He grinned, standing. “See, I knew there was a sense of humor under all that structure.”
“Structure keeps this place running,” I said, scanning the morning’s schedule. “Try it sometime.”
He shrugged, grabbed the clipboard off the counter, and wandered toward the gym. “Nah. Chaos suits me.”
I watched him go, that same mix of irritation and reluctant amusement stirring in my chest.
Chaos suits you. Yeah. It did.
But the part I didn’t say — the part I didn’t even want to think — was that maybe I was starting to understand why.
By ten, I’d already had two cups of coffee and a headache that no amount of caffeine could touch. The small conference room smelled faintly of printer ink and exhaustion — stacks of sponsorship packets and half-eaten muffins scattered across the table.
Cam was at the head of the table, running through slides on his tablet like the world might end if we missed a bullet point. Naomi sat beside me, typing notes at light speed. Beckett slouched in the chair across from me, spinning a pen between his fingers, his Storm jacket unzipped and his focus only halfway in the room.
I kept checking my phone under the table — a quick glance every few minutes, hoping for a message that hadn’t come. Nothing. Just the same blank screen and the time inching forward.
Cam was talking about sponsor tiers, press releases, logistics. My brain registered maybe half of it.
Then he said, “Next item — we need to confirm which player’s speaking at the gala dinner.” His eyes flicked to Beckett. “You’re still on the list — unless management decides to swap you for Kyle.”
Beckett looked up, a slow, crooked grin forming. “Swap me for the golden boy, huh?”
The words landed sharper than I expected. Something tight pulled in my chest. Before I could stop myself, I muttered, “At least one of you will show up.”
The silence that followed was instant — the kind that sucks all the air out of a room.
Beckett’s smirk faltered, his pen stilling mid-spin. Cam glanced up from his tablet, eyebrows raised. Naomi froze mid-type.
I blinked, realizing what I’d said. Too late.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, straightening in my chair. “That came out wrong.”
Beckett leaned back, studying me with that infuriating mix of curiosity and amusement. “Did it?”
Cam, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. He cleared his throat, swiping to the next slide. “All right, moving on. Sponsor seating chart — we’ll need confirmations by Thursday.”
Naomi dove right back into her notes like her life depended on it.
I focused on the spreadsheet in front of me, though the numbers blurred. Heat crept up my neck. I wasn’t usually careless — I didn’t do careless. But Kyle’s name had been hanging in my head all morning, and Beckett’s constant half-grin had somehow turned irritation into honesty.
When the meeting ended, chairs scraped against tile and everyone gathered their things. Beckett lingered at the doorway, waiting until Cam and Naomi stepped out.
He tilted his head, voice low but not unkind. “For what it’s worth, I always show up.”
I looked at him, unsure what to make of it — the tone, the intent, the flicker of something that wasn’t mockery for once.
“Noted,” I said, slipping my phone into my pocket. “Let’s try to keep it that way.”
He grinned faintly, that unreadable expression back in place, and left before I could say anything else.
The meeting wrapped, everyone scattering with their laptops and coffee cups, but Beckett didn’t leave. He lingered by the door, leaning against the frame like he had nowhere better to be.
I was still gathering my papers, pretending to look busy. The air between us was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made me hyperaware of every breath.
“You good?” he asked finally.
“Fine,” I said, a little too quick, too sharp.
