Page 20 of Stream Heat
"Nexus Management has a reputation," Reid said quietly.
"She’ll want me back on them eventually, I just know it. Brand consistency and all," I said bitterly.
"That’s not happening," Reid countered, and even feverish I could feel the power in his voice. "Those suppressants were killing you."
"They were keeping me employable," I snapped. It was true, and I didn’t even bother to sugarcoat it.
He leaned in, eyes locked on mine. "Not anymore. The world knows now. The only question is what story you want to tell."
I sagged against the pillows, drained. "And what story is that?"
His answer was infuriatingly simple. "Up to you. But I'd go with the truth, late-presenting Omega, misdiagnosed as Beta, medical complications, now recovering with a supportive pack."
It was perfect. Squeaky-clean. Just close enough to reality to make everything else fade out, including the years of hiding and the chemical damage I’d deliberately done to myself.
"Why are you doing this?" I finally managed. "Really, Reid. What do you get out of this?"
He was silent for a long time. When he spoke, I almost didn’t recognize his voice. "Remember the Apex Invitational three years ago?"
I frowned, trying to summon the memory. "Vaguely. I placed fifth."
He huffed a humorless laugh. "I placed seventeenth. I was going through Alpha rut suppressant failure during the finals. Off stream, but… it nearly killed me. I was on blockers. My team had to cover for me."
I stared. Of all the things I’d expected, empathy from Reid Maddox was not one of them.
"You hid it." My voice was flat.
"Had to. My reputation, our team contracts… everything was on the line. But after that, I swore I'd never let anyone else go through it alone. Especially not someone as stubborn as you."
For a second, I couldn’t come up with a single retort. All my old comebacks felt useless.
"So this is guilt?" I tried, but it came out soft, almost grateful.
He shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. Also, you're the best competitor out there. Losing you because of designation politics would be..." He broke off. "It'd be a waste."
The door burst open then, and just as well, because I had no idea how to deal with that admission. Theo bounced in, face flushed, brandishing a tablet.
"Contract draft!" he announced, as if we'd all been waiting for this moment. "Six months, joint content, shared revenue. It's ironclad."
He handed me the tablet. I scanned it, even as my hands shook, and what I saw was terrifyingly thorough. Living arrangements, content expectations, revenue shares, privacy clauses, medical coverage, even non-disparagement. It had the weight of something they'd been perfecting for days.
"You had this ready fast," I muttered.
Ash showed up in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "We started the moment your stream crashed. Figured we'd need it eventually."
"So you knew I’d cave?"
"We hoped," Reid corrected. "Big difference."
My eyes skimmed the medical clause. "You're covering the doctor?"
"Pack Wrecked LLC is." Reid’s expression didn’t change and there was zero hesitation. "It’s a business write-off. We need you healthy."
Clinical. Efficient. I tried not to feel anything about it.
"One more thing." I passed the tablet back, fixing Reid with a glare. "No heat content. No Omega fan service. I want it in writing."
He scrolled right to it, finger tapping a paragraph I’d missed. "Designation privacy. Content veto. Guaranteed."
