“I’ve said six words to her.”
“And she already looks one inconvenience away from climbing you.”
I snorted into my drink.
“That girl hates me.”
“No,” Jace said. “That girl wants to win.”
That was probably true.
And somehow worse.
Daniel cornered me near the fridge before I could respond.
“You’re doing the interviews.”
“I hate interviews.”
“You’re doing them anyway.”
“Get someone else.”
“No.”
I looked at him flatly. “Compelling argument.”
Daniel lowered his voice. “The draft rumors are getting bigger. Sports media’s already circling. We need one controlled story before outside press starts making shit up.”
My jaw tightened automatically.
There it was.
Always.
Basketball.
NBA.
Draft projections.
Legacy.
Future.
Every conversation eventually became about my father or my career.
Never just me.
Daniel noticed the mood shift immediately because everyone fucking noticed eventually.
“That’s why Rowan’s perfect for this,” he continued carefully. “She writes real pieces. Human pieces.”
“Cute. Still hate it.”
“You hate everything.”
“Not true.”
