Page 7 of Piercing Eyes

Aiden: Anyway, I’ll let you enjoy your evening. Just wanted to check in. And if anything comes up, anything at all, call me. Doesn’t matter what time.

Me: Thank you, Aiden.

Aiden: Good night, Rory.

4

RORY

ONE WEEK LATER

“These appearance categories need more definition.” I tap my pen against the contract spread across Aiden’s desk. “The way it’s written, they could classify any event as a ‘major appearance’ and expect you to be there. We should specify what qualifies—opening day ceremonies, jersey retirements, that kind of thing.”

My phone buzzes against the desk, interrupting my train of thought. Unknown number. I decline the call and turn back to the contract.

“Was that him?” Aiden asks, his voice tense.

I shake my head. “Just spam. I blocked Michael’s number.”

“Smart.” He studies me for a moment. “Everything still okay with the security detail?”

“Yeah, Marcus is great. Very professional.” I point to the contract, ready to move on. “So about these appearances—I’m thinking we cap it at six major events per season, plus maybe ten smaller commitments like autograph sessions or VIP events.And we should add specific compensation tiers for broadcast appearances versus in-person events.”

He doesn’t answer right away. When I glance up, he’s got this distant look on his face, like his mind is somewhere else entirely.

“Aiden?”

“Those numbers work,” he says, finally focusing on the papers. “And add language about reasonable notice—minimum three weeks’ advance warning for major appearances, two weeks for everything else.”

I scribble the notes, aware of him leaning closer to see what I’m writing.

“The response deadline isn’t until Friday, right?” he asks.

“Yes, why?”

He pulls out his phone. “Good. I’m calling us a car.”

I set down my pen. “What? Why?”

A subtle smile touches his lips. “It’s a surprise.”

I tell myself Aiden isn’t being romantic, he’s just being spontaneous. Or he’s bored with contracts. Or both. But as our car winds through the city streets, I can’t stop the butterflies that take flight in my stomach.

When we pull up to Pier 39, I turn to him in surprise.

“This is where we’re going?”

“I know it’s a total tourist trap,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “But I thought we could both use a little fun.”

I take a moment to process this turn of events. Here we are in the middle of a workday, and my boss just brought me to a place where it’s all about having a good time. It doesn’t make any sense...and yet, somehow, it feels like exactly the kind of thing I need. I can’t remember the last time I did something purely because it would be fun.

“As long as I don’t get in trouble for playing hooky,” I say, giving him a challenging look.

“If you don’t tell, I won’t,” he says, and the ridiculously handsome smile he gives me makes those butterflies in my stomach burst into flight.

We step out into the afternoon air, immediately surrounded by the buzz of tourists and street performers. Fresh-baked sourdough mingles with the salt breeze, and seagulls dive between buildings, searching for abandoned french fries.

“So.” Aiden turns to me, his focus making the back of my neck heat. “We’ve got the aquarium, the carousel, about fifty shops selling overpriced hoodies, and a mob of sea lions. What sounds good?”

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