“No.”
“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
There it was again. That edge. I watched her for a second longer than necessary, then shifted my gaze back to the window, the city sliding past in blurred lines of gray and movement.
“Walk me through it,” I groaned.
“You were in the room,” she replied flippantly. “You heard the plan.”
“I want your version.”
A second stretched. Then she locked her phone and set it face down on her lap, turning just enough in her seat to face me without fully committing to it.
“We go in together,” she began. “We don’t hesitate. We don’t contradict each other.”
“I don’t contradict people,” I huffed.
“You had a tantrum on the ice and then immediately broke a poor man’s nose.” The frustration that laced her tone thickened the edges of her accent.
“Where are you from?” I asked, not ready for the fight her comment was about to spur.
Her gaze bore into me, brow knitting together. “Does it matter?”
“Humor me. We’re about to spend a lot of time together. Parles-tu français?”
I did not accepted the answer to come out in flawless, beautiful French. With lips curling into a dangerous smile, Bea responded, “Oui, je parle anglais. Mais ma langue maternelle est le portugais.”
That did something to me that I was not prepared for. I adjusted in my seat, sucking in a sharp breath. “Portuguese, huh? So, you’re Brazilian. Interesting.”
Bea’s expression stiffened and shifted instantly, as if she was catching herself getting too comfortable. Or maybe she was just as uncomfortable as my jeans were becoming.
Fuck, this chick might be a problem.
“Enough, Alois. This is serious. Questions are going to come fast,” she snarled. “It’s your job to make them shift from the game and your bar fight to our relationship.”
“How the hell is there even going to be a transition?” I met her glare and tone, letting the small ember of interest that sparked fizzle out.
“It’s all in the note cards Char and I did for you after you left yesterday. We have a plan. It’s your job to implement it.” Reaching in her bag, Bea pulled out a stack of small white cards. “See for yourself.”
I took the cards from her without comment, my fingers brushing hers for a fraction of a second before I pulled them back. I didn’t look at them. Didn’t flip through them. Just held them. Like I was going to stand in front of a room full of cameras and read off someone else’s lines.
I am not a puppet on their strings.
The car slowed slightly as we hit a line of traffic near the arena, the shift in movement subtle but noticeable. Outside, the world bustled—people, cameras, movement gathering in places it shouldn’t be this early.
Bea followed my line of sight this time. Her fingers curled once against her phone before flattening again.
“Last thing,” she breathed.
I looked at her.
“We walk in together,” she continued. “No space between us. No hesitation.”
I held her gaze. “Understood.”
CHAPTER 11
BEA