It was about surviving her—and hoping I didn’t fall apart in the process.
I was the first to leave.
Didn’t wait for Cameron’s closing remarks or Mara’s next “brilliant” PR idea. Just shoved the door open and walked straight into the hallway, air colder than it should’ve been, fluorescent lights buzzing like my head.
Which was pounding.
Not from the fight. Not from the bruise swelling under my cheekbone. But from the sheer whiplash of the last ten minutes.
I thought she hated me.
Every conversation, every glare, every clipped little “Walker” spat like a slur—I’d bet my salary she couldn’t stand me. And I got it. I wasn’t easy. I didn’t follow rules. I’d burned bridges and danced on the ashes.
So yeah, I thought she’d want me gone.
Suspended. Benched. Erased.
But then she sat in that chair—arms folded, jaw tight, that perfect little ponytail pulled like a battle flag—and she protected me.
She agreed to this fake dating mess like it was just another story to write. Like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.
Which pissed me off more than it should have.
My fists clenched again, nails digging into the pads of my hands. But it wasn’t rage this time. Not really.
It was confusion. Frustration. A sharp twist of something I didn’t want to name.
I rubbed a hand over my face, dragging it down my jaw as I hit the corner near the locker room. The ache in my shoulder flared from earlier, but I barely felt it.
All I could think about was her voice. “I’ll make sure it’s convincing.”
Hell, she probably would.
She’d smile, touch my arm, tilt her head just enough for the cameras—and every fan on the internet would fall for it.
Every fan but me.
Because I’d know it was fake.
I clenched my jaw.
This was going to be a disaster.
So why did part of me already want to touch her again?
Chapter 7
Daphne
It was almost midnight, and I was still hunched over my laptop in pajama pants and a hoodie, pretending to work but mostly just stewing in a blend of caffeine, regret, and passive-aggressive Google searches.
PR relationships: legality.
Can MLS suspend for off-field behavior?
How to disappear and open a bakery in Iceland.
My phone buzzed against the counter, and I grabbed it without thinking, thumb already poised to scroll past whatever promotional nonsense I’d been too lazy to unsubscribe from.
