“I will, I promise,” I say, the words heavy in my throat. “Just let us get through this week and let her talk to her dad.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EVA
The glass wallsof the network headquarters don't just feel like a shield, they feel like a family ledger. Every glowing logo of Carrington Media is plastered across Sixth Avenue screens outside, a reminder of the shadow I walk in— and the man who cast it, Bruce Carrington.
I sit with my shoes off, curled up on the couch in my father’s office. On the screen in front of me, the digital layout for the weekend’s pregame broadcast is an intricate grid of network cues, but my fingers are curled tightly around my phone as I wait for my father to get here.
I take a deep breath, the crisp scent of Aston still faintly lingering on my shirt after he smothered me with hugs and kisses this morning before I left his house. The normalcy of being with him in his rustic home is a sharp contrast to the glitter and shine of my father’s office in Midtown.
My father walks in. “Eva.” His voice is smooth and measured and carries the authority of a man who commands thousands of people. But underneath the executive clip, there’s a subtle softness he reserves for me.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, laying my phone down next to me on the couch, a smile touching my lips.
He walks over to me and places a kiss on the top of my head, then sits in the leather chair next to me. “Pumpkin, I’m not complaining, but this is a surprise.”
I lean forward and drop my legs to the floor. “Well, I checked your assistant’s log and saw you had some free time today, so I figure I have about ten minutes before we get interrupted.”
A warm chuckle rings in the room. “I always have time for you, no matter what. You know that. I’m just about to get back to the analytical reports for the sports division. Your broadcast pulled in a twelve share in the demographics. That’s incredible, kid. I’m so proud of you. But I’m sure that’s not why you’re here. So, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’m seeing someone,” I say, dropping the bomb fast. Because with him, despite the massive weight of his expectations, I can just be his daughter. “It has been going on for a few months now, and it’s getting pretty serious. I think we need to go public, Dad. I don’t want to feel like we can’t have a normal dating life, like go out of the house to eat or see a movie.”
He props his elbows on the arms of his chair, folds his hands together, and rests his chin on them. Then a smirk appears.
“Aston Griffith,” he says. It’s not a question, nor is it an accusation.
Of course he knows.
“Please tell me you don’t have a tracker on my car or something.”
“Eva, I own the network that broadcasts his games,” he says, his tone relaxed, but also amused. “You’ve also interviewed him multiple times this season. Don’t get me wrong; the audience loves that kid, but I just had a feeling there was more to it. And I might have looked up his contract metrics last month when I started to suspect he was more than just a player you wanted a story on. I remember you dating his brother in college. I know there’s a connection between you two.” He drops his hands,laying them on his lap. “He’s impressive, for sure. He’s a tier-one defensive anchor. Solid cowboy-like brand, zero off-field liabilities, good family, and he’s signed through 2029.”
“Dad—”
“But most importantly”—he holds up a finger, his voice shifting to a more protective but caring register—“I’ve watched the feeds, and I’ve seen you at the games, watching him. You get a look on your face that I’ve never seen before. You look … smitten. And God knows it takes a lot to impress my headstrong and independent daughter.”
I let out a breath, a sarcastic laugh escaping my throat. “I mean, he’s all right, I guess,” I tease, tilting my head to the side. “If you like big Texas boys who look like they eat bricks for breakfast.”
“You’ll never have to worry about your safety, I suppose.” He smiles.
“Exactly. But he also manages to keep up with me, and he gets my humor, which is a miracle in itself.”
He shakes his head but smiles. “So, what is it you’re asking me, Eva?” my father asks, and I hear the pride and love in his voice. “You want my permission? You don’t need it. You’re an adult.”
“Well, not your permission exactly. I guess I just want to know how we should handle it with the media and anyone … who might have an issue with me dating an athlete for a team I cover.”
“Eva, I don’t care about a corporate handbook,” my father says softly. “The ethics policies written by my lawyers are there to protect our assets. But you’re my daughter, my only child. Your happiness is the only asset I actually care about. If this Griffith boy is the one who keeps you smiling like that, then everyone else will have to adapt. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll discuss it with PR and legal and make sure you won’t have any issues.”
“Thank you, Dad,” I say and stand to give him a hug.
“Anything for you, Pumpkin.” He squeezes me for a beat, then releases me. “But,” he says, his sharp mind clicking into gear. “If you’re going public, we’re doing it on our terms. I’m not letting some sleazy tabloid photographer control the narrative.”
I sit back on the couch and cross my legs. “Right, I agree. I’d like to avoid as much gossip as possible.”
“Here’s what we can do. Based on your numbers for this football season, you’ve done an incredible job, and I gotta say, I’m really proud of you.” He reaches over and sets his hand on top of mine, and I turn my palm and curl my fingers around his. “So, I’m going to have you executive produce the NFL Honors Awards next week in San Francisco. It’s a Carrington-distributed broadcast.”
“Dad. Are you serious?” I ask, stunned. This is a huge opportunity for me, but I know it’s not just because of my last name. He’s not wrong. My numbers for this season were amazing, and I’m proud of my accomplishments but also of how hard my team worked. “I saw it on the schedule, but to have this opportunity…just wow. Thank you, Dad.”
