“You deserve it, kid. So you go to the awards and bring Aston with you. If the media is going to catch wind of you two and run with a story about my daughter and a star NFL defensive lineman, they’re going to do it using my camera's ratings. Walk with him, hand in hand, I dare the board of directors to say a damn word to me about it.”
I smile widely at the sheer protective power of his love, but it’s also on brand for him. “You’re telling me to turn my relationship into a prime-time exclusive? Spoken like a true media mogul.”
“No one dictates a Carrington’s life except a Carrington,” he says proudly. “Now go call the boy. Tell him I look forward to meeting him soon.” He stands and holds his hands out to me. “Now I love you, but let’s get back to work.”
I take his hands and let him pull me up from the couch, then Iwrap my arms around him again, then kiss his cheek when I pull away. “Thank you, Dad. I love you the most.”
By eleven o’clock, I’m still sitting on the floor of my office, the blue wash of the city lights reflecting off the glass behind me. My phone buzzes, and I see a text from Aston. But instead of replying, I FaceTime him.
He answers, and his handsome face fills my screen. He’s propped up against his headboard at home, his hair messy, and his leather binder is resting on his lap. The second he sees my face, he smiles, and his eyes instantly lock onto mine.
“Honeybee,” he rumbles, his voice deep, rough and thick like he’s tired. “You still at the office?”
“Still here, but almost done for the night. Since it’s so late, I’ll just stay at my place tonight.” I sigh. “But I do have some news. I talked to my dad today,” I say, my tone laced with amusement.
Aston sits up fully, exposing more of his tattooed chest, his eyes curious. “And? What did he say?”
“Well, he said he likes your contract metrics and the fact that you don’t have behavioral problems off the field. You’re a solid brand asset. So congrats, you passed the background check.” A laugh bubbles out.
Aston blinks, then a low, deep rumble of laughter shakes his chest. He rubs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “A brand asset, huh? Jesus. Your old man really is the king of media, isn’t he?”
“He is,” I smile, my voice softening as I look at him through the screen. “But Aston…he’s told me he’s watched us and said he sees how happy I am. He told me the board can adapt.”
A slow, tender look crosses his face, his blue eyes burning. “He said that?”
“He did,” I say quietly. “He loves me, Aston. He wants us to be happy. And he had an idea. I’ll be the executive producer of the red carpet at the NFL Honors next week, as you know…and he told me I should take you with me. You know, just a casual first public appearance together in front of millions of people.”
His face stills.
The NFL Honors isn’t a private dinner at Liam’s house or a quiet weekend tucked away at his house. It’s one of the biggest stages in sports media, completely surrounded by a feeding frenzy of flashing bulbs, and entirely owned by my father.
“The NFL Honors,” Aston repeats. He doesn’t blink, his eyes locked on mine. I can see a shift in his posture—the way his jaw tightens, his mind likely running through the inevitable chaos that would follow a move like this. For a fraction of a second, a shadow of hesitation clouds his expression. “Eva, that’s not just a public appearance.”
I lean in closer to the screen, dropping my teasing banter. “I know. I want you to come with me though. Not as a brand asset, and not as a guest with credentials. I want you there as my boyfriend.”
He lets out a slow breath, running his palm over his head. The hesitation hangs in the air for one more beat. Then a slow smile cracks through, and the tension leaves his shoulders.
“You’re right,” he says, his eyes burning with an unyielding heat I can practically feel through the screen. “If we’re doing this, we might as well go balls out,” he chuckles. “I mean, I already told the guys and Alie and Presley today. But the NFL Honors will definitely make a statement. Let them turn the cameras on, Carrington. I’m all in.”
“Okay then,” I say, relieved. “Boyfriend. Let’s go to LA.”
ASTON
My screen had barely gone dark before the phone started vibrating in my palm again. I hadn’t even had time to process the fact that Eva had just called me her boyfriend. My chest tight, my brain trying to map out the complexities we’d just agreed to.
I glance down at the caller ID, and the screen flashes with a name that makes my stomach drop straight through the mattress.
Ace.
I cover my face with my hands and rub my forehead with my fingers in an attempt to smooth out the stress that’s no doubt showing on my face. Then I hit accept.
“Acer,” I grumble.
“You in bed?” Ace’s voice bellows from the speaker, practically vibrating with the high-octane energy he always has. He’s not in bed, and the background behind him is the sleek, white interior of his kitchen in Florida. He’s pacing the room with a protein shaker in one hand.
“Uh, yeah. You can see I’m in bed.” I raise my brows.
“Old man,” he laughs. “Did you see the noms?”
