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“Perfect.”

Aiden slaps my shoulder. “Just don’t look like you’re trying to get laid. You’ll ruin the mystique.”

Jax snorts from where he’s still eavesdropping. “He’s got zero mystique. Just pent-up testosterone and great hair.”

I flip him off and head for the showers before they can keep going. But as the hot water pounds against my back, I can’t shake the feeling that this is more than just about selling a story to the media.

This is about proving something to myself. That I can be the kind of man who deserves a woman like Katarina, even if it’s only pretend.

Later That Afternoon

The PR office smells like money and nerves.

Katarina walks beside me, cool and collected in her fitted scrubs, like she didn’t wreck me in my head last night for the third time this week. Like I haven’t been seeing her in flashes I can’t shake—arched back, soft moans, the way she tasted in my dreams.

Focus.

Riley ushers us into the glass conference room. “You’re on time. Good. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

We sit across from each other at the polished conference table. She doesn’t meet my eye. I don’t blame her. We’re both too aware of what’s riding on this now.

There’s a folder in front of me. I flip it open and find the PR plan like it’s a damn playbook—venues, timeline, staged interactions. It’s all curated down to how we should stand next to each other.

No thanks.

I’ve spent my entire career having other people tell me what to do, where to go, how to behave. Coaches, agents, PR flacks—everyone’s got an opinion about how Liam Steele should live his life. But this? This is different.

This is about Katarina. And I’ll be damned if I let some suit in an overpriced office dictate how I treat her.

I clear my throat and lean forward.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

Riley lifts an eyebrow. “You do?”

The surprise in her voice pisses me off. Like she expected me to just sit here and nod along with whatever bullshit plan they’d cooked up.

I nod. “Vino e Cucina first. Then Skyline. After that, we space it out. Keep it organic. Regular spots, no big stunts.”

“Organic?” Riley exchanges a look with her assistant.

“Yeah. Real places. Real conversations. Not some staged photo op at the charity gala of the week.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You want people to believe this is real? Then it has to feel real.”

Katarina shifts slightly beside me. I catch her glancing at me from the corner of my eye, but when I look over, she’s focused on Riley.

“That actually sounds reasonable,” Riley says slowly, like she’s surprised I can string coherent thoughts together.

Katarina finally speaks up. “That works for me too.”

Her voice is neutral, but her leg is bouncing under the table. I file it away—a tell I’m starting to recognize. She does it when she’s nervous or thinking too hard about something.

“Good.” I close the folder without looking at the rest of their plan. “We’ll handle the details.”

Riley looks like she wants to argue, but something in my expression stops her. Smart woman.

We wrap things up fast. Everyone’s pleased with the plan. I should be, too.

But something’s chewing at my gut as we walk out of the building. Maybe it’s the way Katarina’s been quiet since we left the conference room. Or maybe it’s the nagging feeling that I’m getting in deeper than I planned.