“I’ve got lots of faces.”
“You’ve got the one where you’ve decided to do something I’m going to have to talk you out of.”
“Then don’t talk me out of it.”
He glances over. “What are we doing?”
“I’m handling something. You’re driving and staying out of it.”
“Staying out of it isn’t really my skill set.”
“Develop the skill.”
He’s quiet for about thirty seconds, which is close to his limit. “Is this about Ava?”
“It’s about fixing a problem I should have fixed two months ago.”
“So yes.” He studies me. “Steele, whatever you’re planning—”
“I’m not planning anything.” I put my phone away. “I’m going to have a conversation.”
“With Lena.”
“With Lena.”
Mack exhales through his nose. “At the Foundation gala. With half the Cougars’ front office in attendance, three sports journalists I personally know by name, and at least one camera crew filming content for the organization’s social channels.”
“Sounds right.”
“You understand the wordpublicis not generally considered a bonus in this type of situation.”
“Tonight it is.”
He pulls into the hotel drop-off lane, parks, and turns to face me fully, which means he’s about to say something he’s decided is important. “For the record…” Mack says, “… I’m on your side. I’ve been on your side since you came back from that studio the first time looking like someone had rearranged your entire worldview in forty-five minutes.”
“She did.”
“I know she did. I watched you pitch for three seasons, and I’ve never seen you throw the way you threw in those two months.” He holds my gaze. “Or look the way you’ve looked the last two weeks. So go in there, handle it, but don’t torch the whole season in the process.”
“The season’s already half-torched. Might as well make it worth something.”
He lets me out.
The gala is exactly what galas always are… too many people crammed into a beautiful room, too much cologne, not enough air conditioning, and a silent auction full of items nobody wants but bids on anyway because the foundation is legitimate and the tax write-off is real.
I make it through ten minutes of mandatory handshaking and nodding at the right people before I findher.
Lena’s near the bar, predictably, in a red dress built forInstagram, surrounded by two women I half recognize from the sports media circuit. Her phone is in her hand despite the champagne flute in the other, and she’s laughing at something I can hear from fifteen feet away.
She sees me coming.
The laugh doesn’t stop, but her eyes shift into something calculated. Lena knew I’d be here tonight. She knew because she checked the guest list the way she checks everything for information she can use. She’s been doing it for years, and it used to impress me, but now I find it exhausting.
“Reece.” She opens her arms like we’re old friends at a reunion. “I was wondering if you’d actually show.”
“I show up to everything. You know that.” I keep my voice easy and conversational. Two people running into each other at an event, nothing to see here. “Can we talk?”
“We’re talking right now.”
