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CHAPTER 1
RUBIE
My father frowned at me. Yeah, what was new? The question wasn't really why was he frowning, but why was he frowning now?
"Rubie," he said slowly, "the Down Under Bowl is the most important time of the year. You know that."
I smiled wryly. "I'm well aware. You haven't talked about anything else for the last month." That wasn’t entirely accurate. It was at least two months. Carton Thomas, owner of the Storm Valley Rapids was nothing if not passionate.
I thought he might snarl at me. Instead, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead.
"If I’m single-minded, it’s just because?—"
"Because the Down Under Bowl is the be all and end all, and if the Rapids make it, they’ll be heroes until the end of time," I finished for him. "Sorry, super heroes. Football gods."
"I could do without the sarcasm," he snapped.
I raised one eyebrow. That was a skill I'd mastered at around the age of three. My father hated it.
Honestly, if he didn't want me to use it, he shouldn't have taught me how. Okay, so he didn't do it on purpose, but we were a lot alike. Basically everything I did that pissed him off, I learned from him.
"Sarcasm? What sarcasm?" I cocked my head at him. "That's what you think, isn't it? If the Rapids win the Down Under Bowl you'll be a legend until the end of time?"
"Would I?" He pressed his lips together. "You're the face of the Rapids ownership."
I looked at him in surprise. "Me? Why would why would I be the face of an AGL football team?"
He waved a hand towards my phone. "Because you spend your life on that, sharing every minute detail of your life with the world. That makes you accessible to a whole lot of people."
"It doesn't mean I'm the face of the Rapids," I argued, mildly horrified. "I'm just—me." The online version people saw barely mirrored reality. Every photo, every post, was carefully curated, filtered and all that shit. Nothing about it was real. I know, it's surprising to learn that something on the Internet would be fake. It seems like such an honest place.
Not.
"Hawk Florence is the face of the Rapids," I said finally. "Or Chase McKinney. Or Pinky Innocenti. Or even Bam, when he’s not getting into trouble."
My father scowled.
I was walking on dangerous ground here. Abraham ‘Bam’ Clinton caused him trouble in the past. Apparently he wasn’t forgiven quite yet.
"They are the faces of the team," Carson said, his voice tight. "But the public likes to know about the people behind the team. The owners."
I held back a groan. Not this again. I forced myself to smile. "You mean they want to know about the lifestyles of the rich."
"And famous," he added. "You made yourself that when you became an influencer."
"I didn’t plan on any of that," I said with a hint of bitterness. "It just happened."
I posted photos and videos of whatever I felt like posting at the time. I was as surprised as anyone when they went viral. Who knew people would care what some spoiled rich kid did?
Apparently eleven million people and counting.
"Yeah, well, that’s what happened," he said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "This is about divorce number four, isn’t it?"
His expression hardened. Yeah, I figured as much. Nail, meet head.
"You want me to take attention off you until it’s done and you’re safely married to what’s her name?"
