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I throw a balled-up napkin at her face, but Vick catches it before it can come into contact with her. “Dude, you do realize if I got involved with one of the players, I could getfired? It’s extremely unprofessional and, like, forbidden.”
Clare grins a little. “Forbiddenjust adds to the allure of it all, doesn’t it?”
Vick snickers while I give them both exasperated looks. “You two are hopeless.”
Vick winks. “And you love us anyway.”
***
One of my new, and fun, duties as interim head reporter is to attend the events that the team does, in hopes of getting little tidbits from them to be included in articles and social media posts. The concept of attending events completely slipped my mind until Kenny informed me of a charity event that was being held at the Waldorf Astoria. He gave me the pass that would get me in, and basically instructed me to have fun and get some quotes from some of the Rebels players.
Truthfully, I already feel a little out of place as I sit in the back of the Uber on my way to the event. The dress I’m wearing is probably the most expensive piece of clothing I own, a deep emerald green that compliments both my eyes and hair, sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline, clinging to my body. I’ve never really had an occasion to wear it, which made the purchase seem impulsive and foolish, but this is the perfect event for it.
Still, it won’t be anything compared to what others attending this event will be wearing. Politicians and members of Chicago’s elite, everyone far richer and more powerful than me. The thought alone is intimidating enough, God knows what it will be like once I step into the same room as them. In an event hall of one of Chicago’s most luxurious hotels, at that.
It is a whole new world I’m stepping into, and no matter how many times I tell myself—and am told—that I’m ready, I still feel like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. I know no one is looking at me when I arrive, entering the hall after giving my coat at the coat check, flashing my pass and putting it back in my clutch, I grab the little name card that says my name and table number, no doubt seated with other reporters.
There are many people around, tables set up, music playing, and even what looks like a dancefloor up front by the stage where the DJ is set up. Faces I recognize and don’t are around, mingling around tables and at the bar—theopenbar, which I’ll be making my way over to first, for some liquid courage. I take a deep breath, clutching my purse, and walk further into the room, smiling politely at anyone who meets my gaze as I head toward the bar. Maybe it’s a little unprofessional to get a drink the moment I arrive at my first event as head reporter, but a girl needs a confidence booster every now and then.
When I’m at the bar, I catch the attention of one of the bartenders, and order a whiskey sour. As I wait for my drink, someone comes up to my right, and I glance over to see a beautiful woman in a maroon colored dress, her blonde hair standing out against it. “Hi,” she greets with a smile that borders on nervous and awkward, which surprises me. “I love your dress.”
“Oh.” I blink, caught a little off guard, before I manage to return her smile a little more easily. “Thank you. I love yours,” I say sincerely.
“Thanks,” she returns, her cheeks pinkening. She’s a little shorter than me, though one glance at her feet and I can see she’s wearing heels. “Sorry for, like, approaching you out of nowhere. You just seemed to be around my age and, uh, didn’t look as uptight as some of the other people here.”
Her honesty makes me smile, even if it darkens her blush, as if she thinks she’s being a little too honest. She’s adorably awkward. “You could tell that by just looking at me?” I ask her with a grin.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s like a sixth sense,” she jokes. She holds a hand out, then introduces herself, “I’m Andrea Mackenzie.”
I shake her hand. “Willow Burke.” Her name clicks and as she lets go of my hand, I tilt my head to the side and ask, “Mackenzie? Are you—”
Andrea chuckles and nods. “I’m Leo’s sister,” she confirms my train of thought.
Come to think of it, she does look vaguely familiar. She’s got the same deep blue eyes as Leo, and I’m sure I’ve seen pictures of her on his Instagram page. She’s always with Leo and his daughter, Lilah.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Andrea,” I tell her as the bartender drops off my drink, takes Andrea’s order, and goes off to make her drink. “Do you come to these things often?” I ask as I raise my glass while gesturing to the room with a finger I lift off it.
Andrea lets out a quiet huff. “Sometimes, yeah. My brother thinks I’m too much of a homebody, so he drags me out to these things.” She shakes her head and meets my gaze, looking at me conspiringly and saying, “Honestly, I’m waiting for him to get in a relationship or something so he can bring someone else to these things and leave me alone.”
I laugh along with her at her words, before my stomach twists lightly in what I recognize as guilt. I should have made it clear to Andrea that I’m a reporter; once people—especially those who may have something to lose—find out they’re talking to a reporter, they change their tune and speak very carefully. They don’t want to spill something they wouldn’t want the media to get their hands on. And, frankly, I don’t want to be that kind of reporter—I have no interest in exploiting stories about people’s personal lives of any kind. My sole focus is on their careers, much like Vivian’s has been.
As if reading my thoughts, Andrea asks me after taking a sip of her newly received drink, “So, what do you do, Willow?”
I take a breath and hope I don’t scare her off. “I’m a reporter with Front Runner News, just starting out.”
Andrea’s eyes widen, but not for the reason I think. “Oh—are you the one taking over for Vivian? Leo was telling me about that,” she says with a nod and a smile, and my shoulders relax in relief.
“I am, yeah,” I answer with a breathy laugh. “I’ve got some big shoes to fill, but I’m excited.”
Andrea grins, her smile sweet. “Well, if they picked you to take over, I’m sure you’ll be great!”
“Thank you,” I grin. “And what do you do?”
As Andrea tells me about the café she’s opening up soon with one of her cousins, I suddenly get the distinct feeling that I’m being watched intently. I listen to Andrea speak, and let my gaze wander a little, subtly, as I try to catch sight of anyone who may be looking this way. It’s too sharp of a feeling to ignore, and as I look past people chatting, my gaze slides over an all too familiar face before my eyes lock with a pair of dark brown ones halfway across the room.
The air in my throat hitches as I’m locked in a staring contest with Reed Maxwell.
He is standing by Leo and JJ, the two men chatting animatedly as Reed stands between them, staring straight ahead at me. It’s nerve wracking, this weight of his stare, my skin heating up wherever his gaze seems to touch. From where I’m standing, it’s difficult to make out Reed’s expression, to try and read on his face what his thoughts might be. People walk around in the space of the distance between us, obscuring my view of him every few seconds, but every time he appears in my line of vision, his gaze is still fixed on me.
