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His expression is unreadable—blank in that carefully guarded, stoic way he’s mastered. But his jaw is tight, and I catch the way one muscle ticks near his temple.

He doesn’t want to be here.

That makes two of us.

I drop into the seat across from him, spine stiff, chin lifted, every nerve in my body on edge like a wire pulled too tight.

Riley closes the door behind us and dives right in, her voice clipped and businesslike.

“There’s footage of Liam entering an exclusive singles play party in the Bay. Discreet. But someone leaked it. Word has it it’s a sex party. The story’s gaining traction.”

My head snaps toward Liam.

Oh my Gawwd …I cant believe this shit is circling back to bite me in the ass.

He doesn’t flinch.

But his eye's go darker. Not angry. Not scared. Just that deep, swirling storm of someone who already knows the damage has been done and doesn’t want to watch it hit shore. There’s something almost hollow in the way he holds himself. Like he’s been here before.

Like he’s used to being the fuck-up in the story.

I glance at Liam.

“And you wantmeto… what?” I ask slowly.

“We need to shift the narrative,” Riley says. “Give the press something new to focus on. A controlled story weown.”

I cross my arms. “And that would be…?”

Riley doesn’t blink. “A relationship. You and Liam. Public. Visible. Romantic. For appearances.”

I laugh once. Short and humorless. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We’re not,” Liam says, voice low. Controlled. “They floated someone from marketing. I said no.

Is that what the fuck that show in the equipment room was about? Some type of manipulation?”

My eyes narrow. “So I’m Plan B?”

“You’re someone the media already sees around the team. You’re respected, professional. It’d be believable,” Riley adds, as if I should be flattered.

Respected, professional, and totally guilty. I swallow hard trying to cover every bit of what I’m thinking.

“And you think I’m okay being part of some PR cleanup for something I didn’t do?”

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Riley says. “You’ll be compensated. Extra press could mean a higher profile. Maybe even open doors with national clients. Team USA, for instance.”

My breath catches.

She sees it. The hook lands.

But my brain’s still caught onhim. Liam, of all people.

“You sure this won’t backfire?” I ask.

“We’ll control the narrative,” Riley says confidently.

Liam just sits there. Watching me. Waiting.