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But it wasn't only Melanie.

It was Ash shutting down on me.

Again.

After everything last night—after finally, finally having him the way I'd wanted him for so long—watching him pull that armor back on this morning had been like taking a body check into the boards. He'd looked at me as though I was already gone, as though he was preparing himself for the abandonment he seemed so certain was coming, and I hadn't known how to convince him otherwise when I'd been called away to deal with a crisis that shouldn't have been a crisis at all.

My phone rang while I was still turning that over, and my agent's name flashed across the screen. I let it ring twice before answering because I already knew what he wanted.

“Please tell me she's developed a sudden passion for privacy.”

His humorless laugh wasn't encouraging. “Not quite, but we're getting there. The photos aren't doing what she expected them to.”

I leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Meaning?”

“Meaning there isn't enough of a story. You weren't naked, she wasn't naked, nobody has produced anything showing the two of you together, and your statement was boring enough to kill half the speculation before it got started.”

“I'm glad my personality is finally useful.”

“I said your statement was boring, Max. Don't get carried away.”

I smiled despite myself. “That's considerably less flattering.”

“You're paying me to manage your career, not your self-esteem, so you're going to have to survive the disappointment.”

Unfortunately true.

He continued before I could tell him what I thought of that. “She's still talking, but every time somebody asks for evidence that you had a relationship, she changes the subject. Unless she's sitting on something we don't know about, this burns itself out.”

“She isn't sitting on anything. I never slept with her.”

“I know that,” he said, sounding tired rather than doubtful. “I'm asking whether there's anything she could twist, because apparently facts have become optional.”

The answer should've been easy, except experience had taught me how little material some people needed.

“I met her at events, probably spoke to her a few times, and she might have photographs with me, but half the city probably has photographs with me.”

“Then stop worrying about her. We're not responding again unless she produces something new.”

The relief I felt should've been stronger.

Instead, I thought about Ash sitting on the edge of my bed this morning, his face closing while the television showed photographs of Melanie inside my apartment. Ash hadn't known whether to believe me because he'd spent years learning that people lied, left, and hurt you if you gave them enough room to do it.

And I'd walked out to deal with Melanie almost immediately afterward.

Perfect timing.

“Max?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Then listen to me. This is already moving out of the sports cycle, so don't resurrect it by getting angry in front of a camera, and don't take another stupid penalty because somebody mentions her.”

I grimaced. “I took one stupid penalty. The other was debatable.”

“They were on television.”

“That doesn't make it less debatable.”