Chapter Four
1239 Words
Nadia pov
I walked to the bus stop and got on the crosstown bus. During the ride, I opened the notes app on my phone and began typing to keep my fingers moving. I wrote neutral, professional questions.
I wanted to sound like a regular reporter at a Titans press event, not an amateur.
By the time the bus arrived at the arena, I had six questions ready.
My plan was simple: walk in, do my job, and leave as I forced myself not to think about Ryder.
I pushed open the heavy glass doors of the arena. The lobby was already crowded, and the noise hit me immediately. People were everywhere. I saw long tables lined up across the floor, and team reps in suits walked past with laminated lanyards swinging around their necks. It was the busy, loud chaos of a standard press day.
I kept my head down, walked over to the registration desk, and checked in. The woman behind the table handed me my plastic media badge. I clipped it to my jacket and walked toward the back of the room.
I chose a spot against the back wall. Standing there made me feel far enough away to look professional, but it gave me a clear view of the podium.
I was reading my notes when someone stepped right in front of my voice recorder.
He did not walk past instead blocked it on purpose.
I looked up. He was tall with dark blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, he had a sharp jawline and a long scar on his left forearm that went under his sleeve.
"Nadia Calloway," he called out.
"I don't remember introducing myself."
"You didn't." He looked down at my recorder, then back up at me. "Cole Merritt."
"I know who you are." I reached past him to touch my recorder, making my annoyance clear. "You're blocking my shot."
"You're filming an empty podium."
"It won't be empty in a few minutes." I stood up straight and held his gaze. "Do you need something?"
He looked at me closely. "No," he said.
"Then please move"
"I'll find you after," he said, as if that were normal. Then he stepped away and walked off without looking back.
I stared at the empty space where he had been standing.
Across the room, one of Cole's teammates was watching the whole thing. He caught my eye for half a second, shook his head once—so subtle it might have been involuntary.
Just then, another player called out from across the floor. "Theo!"
The guy looking at me glanced up and waved back.
******
A few minutes later, the event started. The podium filled up, and I had a job to do.
I stood at the back and kept my eyes on the podium. When the coach finished speaking, the floor opened up for questions. I raised my hand. The moderator pointed to me.
I turned on my recorder. I asked my first question about the team's strategy for the next game. My voice did not shake once, which felt like a small miracle.
The coach answered. I wrote his words down in my notebook. I raised my hand again and asked my next two questions. I got three questions in before the moderator moved on to another reporter. It was only half of what I wrote on the bus, but it was more than I expected from myself.
The Titans' PR coordinator talked about the playoffs. The defensive coach talked about teamwork. I wrote it all down and told myself that was good enough.
The event ended. I packed my notebook and recorder into my bag. I was almost at the exit when Cole fell into step beside me.
I kept walking. "I didn't say I'd meet you later."
"I know." He kept up easily, which was annoying since his legs were much longer. "So I'm coming to you.”
"There's a difference."
"There really isn't."
"You could stop walking," he said.
"I could." I pushed through the lobby door into the cold, and he followed without hesitation. "I'm choosing not to."
We ended up on the concrete steps outside the arena. I stopped walking because my tape recorder slipped, and I had to catch it and he seemed to have to have stopped because I did.
"I have a plan," he said.
"I am a reporter."
"I know."
"Whatever it is, I cannot break the rules of my job for you."
"I want you to be my girlfriend," he said.
The words hit me as I looked at him. He looked back at me, completely calm. He acted like he had said something ordinary. He acted like asking a girl he met a few minutes ago to be his girlfriend was normal.
"I am sorry," I said slowly. "Can you say that again?"
"A fake relationship. It will be short, it will have clear rules, and it will help both of us." He spoke like he was reading a contract. "People see you as a victim now. I have a rival, and I want to mess with his career. In a few weeks, Ryder Holt will be at a big charity party. He wants to fix his public image. If you walk into that room with me, his plan fails." He tilted his head. "And you stop being the girl from the video."
My first thought was to say no. My second thought was to ask him what was wrong with him. My third thought was more complicated, and I did not want to admit it.
He was right about the story. For days, I watched strangers talk about me online. The comments all treated me like an object. I was the girl who got cheated on, the girl who did not know, or the girl who gave up her job. I was just "the girl" over and over.
"You do not know anything about me," I said.
"I know enough."
"That is a bad answer."
Something changed on his face. He looked surprised. "You are right. It is." He paused, searching my face.. "You walked into a press day a few days after thousands of people laughed at you, and you still did your job. That is enough for now."
I hated that his words worked on me.
"I will think about it," I said.
He almost smiled. "That is enough for now," he said again. Then he walked back inside.
I stood on the steps with my recorder and my media badge. I felt like I had agreed to something, even though I did not say yes.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number:
We should talk.
CM
I stared at it. Then I looked up at the big concrete arena. It was covered in Titans logos. Cole Merritt owned this place every time he skated on the ice.
He had my number, and I did not know how. He had planned everything perfectly.
The trouble was that he was right. I did not want to be the girl from the video anymore.
I typed back: How did you get this number?
He replied in seconds: I will explain at dinner. Thursday, I will send the address.
I put my phone in my pocket and walked to the bus stop as I called Petra.
"I think I am in trouble," I said when she answered.
"What trouble?"
- Writer
