Brandon’s POVI didn’t even want to come to this convention.Like, at all.But Coach said it would be “good exposure” for me and the team. Networking, PR photos, the whole fake-smile package. And here I was — wearing a stupid badge with my name in bold letters like anyone needed a reminder of who I was.The ballroom was huge. Too many people, too much chatter, and the kind of hotel carpet pattern that made you dizzy if you stared too long. I was halfway through a lukewarm bottle of water when I saw him.Cameron.It was like the air shifted. My grip on the bottle tightened, and my pulse did that annoying jump it always did when I wasn’t ready to deal with him. He was across the room, talking to some guy in a navy suit. Sharp jaw, perfect tie, hair done like he had a personal stylist — which, knowing him, he probably did.And then, like the universe hated me, the event organizer appeared beside me with a clipboard.“Brandon, right? You’re at Table 14. Oh! And you’ll be sitting next to—”
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