Page 34 of Make the Play

That I always have.

His fingers flex against the armrest of his chair before curling into a fist, tension bleeding into his shoulders, but he still doesn’t speak. Just scans the room again, expression blank. Then he looks straight at me, and this time, he doesn’t look away.

Neither do I.

The chaos around us dulls, fades into background noise, and for a second, there’s nothing else. No PR nightmare. No boardroom full of people strategizing how to clean up his mess.

Just Chase, watching me as if he’s relieved I’m here. Like the air’s a little easier to breathe now that I’ve said something.

As if he’s missed me.

Maybe he knew I’d be here and have to deal with this. ThatIwould be the one standing in this room, working to control the narrative, shaping the way the world will see him when, for the first time in weeks, I can barely figure out how I see him myself.

The thought makes something curl low in my stomach, something hot and unwelcome.

I shift in my seat, clenching my jaw as I glare at him, hoping he can understand what I’m trying to convey without saying it.

You fucking idiot.

His hands tighten around the armrest, knuckles turning white as he holds himself still. He wants to move, to react, to do something. But instead, he sits there and lets me see it. The weight of it. Just for one single, terrifying second.

And then he buries it again. His shoulders relax, smirk sliding effortlessly back into place as he holds my gaze.

“He needs to be in a stable relationship.”

Our eye contact shatters as we both turn at the GM’s words. A strange, unfamiliar twist settles in my stomach.

Chase Walton in a stable relationship.

Something about that thought makes my fingers tighten around my pen. It’s a split-second reaction, gone before I can analyze it, but then I snort.

Across from me, Chase lifts a brow.

“Something funny, Carlson?”

I press my lips together.Remain professional and don’t engage.Instead, I look down at my nails—freshly painted yesterday, a deep plum with tiny silver crescent moons—digging into my palm on the table. When I glance up again, his gaze is on them, a corner of his mouth lifting as if he’s noting I’ve changed them recently.

The GM leans forward. “Actually, it’s a solid angle. If he’s in a serious relationship, the media moves on. It humanizes him. Changes the narrative.”

I glance at Chase, who’s watching the GM now with mild curiosity, but when his eyes meet mine again, there’s a spark there. It’s a challenge and irritation rolled up into one. He’s just as pissed by this circus, but equally pissed I’ve been avoiding him. I look away quickly.

“And how do we do that?” someone from legal asks.

“We need people to see him as serious,” John says, tapping a pen against the table. “More mature, less…” He waves his hand, clearly searching for a delicate word.

“Of a train wreck?” I offer before I can stop myself.

The room erupts into laughter, but Chase is unfazed. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his grin stretching wider. “You volunteering, Carlson?”

I roll my eyes. “Not if you paid me.”

“Come on, it’d be fun,” he teases. “Think of all the perks. You get to be seen with me, for one.”

“Oh, lucky me. Front-row seats to your next PR disaster.”

More laughter. Nervous chuckles travel around the room, some trying to hide it, others not bothering.

Chase doesn’t miss a beat.

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