Not the girl who thought public promises meant private loyalty.
Not the girl who learned the hard way that a man can smile for a camera and lie right through it.
I lift my chin. “The version of me that doesn’t need anything from them.”
Paige nods slowly. “Cold. Powerful. But, be careful. That may not be enough to warm audiences to your artist.”
“Duly acknowledged.”
Nancy taps the table. “Wardrobe.”
“A black dress,” I say.
Paige wrinkles her nose. “Funeral.”
“It’s slimming,” I argue.
Nancy sips her drink. “Navy. Structured. Not apologetic. You’re welcome.”
Paige snaps her fingers. “Heels that say ‘don’t touch me,’ but hair that says ‘you can look.’”
“Absolutely not,” I say.
Paige’s grin widens. “Absolutely yes.”
The waiter appears again, not with food, but with gossip. “Just so you know, the Outlaws’ social team is already teasing the event.”
Nancy’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”
He lifts his phone like it’s evidence. “Because I follow them. Respectfully.”
Paige leans over. “Show me.”
“No,” Nancy and I say at the same time.
Paige pouts. “You two are ruining my joy.”
“Good,” Nancy says.
I take a breath, forcing my shoulders down. I have harder things to do than a staged Q&A with athletes.
It’s just a confirmation text.
Not a life decision.
I glance at my phone again, as if it might take back the yes on its own.
It doesn’t.
Paige nudges my knee under the table. “You’re going to be great. You know that, right?”
Nancy nods once. “You’re competent. Even when you’re stubborn.”
Their compliments make me smile. They always do.
I lift my glass. “To charity,” I say.
Paige lifts hers. “To publicity and a hot date.”
