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“ H ey,” Mullens said quietly, after watching Athena toss ingredients around for a few minutes.

The camera guy was full of commands, including confusing ones such as not turning her back when she wanted to access the stove—which was behind her. How the man expected her to make an omelet was beyond Mullens.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

The glint in Athena’s eyes suggested she wanted him to curl up and die, but she said with surprising lightness, “What I say. So, basically do whatever you want. I’m sure gold will rain down on you either way.”

He choked on a laugh.

She caught him eyeing her earrings and she nervously fingered the left one. He could tell she’d been reluctant to accept the gift, and hadn’t wanted to put them on. But she had.

This show meant a lot to her. Ditto for him. His career might even depend on it.

“We need to find our groove,” he said. “Bring out your fiery side. Viewers will love it.”

“I proposed a murder mystery theme,” she replied, her tone sassy enough that he wasn’t quite sure if she was kidding.

She grabbed an opened bottle of red wine from beside a large pot, no doubt intended for a different recipe, and lifted it to her lips.

After taking several long, slow gulps she set it down again and exhaled deeply.

What?

She gave him a challenging look. “Ready to find our groove?”

Her top lip was deliciously moist from the wine, and the mascara she was wearing made her pretty eyes stand out. This woman, whether she knew it or not, would always have the upper hand with him.

“Jersey on or off?” he whispered, aware of the hint of intimacy in his question.

“Jersey on ,” Nuvella snapped from the other side of the counter.

“What do you say?”

Earlier she’d looked as though she might go after him with that deadly blade lying beside the bowl of mushrooms. Now her gaze was warmer. It wouldn’t thaw a steak or anything, but it wouldn’t turn him into a popsicle, either.

“There’s broccoli in the omelet I’m making.

” She wet her lips with her tongue, her brown eyes darting over the fabric covering his chest, then up to the tattoo that peeked out from the collar of his jersey.

He resisted rubbing his fingers over it like a touchstone.

It was a reminder of a life that had just begun, of a promise for the future and all the things he wanted.

“Broccoli?” he prompted.

“Now, I know you dislike broccoli, which really makes me wonder what you do eat….”

He froze. The joke. That stupid kid’s joke about broccoli and boogers she’d told the group of players the day they’d met. It was the same one that used to have his sister, Evonne, in stitches of laughter.

Athena was going to tell the joke. In front of the camera.

He gripped the edge of the counter, promising himself that this time he’d hold it together. Not shut down or lash out at her.

Realizing his left hand had lifted to touch his family tree tattoo, including the small bird that was half angel flying above his collar, he sucked in an unsteady breath.

“Don’t say it,” he groaned, trying to make his pained tone sound like it was all about the stupid joke.

Athena turned to the camera, all brightness and sunshine. “What’s the difference between boogers and broccoli?”

“That’s it. I’m taking off my jersey.” He did not need to hear that kids ate boogers, and hence, not broccoli. Not today. Not right now. Mullens started pulling off his shirt, taking his base-layer tee with it.

“Jersey on!” Nuvella snapped.

“Keep your clothes on,” Athena muttered, her cheeks pink, her gaze locked on his exposed midriff. “This isn’t that kind of video.”

With false seriousness he pulled out his phone again as though he needed to make a call. “Then there’s been a mistake. I have to talk to my agent.”

Athena snorted and dropped a hand on her hip. “When you’re ready, we’re going to make an egg-white omelet.”

“Speak to the camera,” the man by the tripod commanded.

She sighed and turned back to the waiting camera.

“Oh, hey. What’s your name again?” Mullens asked him. He reached across the counter, hand extended.

“Howell. Address the camera. Pretend I’m not here.”

“Hard to do that when he’s snapping at us,” Mullens muttered to Athena as he straightened again. She rewarded him with a brief smile.

“To reduce cholesterol, we’re going to make our omelet using egg whites.” She began cracking eggs, that small smile playing at the corner of her lips. She deftly dropped the yolk from one half of the open shell into the other, letting the whites drain into the bowl below.

“We’ll be editing the video, so don’t worry about any lags or pauses,” Howell said.

Beside Mullens, Athena tensed again.

Mullens wanted to shove the guy in a locker to shut him up, but there didn’t seem to be one in the kitchen.

“Think he’d fit under the sink?” he whispered to Athena.

“We’d have to turn our backs to the camera,” she muttered. Her eyes danced and the corners of her lips slipped upward before she caught herself.

“What do you do with the yolks?” Mullens asked. Each morning when he had his omelet he felt guilty tossing them out, to the point that some days he folded them back in again.

“Toss them.”

“Seems wasteful.”

“If you’re baking, some recipes call for just yolks. You can plan ahead so you don’t waste either of them.”

Yolks probably meant a dessert. Something rich. What would be this woman’s weakness?

“That probably outweighs the benefits of having an egg-white omelet for breakfast,” he said.

“It does,” she admitted.

Their eyes met and her smile turned slightly devilish.

Who was this woman?

“Ms. Gavras!” He placed his palms flat on the counter and gaped at her, pretending to be shocked. “You sneak brownies, don’t you? Brownies rich in egg yolks!”

Her cheeks turned pink. “How do you know they’re brownies?”

“Busted!” He turned to the camera and pressed his hands to his cheeks, unable to fully process the new truth, that Ms. Rules was, in fact, Ms. Rule-breaker.

Darned if his crush on her didn’t just expand even further. All she needed was a pair of large-framed glasses balanced on her cute little nose and he’d be a complete goner.

“I’m not the pro athlete here.” She pointed the shiny blade of a knife at him. “I can have brownies.”

“I thought you were our role model.”

“I’m not?”

He waited for the smirk. No smirk. Dang.

“Wait.” He frowned at her, feeling as though he might have the beginning of a valid argument. “You told the team it’s about moderation. Not denial.”

She rolled her eyes and said drily, “Like you know anything about moderation.”

He dropped an elbow onto the counter and leaned in, lowering his voice. “When it comes to something good… I don’t believe in denial. Or moderation.”

Athena deadpanned, “I’m confused. Are we talking about women or cars now?”

“We’ll cut that.” Howell said flatly. “Off brand.”

“No, it’s fun,” Nuvella said. “Interesting.”

Mullens tried to contain his laughter. Finally, he gave up, tipped his head back and let it out. Athena, warmed up by the joking or maybe the stolen swigs of wine, simply rolled her eyes and bit her bottom lip to stop what he was certain could have been a shared, slightly wicked smile.

Athena pushed a knife across the small space between them. “Can you chop the mushrooms, please?”

Mullens set to work, noting that she had stopped moving and was watching, her hands poised as if she wanted to jump in and take over.

Catching herself, she started whisking the egg whites.

“Howell? What do you think about Athena seeing a stylist?” Nuvella asked, her tone thoughtful. “The sweater is a pleasant color, but I’m thinking something sexier to really pull in the male viewers.”

“She has nice curves,” Howell agreed.

“That’s sexual harassment,” Mullens growled. “And she’s already plenty sexy.”

Athena’s arm jerked, flicking the whisk and sending strings of egg whites onto the counter.

“Her publisher suggested something less bookish?” Howell said delicately, pressing a finger to his chin.

Athena touched her shiny locks and glanced down at her outfit. “What’s so bookish about this?”

“Bookish is her brand,” Mullens stated firmly. “She’s written a bestselling cookbook. You’re standing in… Is this your place?” he asked Athena. She nodded. “You’re standing in her soon-to-be bookstore. Bookish is her brand. And she’s smart. Ask her anything about food.”

Howell protested, “I just want this to be—”

“Ask her.”

The man sighed and waved a hand. “Fine. Carry on.”

Mullens glared at him for an extra beat, then asked Athena, “Do you need to wash mushrooms?”

“What? Oh. You can dust the debris off their skin with a soft brush.” Her tone was wary, her face red.

“But aren’t they grown in…” Mullens looked at the camera. “Can we swear?”

“Definitely not. Start your conversation over from the top,” Howell said.

“We’re making a simple, delicious egg-white omelet today,” Athena said, her voice rising with stress.

“No,” Howell said in exasperation. “Talk about the mushrooms.”

“Hey, how about you critique the video once we’re done? And while you’re gone…” Mullens moved around the counter, using his size to edge Howell toward the kitchen’s back exit that led into the storage area and then out to the alley “…how about you Google how to deliver a compliment burger?”

“What’s a—”

“Nuvella, you can go out there with him. He’s going to need help with this.”

The publicity manager scooted out the door like Mullens was chasing her.

“What’s it called again?” Howell peered at his phone screen as he typed in a search query.

“It’s a compliment, then constructive criticism, followed by another compliment. Compliments are the buns.” Mullens pushed the man outside, where it had started to rain. “Athena’s the real talent in this video series. Figure it out or don’t come back.”

“But my—”

“I said figure it out.” He shut the door in the protesting man’s face.