Page 183 of Red Zone
I just…sit there, staring at Megan like maybe I misheard her.
But her expression doesn’t waver.
She leans back slightly in her chair, her fingers steepled on the desk between us.
“This looks very bad for you, Lyla,” she continues, her voice calm but clipped. “I don’t think you fully understand the position this puts us in. If a staff member or even a fellow intern is seen as having an improper relationship with an athlete, it calls into question every decision they make on the job. Every sponsorship, every campaign, every piece of data can be called biased. And that undermines the entire program.”
I swallow hard, but my throat stays dry.
She shakes her head faintly.
“You need to decide what you want. This internship…or Carter.”
The way she says his name—like it’s a dirty word—makes my stomach twist.
“You cannot continue working in this role while having…whatever it is you have with him,” Megan says firmly. “Not as long as he’s still an athlete at this school. It’s inappropriate. It looks bad. It’s not a question of fairness—it’s a question of ethics. We cannot afford the appearance of impropriety here.”
She exhales slowly, leaning back in her chair.
“In any other case,” she adds pointedly. “This would already be grounds for immediate termination.”
I feel my stomach drop even further.
But then her eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching.
“The only reason you’re even sitting here right now,” she says. “Is because of your father’s position in the athletic department and?—”
That finally cuts through the fog in my head.
I sit up straighter, my jaw tightening as I find my voice again.
“I don’t want special treatment,” I blurt, louder than I mean to.
Megan blinks at me, clearly surprised by my interruption.
I grip the edge of my seat, forcing my voice to be steady, even though my heart is hammering.
“I don’t want to skate by just because of who my dad is. If you’re going to make a decision, make it based on me. Not him. Don’t…don’t let him factor into this.”
Megan studies me for a long, heavy beat after my outburst, her brow slightly arched.
Then she leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, and her voice cuts through the air, sharp but calm.
“If you’d let me finish,” she says evenly. “I was going to tell you that the work you’ve put in…the long hours, the way you’ve handled every athlete we’ve thrown your way, the creativity you’ve brought to every campaign—that is the reason we’re even having this conversation right now.”
I blink, my breath catching, but I don’t say anything.
Megan shakes her head faintly, almost like she’s disappointed it even needed saying.
“You’ve shown more potential than most people twice your age. You’ve proven yourself invaluable to this department. Butpotential or not, you’re on a knife’s edge right now, Lyla. You need to decide which direction you’re going to fall.”
Her words hit harder than I expect.
She sees the potential in me. She really does.
And she’s telling me she doesn’t want to see me throw it all away.
But the weight of her warning still sits like lead in my stomach.
