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Chapter Eight: Media Day
Last Updated:
2025-09-11 20:12:53
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Play Me Like You Mean It Chapter Nine: Playing With Fire
Cade hadn’t said a word since we got in the car.He was quiet. Not the focused kind of quiet. This was the kind of stillness that made you wonder what storm was brewing under it.I leaned back in the passenger seat, arms crossed, replaying Media Day like a highlight reel.Did I say something wrong? No.Did a reporter push one of his buttons? Possibly. But he hadn’t snapped a mic in half or launched a folding chair, so that felt like progress.The silence dragged until it was impossible to ignore.“Alright,” I said finally, glancing at him. “If you’re gunning for the world record in passive-aggressive sulking, congrats, you’re in first place.”His hands tightened on the wheel before he finally spoke. “Kelvin, huh?”Oh. So that’s what this was about.“Kelvin what?” I asked, already biting back a grin.“You were flirting.”“And?”“I missed the part where your job description included letting a guy play with your necklace.”I tilted my head. “Relax, Reeve. It was a necklace, not my hotel
Play Me Like You Mean It Chapter Eight: Media Day
After an ungodly amount of shouting, threatening, and promising to pour ice water on his million-dollar face, Cade actually made it to Media Day, on time.Not just on time. Early.He didn’t look like someone who’d been out until 2AM or nearly slept through the start of his own season. Fresh fade, crisp team-branded zip-up over matching joggers, and that annoyingly unbothered confidence still intact.We were barely fifteen minutes in when Lizzy approached, heels snapping, clipboard in hand, mouth ready to lecture, until she saw Cade.“You’re… early,” she said to Cade, genuinely confused.He gave her a lazy salute. “Told you I’m evolving.”Her eyes landed on me. “I assume his early presence has something to do with you.”I shrugged. “You did text me.”Lizzy crossed her arms, studying me like she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned. Then, surprisingly, she gave a small nod.“I might’ve judged you too quickly,” she said. “You’ve got a spine. And I have a weird feeling… you mi
Play Me Like You Mean It Chapter Seven: The Resignation
I didn’t just stroll in late. I made an entrance. The kind of late that makes your manager rehearse exactly how to make it hurt when he lets you go.Mr. Dalton stepped out of his office the second I walked in, like he’d been tracking my absence with a stopwatch.His shoes clicked against the tile as he crossed the floor, expression already halfway to a lecture.“You’re late,” he said flatly.“I know.” I met his stare. “But I won’t be staying long.”He paused mid-step. “Excuse me?”“I’m quitting,” I said simply. “Effective immediately.”Behind me, I heard Romi suck in a breath. She paused, a tray of muffins in her hands.Dalton straightened, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. “Is this some kind of joke?”“No joke,” I said. “This job was never forever. And now it’s time.”He looked me over, measuring something. “Fine. Just don’t crawl back here when reality smacks you in the face.”“If I ever crawl back, you have permission to lock the door.”Romi set the tray down quietly and wa
Play Me Like You Mean It Chapter Six: Hire Me. I Dare You
Mr. Dalton acted like giving me a day off had shaved years off his life. He didn’t so much greet me as grunt when I clocked in.Yesterday, he handed me a fully paid day off like it was his idea. Today, he was clenching his jaw like I’d stolen it from him.The way he hovered, inspecting every move like I was planning war crimes with the coffee beansI knew exactly why he was acting like I’d spat in his morning brew.Cade.The rich boy had yanked the strings on my schedule, and Mr. Dalton was still tangled in them.But I didn’t care.Because if Cade signed that contract I’d drafted? I’d be out of here faster than Dalton could remind me who signs my paycheck. By early evening, my coworker Tasha poked her head out from the back. “You’re good to go.”I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”She shrugged. “Dalton said you're off the hook. Someone’s waiting for you outside.”Of course.I turned to Romi, who was restocking croissants. “I’m either getting kidnapped or promoted.”She rolled her eyes. “Text
Play Me Like You Mean It Chapter Five: Terms and Conditions
The universe must’ve been in guilt mode. That’s the only reason Mr. Dalton, aka King of Unpaid Overtime, texted me at dawn:Mira, take the day off. Fully paid.Suspicious? Extremely.But after last night’s emotional trainwreck–the screaming, slammed doors, and Jesse’s savings box nearly being snatched by the woman who birthed us. I wasn’t about to question a rare miracle.Until my phone pinged again.Come outside. We need to talk.Cade.I groaned into my pillow and thumbed out a lie:Already clocked in. Don’t waste gas.Another ping.Liar. You’re still in bed. I told Dalton to give you the day off. You’re welcome.Ah. So that’s why Mr. Dalton suddenly found a soul.I replied back:Ten minutes.---Ten minutes turned into fifteen because eyeliner should never be rushed when facing someone who casually manipulates your work schedule.Cade grinned the moment I opened the car door. “Good morning, Mira. Didn’t know your shift started under a comforter.”I buckled in with a glare. “Shut up.
Play Me Like You Mean It Chapter Four: Just Leave
Break shifts were sacred. The only time you could sit without pretending to care if someone’s espresso had the wrong foam texture.Romi and I were tucked into the cramped employee nook behind the counter, sipping water and scrolling like we’d been paid to ignore the world.“Hey,” I said, as casually as I could. “Ever seen a basketball game up close? Like, courtside?”Romi didn’t even look up. “Once. My cousin’s ex hooked us up. Those seats change everything. The sweat. The sneakers squeaking. Testosterone? Unreal.”I smirked. “So, hypothetically… if someone gave you VIP passes, could you sell them?”That got her attention.She glanced up. “Sell?”“Yeah. Like, flip them online.”She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”I shrugged. “Just curiosity.”“You can’t sell VIP passes unless they’re paper print. And even then, some are non-transferable. Especially if they’re player-issued. They can trace it back.”My face fell. “Seriously?”She nodded. “Why? Did someone give you a pass?”I looked away. “Fo
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