Sawyer straightens, his easy smile flickering slightly. He glances at me—quick, checking—and something in my face must alarm him because his expression shifts immediately.
“Hi,” he says to Melissa, polite but cautious. “I’m Sawyer.”
“I know who you are,” she says, laughing. She pulls out her phone, already swiping through screens. “The Dominion’s PR team reached out this morning. Mentioned you’d started your outreach program and that it might make a nice human-interest piece. Community involvement, local businesses, all that good stuff.” She looks around the shop, already framing shots with her hands. “This place is gorgeous. Super photogenic.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure they can both hear it. PR team. Reached out. Human-interest piece.
“Wait,” I manage, my voice coming out strangled. “The team called you?”
Melissa nods, still smiling. “This morning. They’re really invested in getting positive press for the outreach program. Smart move, honestly. Builds goodwill, shows the players giving back.” She looks at Sawyer. “Especially after that press conference thing. No offense.”
“None taken,” Sawyer says quietly.
But he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at me.
I can feel my pulse in my throat. My hands. My chest feels too tight.
“I didn’t know they were going to do this,” Sawyer says quickly. “I swear, I had no idea?—”
“Oh, it’s standard procedure,” Melissa interrupts cheerfully, oblivious. “They probably just wanted to get ahead of it. Good publicity’s good for everyone, right?” She looks at meexpectantly. “Can I get a few quotes? Maybe some photos of you two together? The plants make a great backdrop.”
By some miracle, Charlie appears from the back room. He takes one look at my face and immediately steps forward. “Actually,” he says smoothly, “Juliette’s got a supplier call in about five minutes. Pretty urgent. But I’m Charlie, the shop manager. Happy to help however I can.”
Melissa’s smile falters slightly. “Oh. Well, I really was hoping to talk to the owner?—”
“And she’ll be happy to connect later this week,” Charlie continues, his voice pleasant but firm. “Why don’t you leave your card? We can set something up properly.”
Melissa hesitates, glancing between me and Sawyer like she’s trying to figure out what she’s missing. Then she shrugs, pulling a business card from her bag. “Sure. Yeah. Just give me a call when you can.” She hands it to Charlie, then turns to Sawyer. “Any chance I could get a quick quote from you? Just about what you’re hoping to learn from the experience?”
“It’s my first day with this business.” Sawyer’s jaw tightens. “I think I’d rather wait until Juliette and I have had a chance to talk about how we want to handle press. If that’s okay.”
Melissa furrows her brow, clearly not expecting pushback. “Oh. Okay. Sure.” She glances around one more time, then heads for the door. “I’ll be in touch!”
The bell chimes as she leaves and we’re in silence once more. I’m still standing behind the counter, hands braced against the wood like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Sawyer takes a step toward me. “Juliette?—”
“A reporter,” I say flatly. “Why wouldn’t anyone let me know they were coming?”
Sawyer shakes his head. “Hey, I didn’t even know that was going to happen. They usually like to prep us, I swear.”
I put a hand on my hip. “But it sounds like your team or PR or whateverdidknow.”
He stops, considering things. “It sounds like it.”
“They called a reporter.” My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from someone else. “Without asking me. Without warning me. I’m sorry, but it’s unprofessional.”
“I’ll call them,” Sawyer says quickly. “Right now. I’ll tell them they can’t do that again. They need permission. Your permission.”
When I allow my eyes to meet his, I can see the genuine distress on his face. The way he’s standing there like he wants to fix this but doesn’t know how.
This is what “partnership” with a professional athlete means. Publicity. Attention. Reporters showing up unannounced because someone decided it would make good PR, a great story for the papers. Most people would be okay with this. How were they to know I’m skittish about this stuff? Thanks to my own trauma, reporters can trigger me if I’m not handled with a little care?
“They’re going to keep stopping by,” I say quietly.
“Not if I tell them to stop?—”
“Sawyer.” I shake my head. “This is what you do. This is your world. Cameras. Interviews. People wanting a piece of you.” I gesture vaguely at the shop, at myself. “This is mine. A little spot of my own that is currently under a microscope for a business grant.”
