“First round is on me,” Miles announces. “We're celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” I ask, sliding into the booth.
“Avery Carter joining us for drinks, obviously. It only took, what, three weeks?” He grins. “You're officially one of us now.”
I laugh. This is nice.
We order drinks and settle into easy conversation about work and upcoming events.
“So,” Eliana says, pointing her cocktail at me. “How do you really feel about managing Liam? Off the record.”
“Off the record?” I take a sip of wine. “He's challenging. But he's also not what I expected.”
“In a good way?” Liz asks.
“In a complicated way.” I choose my words carefully. “The public sees one version of him. The real person is more nuanced.”
“That's diplomatic,” Miles says. “Come on, give us something. What's he really like?”
“He's impulsive,” I admit. “But he's also surprisingly thoughtful when he wants to be. And he's actually trying to change, which is more than a lot of clients in his position would do.”
“The puppy thing was genius,” Eliana says. “Whether it was intentional PR or just Liam being Liam, it worked.”
“It wasn't intentional,” I tell them. “He genuinely couldn't stand the thought of those puppies being put down. Everything else was just us managing the story afterward.”
“That's even better,” Liz says. “Authentic moments always play better than manufactured ones.”
We talk more about work, about upcoming projects, about the challenges of managing professional athletes who are used to being told they're exceptional.
It's refreshing, being able to talk shop with people who understand the unique pressures of our job.
I'm mid-sip of my second glass of wine when Eliana suddenly gasps, her phone lighting up in her hand.
“Oh my God, Liam's doing his cooking show.”
My entire body goes rigid. “His what?”
“His Instagram cooking show thing. He does it randomly, like once a month. It's hilarious.” She's already pulling it up, turning her screen so we can see. “You haven't seen these? They're gold.”
Of course, I’ve seen his drunken cooking show.
My heart is pounding as I pull out my own phone, navigating to Instagram, finding Liam's live stream.
And there he is, in his kitchen, grinning at the camera, completely at ease.
“Okay, people,” his voice comes through my phone speaker. “Tonight we're making my specialty. Pasta with whatever is in the fridge. I call it Bachelor's Delight.”
The comments are already flooding in, fans asking questions, making jokes, clearly delighted that he's doing this.
He’s sober. And it’s endearing. He’s goofing around, cooking terrible food. A giggle rips out of my mouth.
He pulls ingredients from his fridge. Vegetables that have seen better days and chicken that he sniffs suspiciously before deeming acceptable.
“First rule of bachelor cooking,” he tells the camera. “If you can't remember when you bought it, it's probably fine. Probably.”
Someone in the comments asks about his recent hospital visit, and his whole face softens.
“That was amazing,” he says, stopping his cooking prep to address the camera directly. “Those kids were so brave. Really puts things in perspective, you know? Makes hockey seem pretty trivial by comparison.”
