Olivia’s head tilts slightly, eyes flicking to me before returning to the road. “Did you?”
“No.” My answer’s sharp, immediate. “She stumbled trying to get away from Derek, I caught her before she hit the floor. That’s when she tried to hit me but got Derek instead and then the bouncer hit Derek and I stepped in. That’s it. But the guy called the cops, and next thing I know I’m in a holding room with a rookie telling me I’m lucky they didn’t test my blood alcohol.”
“Were you drunk?”
“No. I’m not stupid.”
Silence stretches between us again. Outside, the streets thin out, houses replacing bars, dark porches replacing neon.
Finally, she exhales through her nose. “You’re supposed to be the face of the team, Carter. You can’t afford this kind of attention. Next time, walk away.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember that next time someone accuses me of being a creep.”
Her glare could peel paint. “Don’t get defensive. I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need help.”
She laughs softly, a sound that’s more exhaustion than amusement. “Everyone says that right before their career goes down the drain.”
That one stings. I stare out the window, jaw tight. “You think I’m like the others?”
She shrugs. “I think you’re human. And humans screw up. But if you want to keep that golden boy image, we need to get ahead of this before someone posts the wrong version online.”
My chest tightens. I hate this part—the spin, the whispers, the assumption that fame means guilt. “You really think people care that much?”
Her mouth twitches. “About you? Absolutely. You’re clickbait with a pulse.”
Groaning, I scrub a hand over my face. “Great.”
She pulls up in front of the gates to my home, headlights washing over the steel and stone. The place sits back from the road, fenced in and private, the kind of property meant to keep the world out.
“I’ll handle the press release. You keep your head down and stay sober for at least twenty-four hours.”
Reaching for the door handle, I glance her way and pause. “You always this bossy?”
Olivia smirks. “Only when the job requires it.”
I should let her go. Should thank her, walk through those gates, and forget tonight ever happened. But something about her tone, it’s dry, teasing, alive and it hooks me.
“Coffee?” I offer. “For your trouble.”
Her lashes lower, studying me for a beat before she sighs. “One cup. Black.”
And just like that, Olivia Rivers drives through the gates and steps into the fortress I call home and into the mess I call my life.
“Nice place,” Olivia says as she steps into the foyer, eyes sweeping over the high ceilings, the chandelier, and the marble floors.
“It’s paid for and it’s home,” I reply, tossing my keys into the bowl by the door.
She lets out a low whistle. “You make it sound so… humble.”
“Yeah, well, the press already calls it ‘The Storm Fortress.’ Thought I’d try to balance the ego out a little.”
That earns me a faint smile, it’s quick, and gone before I can decide if I imagined it. Her gaze drifts to the photos on the wall: framed shots of the team, my parents, a few charity events.Nothing personal beyond that. Nothing I’d miss if it all burned down tomorrow.
“You live here alone?” she asks, trailing a finger along the edge of a table.
“Mostly. Housekeeper comes twice a week. Yard crew keeps the lawn looking like a golf course. Other than that, yeah.”
