reporters usually know better than to poke at. “If you want to question me, fine. Question my game, my penalties, my attitude. But you don’t get to stand here and pretend you’re doing journalism when you’re implying she slept her way into her job.”
Bennett’s smirk falters. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I shoot back. “You wanted me to react? Congratulations. You got it.”
Alycia’s fingers shift against mine, not restraining or pleading, but communicating.Kyle. Remember what’s at stake.I unclench my jaw just enough to speak without snapping.
“You want a quote? Here it is. Alycia Torres doesn’t need me—or anyone else—to validate the work she does for this organization. She’s earned every inch of ground she stands on.”
Bennett opens his mouth, but Alycia beats him to the next strike.
“And if you’re looking for dirt,” she says, voice soft in that terrifyingly precise way only a woman whoknows exactly where to cut can manage, “you’re going to have to look elsewhere. Whatever narrative you’re trying to build here is sloppy and beneath you.”
Bennett clears his throat, mumbling something about “needing the foundation statement,” but Alycia doesn’t give him an inch more. She delivers it concisely, without ever letting go of my hand. When he finally retreats, tail tucked so far between his legs, I’m amazed he can walk straight.
Alycia exhales shakily and says, “Thank you for not making it worse.”
