“Office. Ten minutes,” he said.
I slung the towel around my neck. “What did I break this time?”
Cam didn’t even blink. “Nothing—miraculously. Just come.”
That tone—flat, formal—wasn’t good. Cam only got like that when there were reporters involved or someone up the chain wanted to make an example out of me. I’d take anger over polite professionalism any day. At least yelling was honest.
“Great,” I muttered. “Love surprises.”
He didn’t answer, just disappeared back down the hall.
By the time I got to his office, the hallway lights still felt too bright for how early it was. My shirt clung to my back, half from the workout and half from unease. The guys had noticed too—Adam called after me something about needing bail money. I flipped him off without turning around.
Cam’s office was exactly like him—organized to the point of obsession. Everything lined up, color-coded folders, pens arranged by size. I stood in the doorway, dripping sweat on his immaculate carpet.
“Sit,” he said.
“Sounds ominous,” I replied, but I sat anyway.
He closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair. “Relax. This isn’t disciplinary.”
“That’s what people say right before they suspend you.”
He didn’t smile. “The foundation gala’s this week.”
I blinked. “And?”
Cam laced his fingers together, elbows resting on his desk. “It’s about optics. You and Reynolds are both attending, which means we’re putting two very different headlines in the same room. I want the one about you to be boring.”
I huffed a laugh. “Boring. My favorite adjective.”
“I’m serious, Mason. You’ve actually been tolerable lately—doing the foundation work, showing up for the community sessions, even smiling for a few cameras without looking like you were in pain. Don’t blow it now.”
I leaned back in the chair, tossing my towel onto my knee. “You’re acting like I’m gonna start a fight in a tux.”
Cam didn’t blink. “Would I be wrong to worry?”
“Probably not,” I muttered.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Look. The foundation is important. Ellery James has put everything into this gala—months of work, dozens of sponsors, half the city watching. She doesn’t need a PR fire on her hands.”
Her name hit like it always did—quiet, sharp, unsettling. “She’ll be fine,” I said. “She always is.”
“She will,” Cam agreed. “Just don’t make her job harder. She’s good for this team. For you, frankly.”
That part caught me off guard. “For me?”
Cam’s mouth twitched. “You’ve been less of a pain in the ass since she showed up. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
I didn’t have a comeback for that, so I just stood, stretching until my shoulder popped. “Guess I’ll try not to ruin the night, then.”
“Try harder than usual,” he said dryly. “And Mason—wear the damn tie this time.”
“Not making any promises.”
I’d been telling myself all week that the gala was just another event, another obligation to smile through.
But the truth?
