Page 22 of Dirty Play

“Anything’s fair game if you want a PR scandal splashed across every sports network by morning.” I tilt my head, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

Laughter ripples through the room, and the player sinks into his chair, muttering something about “just kidding.” But I don’t miss the way Rowan’s head snaps toward the guy, his dark eyes narrowing like a warning shot. His jaw ticks as his eyes shoot daggers.

Interesting.

“Alright, gentlemen,” I quickly bring the focus back. “Everyone okay with this?”

Another wave of noise rolls through the room, all in agreement. Even Ares, who hasn’t moved from his spot by the door, gives me a slight nod.

And Rowan? He hasn’t said a word, but I can feel the weight of his presence like gravity itself.

“Any objections from the captain?” I ask, meeting his gaze head-on.

For a moment, he says nothing; he just leans back in his chair with that infuriatingly calm demeanor. Finally, he tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into the smallest smirk.

“None. It’s a good idea,” his voice carries through the room.

Well, that’s…unexpected.

“Yeah?” I blink.

“I give credit where it’s due.” He shrugs.

There’s an undercurrent to his words that I can’t quite decipher, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

“Okay, well, in that case, that’s all.” I raise my voice above the noise. “I promised to keep it short. You’re free to go.”

The players are already getting up, the scrape of chairs against the floor filling the room.

Damien is the first to leave, saluting me as he strolls out. Ares follows, giving me another polite nod. The rest of the team follows as Rowan waits for them to all exit before he stands up. I need to talk to him about that interview. It took me an hour to try and convince the producer to scrap the first one and reschedule.

“Rowan, can you stay for a minute?” I call after him.

He pauses, his hand resting on the doorframe. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to keep walking, but then he turns, his green eyes finding mine.

The air shifts as the sound of the other players dies down. My pulse quickens, but I square my shoulders.

“We need to talk about the interview,” I say, stepping around my desk. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.

I straighten my shoulders, clutching my clipboard like it’s armor.

“Your interview was a disaster, and you know it. I’ve managed to convince the producer to let us redo it, but we need to do it right this time.

“And by ‘right,’ you mean…” he trails off, fully facing me now.

“I mean cooperating. Answering questions without looking like you’re five seconds away from punching someone. That kind of right.”

He crosses his arms and leans back, his eyes narrowing with interest. That’s interesting. I was expecting him to say no immediately, like yesterday.

“Please, Rowan,” I say to fill the silence. “Just one more interview. No personal questions—you have my word.”

“I have your word?” Rowan’s lips curl into a slow, lazy smirk that’s more trouble than it’s worth. His smile deepens as he steps closer, invading my space.

“What else will you let me have?” he asks, tilting his head, his gaze piercing through me.

The words hit like a lightning bolt. My breath catches, and for a second, I’m frozen, blinking up at him.

“Excuse me?”

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