Page 88 of Dirty Play

I storm into the meeting room, heart racing and adrenaline surging. Christina and Roger are already here, sitting across the table, looking like they’re ready to dismiss me, but I’m not about to let that happen.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say, barely able to contain the restlessness boiling in my gut.

“You blew up my phone,” Christina says with a sigh.

“Yours, too?” Roger turns to her with a humorless laugh.

I slam the folders down on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

“I’ve got stats that’ll make you rethink kicking Livia to the curb.”

“Rowan…” Christina rubs the bridge of her nose as if all of this is a waste of time. It wouldn’t be a waste of time if it was her job on the line.

“Look at this shit.” I rip open the first folder, revealing the charts and graphs that lay out Livia’s impact in black and white. “Engagement is up. Fans are buzzing. She took my ass out of hiding and actually got me to do interviews, something your last PR rep couldn’t manage to pull off for love or money.”

“It’s just numbers, Rowan. We’ve had successful seasons before.” Christina leans back, arms crossed, skepticism written all over her face.

“Filled with scandals. The press has been waiting for us to slip up. We had a bad reputation before Livia came on board.”

“And she fixed it up for you.” Christina flips through the files before closing the folder as if I didn’t spend two days on this shit. “And she messed up her own opportunities in the process. I’m sorry, Rowan. Rules are rules.”

“Then why am I not being held accountable, hm?” I lean in, my voice dropping low. “If you don’t bring Livia back, I’m done. I’ll walk away from this team, and good fucking luck finding someone to replace me.”

“Rowan, I think you’re jumping the gun here,” Roger finally speaks, the chair creaking beneath him.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m the one holding it.”

I barely get the words out before the door swings open with a sharp bang. Every head turns as Damien and Ares walk in first, the rest of the team filing in behind them like soldiers marching to war. Langley, Mike, and Davidson all walk in, followed by the rest of the team. Christina stiffens, eyes narrowing as the last of the guys take up every inch of available space.

“Gentlemen, this is a private meeting,” Christina raises her voice, trying to reclaim control.

“Not anymore, Chrissy,” Damien says, pulling out a chair and dropping into it.

The guys all turn toward Ares, waiting. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. With his thick arms crossed over his chest, he simply gives a slow, measured nod toward the table. That’s all it takes. The team moves as one, filling every single seat until the entire round table is occupied, leaving Christina and Roger alone on their side, outnumbered and outmatched.

Ares stays standing by the door, a wall of muscle and intimidation, his pale eyes locked on mine. There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just a silent message between us that says we’ve got your back.

Then, finally, his deep voice cuts through the tension like a fucking blade.

“Livia Moody is to be reinstated.”

It’s not a question. Not a request. It’s a fucking command.

The weight of his words settles heavy in the air, followed by the murmurs of agreement from the team, the low voices of men who don’t make threats lightly.

“Would you look at that?” I turn to face Christina. “Guess we’re all on the same page.”

“Livia Moody broke a very serious rule.” Christina straightens, pushing back against the pressure.

“And yet,” I say, voice low and even, “you had no problem keeping a PR rep who did jack shit for this team. No problem keeping one who sat on their ass while the media shredded us apart. But the one person who actually gave a damn? You fired her.”

Ares finally moves, slow and calm, stepping forward with the kind of quiet menace that makes men rethink their life choices. He plants his hands on the table and leans in just slightly.

Christina stiffens, just barely, but Ares catches it. His lips curl, something dangerous flashing in his gaze. A long pause stretches out. No one speaks. No one moves.

And that’s when I lean forward, hands on the table, voice deadly calm.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Christina,” I say, watching her squirm. “We all know what this is. A favor to a friend.”

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