Page 78 of The Break Down

“Fin, what’s this really about?”

“It’s just I can’t help but wonder if I’m enough. Like, I’m the ‘curvy girl with a camera’ and he’s the hotshot rugby god with groupies and fan art and literal thirst threads. That’s not a fair fight. Besides, what am I gonna do down here? I mean, this gig is temporary. I’ll need to find local clients if I stick around, but what if he doesn’t want me to?”

“Finley.”

I glance up.

She’s got that look.

The one where she’s about to deliver Big Sister Wisdom or threaten to slap me with a selfie stick.

But before she can say anything, the flap of the tent lifts—and in walks Mitchell Knight.

Yes, that Mitchell Knight.

Tall, tan, buff and bronzed billionaire owner of the Carolina Rovers, who wears tailored pants like a sin and smells like he was bottled in a lab specifically to ruin women.

My jaw clicks shut.

“Ladies,” he says, smooth as silk. “Hope I’m not interrupting?”

Carolina stands, all smiles. “Not at all, Mitch. Just coaching Finley through an identity crisis.”

“Sounds productive.” His gaze swings to me. “Miss Adamo, do you have a minute?”

I blink. “Uh, yes?”

He nods toward the tent’s exit. “There’s a spot around the corner where they set up catering for the crew. I thought maybe we could grab a bite. I wanted to talk about your role here.”

Carolina raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

I glance between them, heart stuttering. “Oh. Um. Okay. Sure.”

Mitchell flashes a smile that would make a nun consider bad decisions. “Great. I promise it’s not a trap.”

I follow him out, trying not to feel like an imposter by walking ten feet with a man in slacks and aviators.

Still, as I fall into step beside Mitchell Knight—billionaire, team owner, my kinda-boss.

Holy wow.

I mean he is something, and I can understand why women fawn over him. I’d love to be his personal PR team, and lord knows he needs one.

The rumor mill loves to gossip about the somewhat private billionaire, and I can see why. He is stupid cute.

Not that it matters to me. My heart is already taken.

Still, I can’t help but wonder what this is about.

What does Mitchell Knight want to talk with me about?

Is he unhappy with my work? Am I going to be fired?

Gulp.

And why do rich people fire people over meals? Like does this conversation mean we have to eat together?

He apologizes as his phone rings and answers it, giving me the space I need to get my act together.

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