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"And Cade." I have to ask, because it's sitting between us like a third person at the table.

Something flickers across his face when I say Cade's name, that same skinned-raw thing I've caught a handful of times now, there and then gone.

"Yeah." His voice roughens. "We'll talk to Cade. Together." He doesn't quite meet my eyes when he says it, and then I let it go, because he's kissing the inside of my wrist and I’m weak.

For one perfect minute, I let myself believe it could be that simple. Two adults dating each other.

His phone buzzes on the counter. Then mine. Then his again.

"I have to show you something." He reaches for his phone, and his whole jaw goes tight. "Denise texted me. Last night, after you fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you, I wanted one night before the world got its hands on us. I should’ve woken you."

He turns the screen to me.

I read the text from my boss. A reporter, Reyes, found out. I’ve done damage control numerous times because of her. If she thinks she has a story she becomes relentless. How much does she know?

The coffee turns to acid in my stomach.

Because I know exactly what that sentence becomes once it's set in type. I have written the crisis memos for this precise nightmare.

I’ve sat in conference rooms and war-gamed it, built the talking points for other people's disasters.

I know how it reads the moment a reporter finishes connecting the dots, and I know that every single dot will be ugly.

My mind is already running scenarios.

Team's own image consultant hired to clean up its most notorious player.

The reformed-bad-boy love story, the wholesome romance that single-handedly rescued a nine-figure sponsorship, invented and stage-managed by the very woman who then wrote herself in as the leading lady. Fabricated. Paid for. A lie sold to millions of people.

And then, underneath all of it, the detail that turns a bad week into a national feeding frenzy.

I’m Cade Callahan's little sister. Boston's Callahan. The rival. The brother nobody in Chicago even knew I had, because I’ve hidden it on purpose the day I walked in the door.

"Jax." My voice has gone flat and professional. All emotion gone from it. "This isn't the deal dying. This is so much worse. All of it turns into evidence that I'm a liar who manufactured a fake romance for a paycheck and a promotion."

I set the mug down before my hand can shake in front of him. "And Cade spends the next month as the punchline in every headline in the country. His name dragged straight through my mess."

"Our mess. Then let’s get in front of it." He takes my face in both hands, steady and sure, the way he’s on the ice when everyone else is losing their heads. "We go to Denise this morning. We tell her all of it, before Reyes runs a single word. You get out ahead of the story because you're Margot, the best person for this. You do it for a living."

I want to believe I can spin this so badly it aches.

My phone lights up.

An unknown number, a Chicago area code, and a message preview that stops my heart clean between beats.

I tilt the phone to Jax.

Unknown

Hi Margot, this is Dana Reyes. I'm working on a piece about Jax Hunter and you. And I wanted to give you the chance to comment before it runs Monday morning. Just a few questions. Starting with your brother.

We have until Monday to come up with a plan.

Chapter 19: Jax

"Somebody give me the recap again. I like hearing it. It's motivating."

Ryker's sprawled across the bench, all six-foot-four of him, black hair still dripping, green eyes lit up with the specific insanity that only surfaces before a game we need to win.