“And Michael and Torro will need to oversee external messaging. Every official statement has to align.”
“Got it.” Riley pauses, glancing up. “So, what’s the game plan when Blake walks in?”
Knock-knock.
Damn. He’s early.
I don’t move. “Come in.”
Riley stands, smoothing her skirt just as the door opens.
“Okay. I’m on it.” She walks past him like she didn’t just share a knowing look with me five seconds ago.
“Blake, I’m so pleased for you,” she adds, tone bright as a lightbulb, and then she’s gone, closing the door behind her.
And then it’s just me. And him.
I keep it clipped and professional, like I don’t have a perfect view of the way his t-shirt strains around those shoulders. “Sit down. And congratulations, Captain.”
“Thanks.” Blake walks in like he owns oxygen. He sits, then leans forward, one hand resting casually on his knee. A piece of his usually-perfect ash blond hair flops over one eye. “But obviously, I wish it were under different circumstances. Not even sure if I’m the right choice for captain.”
I fold my hands on the desk, respecting the enormity of Thumper’s absence. “Yes. We all wish it were under different circumstances. But you were voted for. That means you are the right choice.”
He huffs a breath, not quite a sigh. “Yeah, suppose so.”
I lean back and click open the strategy deck Riley just sent. “So, here’s what this means. You’re now the face of the franchise. That means press, interviews, community events, school visits, fundraisers, and fan engagement. You won’t just play the games, you’ll sell them. Think you can do this?”
He straightens, and something shifts in his expression. Like the doubt’s still there, but he’s already chosen to outrun it.
“Yes. I’m ready,” he says. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”
“Good.” I swivel the monitor slightly toward me, scrolling through the media strategy. “Tomorrow’s press conference is the first big step. It’ll be a formal setup. Podium. Media seating. You’ll make a statement, then we’ll move into a controlled Q&A.You don’t need to be charming. You just need to be clear. Don’t overshare. No off-script moments.”
He nods slowly, eyes lifting to meet mine again. And just for a second, there’s a pause. Like neither of us is pretending to be made of Teflon anymore.
I blink first. Shift in my seat, click a folder.
“I want you to watch this.” My voice is quieter now. “Come here.”
He rises without a word and walks around the desk. His movements are calm, deliberate, and measured, but when he leans down beside me to watch the screen, I can feel the heat rolling off him like a furnace in slow motion. His hand rests on the desk next to mine.
The screen lights up with Thumper. His voice fills the room. Commanding. Confident. Loved.
Blake watches, expression unreadable.
The scent of him hits me, sharp, smoky, masculine. Expensive without trying too hard. It's unfair, honestly. I should be given hazard pay.
A ping breaks the moment. My inbox lights up, Riley, with the schedule.
Damn, that girl’s good.
I open it, then flip the tabs, pulling it over the video.
“These just came in. Look.”
He leans in closer, he doesn’t need to, there’s enough screen, but I don’t stop him. Our shoulders brush. His breath fans near my cheek, and if he shifts an inch closer, we’ll be in dangerous territory.
I keep it steady. Bullet point mode.
