Chapter 2

TESSA

I was still dazed. Still dying. My foot throbbed. My pride was in shambles.

Sloane didn’t say a word to me. She just marched off with Leo right behind her, signaling the event was officially over. People started muttering. Some clapped. Some just kept filming me like I was the halftime show of a championship game.

I turned to leave—go breathe, cry, maybe throw up—but instinct and stupidity made me follow them.

I didn’t realize until it was too late that I had trailed them into the VIP corridor.

Sloane paused, typed in a code on a sleek black door, and pushed it open.

Leo stepped in.

I stepped in right after—

And the door slammed shut behind me.

Sloane turned.

I turned.

We all froze.

Oh no.

Oh crap.

Oh for the love of—this was not the press room.

Leo’s suite.

A penthouse-style lounge, sleek as sin. Big couch. A minibar. A huge screen still playing the tail end of the Q&A. One of Leo’s jerseys framed on the wall. His gym bag on the chair. His cologne already in the air.

I was inside.

Sloane blinked. “You weren’t supposed to follow us.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Leo leaned back against the wall, arms folded, staring at me like I was the most confusing crossword puzzle he’d ever seen.

“I—I thought this was the press room,” I stammered. “I swear. I just followed—because—my foot hurts?”

That wasn’t even a sentence.

Sloane didn’t say a word. She just gave me one of those tight, PR-death-stares and slowly reached for the door handle. It didn’t budge.

Click.

She frowned. “It locked.”

“Wait, what?” I said.

Leo pushed off the wall. “It auto-locks when it shuts. Only the front desk or my manager can open it now.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shrugged.

I looked at the door like it just betrayed me.

Sloane sighed, pulled out her phone, and stepped aside to call someone. “We’re locked in,” she said, voice clipped. “No. With the intern. Yes. That intern.”

Great. Now I was that intern.

Leo chuckled under his breath and walked past me, cool as ever, dropping into the armchair like he hadn’t just become headline bait for a thousand gossip blogs.

I stood awkwardly, arms stiff by my sides.

“You might as well sit down,” he said without looking at me. “It’s gonna take them a while.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

The room felt smaller. Hotter. Tighter.

I tried not to look at him. I failed.

His shirt was slightly wrinkled from the fall. His hair—ugh, why was it better tousled? His smirk was still smug, like he was enjoying every second of my slow collapse into madness.

Sloane slammed her hand on the table so hard the water bottle rattled.

“This isn’t supposed to happen. Now you’ve created a mess for us.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault,” I muttered, shrinking into myself.

She ignored me and snatched the iPad off the counter. Her perfectly manicured finger tapped fast across the screen, eyes darting, lips tightening with each swipe.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Her phone lit up with a flood of calls and messages. Notifications stacked like bricks. She answered none of them.

Leo leaned back, silent, sipping from his water like it was whiskey. His expression unreadable, but I could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

Sloane finally exhaled.

“Well, congratulations,” she said dryly, glaring at both of us. “You’re trending.”

“What?” I blinked.

She turned the screen to me.

And there it was.

#LeoAndTheIntern

#QAndAQueen

#LapOfLuxury

#Leo’sNewFlame

There were videos. Photos. Screenshots from multiple angles. Some were slow-mo. Someone even added romantic music over the footage of me falling into his lap.

I wanted to die.

She answered one of the calls. “Yes. I saw it. No, they’re not dating—yet.” Her eyes slid to me. “I’ll handle it. Just give me twenty minutes.” She ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch like it was infected.

Then she turned to me, cold and deliberate.

“This is going to affect you, Miss Tessa.”

“Why?” I said quickly. “I don’t have any business with him. I was just… there.”

Sloane folded her arms. “Doesn’t matter. His fans are already talking. Your name’s being dragged, your LinkedIn’s getting hit, and your I*******m just went from private to the Wild West.”

“What?” My stomach dropped. “But I don’t even—how are they finding me that fast?”

“Because people are crazy,” she snapped. “And Leo’s not just some athlete, he’s the face. Every move he makes matters. Every girl within five feet of him gets dissected.”

I felt like throwing up again.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said weakly.

Sloane arched a brow. “You did enough when you slipped into his lap and practically drooled on his shirt.”

I opened my mouth to argue but closed it just as fast. She wasn’t wrong. My dignity was still somewhere between the stage and his knee.

Leo, still quiet, sighed and took another long sip of water.

I turned to him. “Can you say something?”

He looked at me finally. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. That I’m not your girlfriend. That this is ridiculous.”

He shrugged, and that annoyed me more than anything else.

Then Sloane stepped forward like she was about to drop a bomb.

“The only solution to this,” she said calmly, “is for you two to start dating.”

Leo choked.

I actually gasped. “What?”

“Yes. Fake dating. It’s so simple,” she said, as if she were suggesting we split a cab. “The world already thinks you’re together. They’re romanticizing the hell out of your fall. If we don’t feed the narrative, it’ll spiral. Leo will be accused of misleading fans, secretly dating, and being manipulative. It affects his endorsement deals.”

“But I didn’t ask to be part of this—”

Sloane held up a hand. “If it were up to me, Tessa, I really don’t care what happens to you. You’re an intern. You’ll survive. Cry about it in your journal. But Leo is my responsibility. And now your clumsiness just tossed him into the press pit.”

I stared at her, stunned speechless.

Leo finally spoke. “That’s a little harsh, Sloane.”