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I nod, feeling a mix of understanding and a slight disappointment.
Heading home, an idea hits me—today's perfect for some father-daughter time. Gracie, my bundle of energy and creativity, usually gets whatever time I can spare, squeezed between emails and endless calls.
But not today.
Today reminds me how important family is, and how much they need to matter.
Today's about crayons, swings, and whatever adventure Gracie dreams up.
We let the day slip away in a colorful blur of drawings and laughter in her playroom, her joy filling up the quiet spaces in my heart.
At the local park, I push her on the swing until my arms ache, and she's giggling for a break. Our late afternoon lunch is a picnic, simple sandwiches tasting extraordinary in the sunlight with her by my side.
Every moment, so ordinary yet precious, has me wishing Lacey could share in our simple joys.
Back home, our spirits high but cheeks flushed from the sun, Carrigan, our housekeeper, meets us with a look that says something's wrong.
"Hello, Carrigan." I set the picnic basket near the door. "Gracie, go wash up for dinner. I'll be there in a bit."
After kissing Gracie's forehead, she bounces off, leaving Carrigan and me alone.
Carrigan looks worried, but before she can speak, I cut in. "Carrigan, please. Not today. I'm off-duty...believe it or not," bracing for the inevitable pile of paperwork in my study.
"But sir, it's important," she insists, her arms crossed. "I've been trying to reach you. Your phone's off."
She nods at my pocket, where my phone has been silent, a barrier against the outside world.
Sighing, I pull out my phone, which feels incredibly heavy after hours disconnected.
The screen lights up with notifications, but it's the flood of messages in our group chat, "The Three Musketeers," that grabs my attention.
Marcus's "BRO. Pick up. I'm guessing you haven't seen this..." and Ryan's "You're not just sports famous now. You're internet famous" make me squint at the screen.
With Carrigan watching, I click the link Ryan sent. And there it is—a blog post with that photo of me and Lacey in New York, me licking melting ice cream off her hand, her smile captivating.
The headline screams, "Seattle Sports Tycoon's Sweet Dalliance—Licking More Than Just Business Deals?"
My heart sinks, a wave of dread washing over me as I scroll through the article, each breath heavier than the last.
I groan, bracing for the media storm about to hit.
"Mr. Sullivan?" Carrigan prompts.
"I guess you saw the photo and the article," I say, frustration clear in my voice.
She nods. "I did. And so has everyone else."
I can already imagine the chaos, the frenzy in gossip magazines and blogs, all of them ignoring the truth for sensationalism.
The article paints me as a playboy, only after Lacey for her youth and looks, ignoring the truth—that she's brilliant, funny, and invaluable to my daughter and our home.
There's nothing I can do to undo the damage this will cause.
I'll face the consequences, even though we did nothing wrong. It's just another headache of being in the public eye.
I knew this day would come; I just hoped I'd be better prepared when it did.
"I'll take care of it," I assure Carrigan, gazing at the setting Seattle sun through the window. "And Carrigan, could you grab Jessie for me? I need her to contact my publicist and legal team."
