Page 170 of Red Zone
“Hey, Savannah,” I say flatly, turning back toward Lyla’s office.
But she doesn’t let me go that easy.
She pushes off the wall and falls into step next to me, her perfume thick in the air between us.
“You’ve been looking good out there,” she purrs, her gaze sliding over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I mean, you always look good, but lately? Next-level. Scouts have to be eating it up.”
“Just doing my job,” I mutter, keeping my eyes ahead.
She tilts her head, flashing me a slow grin.
“Well, you do it well. Must be nice having the main media girl wrapped around your little finger, huh? All those posts, the right angles, the interviews. Girl practically worships you.”
I stop walking, finally turning to face her.
Her grin only widens.
“Just saying,” she adds, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice. “If you ever get tired of her giving you the cold shoulder…you know where to find me.”
Her nails trail lightly along my arm as she passes me and keeps walking down the hall, hips swaying, her laugh low and smug as it fades behind her.
I stand there for a beat, jaw tight, hands curled into fists in my pockets.
Then I shake it off and keep moving toward Lyla’s office.
I push her door the rest of the way open and step inside, letting it click shut behind me.
Lyla’s at the table, as usual—neat little stack of folders by her elbow, her pen poised like she’s been waiting on me.
Her hair’s pulled back, and she’s got on one of those sharp little blazers she wears when she wants to seem untouchable.
But when she glances up at me, something about her feels…softer.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey,” I answer, slipping into the chair across from her.
She takes a breath and flips open the top folder, sliding a single page toward me.
“I found something I wanted to show you,” she starts, her voice calm and measured. But there’s something under it too—something more.
I glance down at the page. A logo I don’t recognize. Text about a local foster care agency, programs they’ve been expanding, an outreach and fundraising initiative they’ve been planning for spring.
I frown slightly, looking back up at her.
“They’re…?”
She folds her hands over the table.
“I know you’ve already got a few options on the table for NIL campaigns,” she says. “But I wanted to bring you this one. It’s a local foster care agency—one of the biggest in the county. They’re trying to expand their resources, not just for placements but for older kids who are aging out of the system.”
Her eyes meet mine then, steady, almost searching.
“I thought…after Christmas, when you organized that whole gift drive for the kids? You seemed so proud. So excited to be giving back. And I thought—if you were open to sharing more of your story publicly—this would be the perfect fit. It’s something that actually means more to you. And at the same time, your name would bring them more funding, more visibility, more community support.”
I blink at her, thrown completely off guard.
I glance back down at the page, then up at her again.
