Her face goes still for half a split second. Then she recovers, too fast for my taste. ‘And here I thought you had no interest in my personal life, MacRae.’ Her brief smile is all teeth, no warmth. ‘But since we’re trading blows… How does it feel to go from Scotland’s rising rugby star to a toxic PR nightmare?’
My back teeth grind enough to crack enamel.
She leans forward, satisfied. ‘That’s what I thought. We’re done here for now.’
I get up to leave, but I stop at the door. ‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’
She barely glances up from her screen, already dismissing me. ‘Not everything. But I know you’ll scramble back to the top where you belong, Brodie MacRae. And when you do…’ She clicks her pen again. ‘…you’ll thank me on your knees.’
I stomp out without another word, past the staring people who work here, down the lift, out onto the street.
Charlie fucking Harrington is my agent. The woman who helped destroy me is the only one who can save me. Shedoesown my arse, and I’m going to have to play by her rules.
At least until I find a way to break them.
Chapter2
Charlie
‘Did you really not know Callum was balls-deep in someone else,’ Brodie snarls, ‘or were you too busy managing his image and ruining my career to care?’
I don’t flinch. Not outwardly. Inside? That one lands hard.
But I smile as coldly as possible. ‘And here I thought you had no interest in my personal life, MacRae.’
He’s seething. Every muscle pulled tight like he’s one insult away from snapping his chair in half.
Fine. Let’s go.
‘But since we’re trading blows… How does it feel to go from Scotland’s rising rugby star to a toxic PR nightmare?’
I’ve reached the edge of what I can fake. My pulse is rioting, my skin’s too hot, and rage is braided so tightly with shame I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I hate him right now. I want to scream at him. I want to throw something.
He feels the same. I can practicallyhearhis teeth cracking.
‘That’s what I thought,’ I declare calmly. ‘We’re done here, for now.’ Another second and I might say something I can’t claw back from.
He stops at the door. ‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’
I don’t even look up. My voice is cold, controlled, and practised. ‘Not everything. But I know you’ll scramble back to the top where you belong, Brodie MacRae.’ I click my pen. ‘And when you do… you’ll thank me on your knees.’
He doesn’t respond. Just turns and walks out. No shouting, no slammed door, no parting shot. The quiet, furious click as it closes behind him hits harder than a bang ever could.
And something in me buckles.
I slump back in my chair like my strings just went slack. The armrests are the only thing keeping me from sliding to the floor.
Brodie MacRae. In my office. Eyes locked on me like he wanted to rip my throat out with his teeth.
My chest rises and falls too fast, adrenaline still racing through my veins. I press my palms flat against the cool glass of my desk, trying to ground myself. But the memory lingers – that barely-contained power simmering under his skin.
The sheer force of him. The primal heat.
And the fury.
Jesus, the fury.
I knew he’d be pissed off. Ipreparedfor him to be pissed. But nothing could have braced me for the weight of that rage. It practically shimmered around him, thick as smoke, as if he’d combust any moment. And in the space between inhale and reason, my body reacted – before my brain could pull rank, before I reminded myself that Brodie MacRae might be volatile, but he wouldn’t touch me.
