He raised an eyebrow. “Honest?”
“Yes,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze. “The good, the bad, and the ugly. People want authenticity, not a polished version of your life.”
He grunted, his expression unimpressed. “Authenticity. Right. Because the world’s dying to hear about my feelings.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Well, Mr.Nightfang. Sterling, if you’re worried about oversharing, don’t be. I’m not here to write a tell-all tabloid. I’m here to tell your story. But it’s your call how much of it you want people to see.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he crossed his arms again, the movement drawing my attention to the way his muscles shifted under his skin. I forced myself to look back at my notebook, but the image was seared into my brain.
“My call, huh? Good. Because I’m not interested in airing my dirty laundry for the world to pick apart.”
“I’m not here to pick it apart either,” I said, meeting his gaze again. “I’m here to help you tell it in a way that’s true to you. Whether that’s polished or raw, it’s your choice. But the more open you are, the more impact it’ll have.”
He studied me for a moment, and then he let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”
“And you’re stubborn,” I shot back before I could stop myself. My cheeks warmed, but I held his gaze. “But I think we’ll make a good team.”
His lips twitched, almost like he was fighting a smile. “We’ll see.” He quickly schooled his expression back into its usual stern lines, before pushing off the weight rack. “But don’t think this means I’m going soft on you. I expect results, not excuses.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I said, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. “But don’t think this means I’m going to let you bulldoze me. I’m here to do a job, not be your punching bag.”
His eyes flicked to mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a spark of approval. But then he grunted and turned away, grabbing his shirt from the bench. “Good. I don’t have time for pushovers.”
I smiled faintly, tucking my notebook under my arm as I stood. “Glad to hear it. But just so you know, I’m not exactly known for being quiet when I have something to say.”
This time, he did smile. It was small, just a fleeting curve of his lips, but it was enough to make my pulse skip. “I’m counting on it,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “We’ll start with soccer. But not here.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “My office. Five minutes.”
I barely had time to nod before he strode past me, leaving me scrambling to gather my things.
I followed him, my steps quick to match his long strides, but my mind was still stuck on that brief, unexpected smile.
It had transformed his face, softening the sharp angles.
For a second, he hadn’t been the grumpy billionaire or the retired athlete.
He’d just been a ridiculously attractive, infuriatingly guarded man.
Focus, Ariel. I tightened my grip on my notebook. This was a job, not a romance novel.
Sterling shoved open the glass doors to his office with one hand, barely glancing back at me. “Keep up, Hayes. I don’t like repeating myself.”
I rolled my eyes but bit back the retort on my tongue. “Noted,” I said instead, stepping inside. There was something about him, something that drew me in and made me want to unravel the mystery that was Sterling Nightfang.
The office was all modern lines and spotless panoramic windows. We looked down on the city like we were gods. It was as imposing and untouchable as its owner.
He dropped into his chair with a sigh, rubbing his temples. “Alright, hit me with your questions. But make it quick.”
I perched on the edge of the chair on the other side of his desk. I flipped open my notebook. “Quick? Sterling, this is an autobiography. It’s kind of a deep-dive project.”
He shot me a look that could’ve withered steel. “Then start with the shallow end.”
I leaned forward slightly, my voice soft and teasing. “Fine. What’s your favorite color?”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“You heard me. Favorite color. It’s an easy one.”
He leaned back, arms crossed, studying me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Black.”
I scribbled it down. “Predictable.”
His scowl deepened. “You asked.”
“I did,” I agreed cheerfully. “Next question. What’s the most ridiculous rumor you’ve ever heard about yourself?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “That I bribed a referee to win the Champions League.”
I gasped in mock horror. “Did you?”
His glare could’ve melted glass. “No.”
I grinned. “Good. Because that would’ve made for a very awkward chapter.”
Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet, you haven’t fired me yet.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and fixed me with a look that was equal parts exasperation and curiosity. “You’re not what I expected.”
I tilted my head, my pen poised over my notebook. “Oh? And what did you expect?”
“Someone quieter. Less…you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m not exactly the ‘sit quietly and nod’ type.”
He grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched again, like he was fighting a smile. “I’m starting to see that.”
I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of triumph. I was getting to him. “Good,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Because if you wanted a yes-man, you hired the wrong writer.”
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “Alright, Hayes. Let’s see if you can keep up. Next question.”
I smiled, feeling a flicker of triumph. “What’s the one thing you’ve never told anyone about your soccer career?”
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might shut me down. But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair before he leaned back in his chair. “Fine. But if this ends up in some tabloid, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
“Deal,” I said, leaning forward, my pen ready. “Spill.”
He hesitated, his gaze distant, like he was weighing his words. “There was a game, where I played with a broken rib. The team didn’t know. The press didn’t know. I didn’t even tell my coach.”
I blinked, surprised. “Why not?”
“Because we needed to win,” he said simply. “And I wasn’t going to let something as small as a broken rib stop me.”
I scribbled furiously, my heart pounding. This was the kind of raw honesty I’d been hoping for. “That’s incredible,” I said, looking up at him. “And a little insane.”
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It’s what had to be done.”
I nodded, feeling a newfound respect for him. “Alright, next question—”
“Enough,” he interrupted, standing abruptly. “We’re done for today.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Done? But we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
He shot me a look that brooked no argument. “I said we’re done. I’ve got a meeting, and you’ve got enough to start with.”
I hesitated, my pen hovering over my notebook. “But—”
“Hayes,” he said, his voice sharp but not unkind. “I don’t have time for your ‘buts.’ You’ve got your first chapter. Use it.”
I closed my notebook slowly, trying to hide my frustration. “Fine. But don’t think this means I’m going to let you off the hook. Next time, we’re diving deeper.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “Next time, bring better questions.”
I stood, tucking my notebook under my arm. “Oh, I will. And maybe I’ll even bring coffee. You look like you could use some.”
His lips twitched, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“Tea, then?” I asked, tilting my head. “Or do you just run on pure grumpiness?”
This time, he did smile. It was enough to make my heart skip a beat. “Get out of here, Hayes.”
I grinned, feeling a flicker of triumph. “See you tomorrow, Sterling.”
As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but glance back at him. He was already focused on his computer, his expression stern and unreadable once more.
This wasn’t just about the money. This was my shot to prove I wasn’t the washed-up almost-writer my inbox insisted I was.
And if Sterling Nightfang’s story was the hill I died on?
At least the view wasspectacular. After years of rejection letters and half-finished manuscripts, I wasn’t going to waste this once-in-a-lifetime chance.
But there was more to Sterling Nightfang than he was letting on. And whether he liked it or not, I was going to find out what it was.