Cue tension.
Cue every drop of professionalism I’d ever scraped together from the bottom of my espresso-stained soul.
“Thanks for joining us,” I said, voice steady. “Today I’m sitting down with veteran defender Kieren Walker to talk about the upcoming season, leadership in the locker room, and?—”
“—Public shaming?” he interrupted, gaze steady. “Or is that in segment two?”
I gave him a tight smile. “Only if you misbehave.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink.
Just waited.
So I dove in.
“Let’s start with something simple,” I said, shifting slightly in my chair. “What’s the energy like going into this season? Any noticeable changes in team chemistry?”
He leaned back, exhaled through his nose. “You mean besides dodging flying microphones?”
My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
“Right,” I said coolly, flipping to my next cue card. “Well. Let’s pivot.”
He watched me like he already knew the list I’d prepared. Like he was two steps ahead and mildly bored about it.
“Do you think your leadership style has evolved over the years?” I asked, keeping my voice even. “Or is it still the same guy from a decade ago with a bigger spotlight?”
He smiled then.
Not big. Not friendly.
Just the edge of something sharp.
“Is it better than your journalism?” he asked. “Every day.”
I blinked.
Beside me, the camera operator shifted awkwardly, sensing the sudden dip in temperature.
I didn’t flinch. Just flipped to the next card.
Because this wasn’t my first time interviewing a walking ego.
But it might be the first time the ego fought back.
Fine.
Let him smirk.
Let him dodge.
I’d survived worse than cold answers and sharp cheekbones.
I was here to do my job.
Even if doing it meant dancing through fire.
My cheeks burned. Not from embarrassment—I’d trained that out of myself years ago. But irritation? That was alive and well.
