Page 148 of Game Misconduct
PR slides the draft statement toward me. I skim it, make two edits, and nod.
“This goes out in ten. We pivot immediately to the toy drive announcement and flood socials with partnership content. Give them something else to trend with.”
Comms nods. “Already queued. Photos, press copy, captions.”
Legal pushes back from the table. “I’ll loop back on any risk factors.”
As they pack up, Dean hangs back a beat too long.
“You good?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away.
Because I am good. I’m great. I’m ice and fire and calculated precision.
Except for the part of me that’s unraveling quietly under my skin. The part that regrets not calling him back.
That wonders if he would’ve warned me if I’d let him in.
Instead, I give Dean the look that ends meetings.
“I’m always good.”
He smirks. “That’s what scares me.”
When they all clear out, I’m left with nothing but the silence and the folded sticky note under my phone.
Maddox saw it happen.
He didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t do a damn thing.
And the worst part?
I can’t even blame him.
Heading back to my office, I’m exhausted and it’s barely nine in the morning.
A coffee IV would be the most appropriate thing for me at this point.
“PR campaigns are spinning up across socials,” Tessa announces as I approach.
“Thank God one thing is going right today.”
“So far.”
“Keep that positive spirit for me, Tessa.”
I step into my office and close the door behind me, the soft snick of the latch far too loud.
The silence hits like a slap.
I drop my phone on the desk and sink into the chair I haven’t had five minutes to sit in all morning.
My inbox is overflowing, my calendar looks like a battlefield, and the toy drive campaign launch is in three hours.
But I don’t open my email.
I pick up my phone instead.
