Page 141 of Challenge Me

“Sure,” Renshu said. “He just has to avoid screwing it up by speaking out of turn. Or making threats.”

When I stepped closer to Renshu, he moved back. “Forgive me, gods, for what I’ll do; I warned him twice, now that’s my cue.”

Amir looped his arm through mine, casually keeping me where I was. “He’ll be fine. Did you confirm our talking points?”

“They’ll stick to what’s been public,” Renshu replied. “Any probing questions have been pre-approved by me, and you were briefed on them already. The goal isn’t to sell yourself. We’re reframing the narrative.” He turned to me. “You can use humor to defuse tension, but don’t get defensive. That’s what they’ll clip.”

I hummed. “So, no jokes about the national debt, existential despair, or the unpatriotic price of ammo these days.”

“We’ll be ready,” Amir said.

All Renshu did was nod before he left the room.

Amir turned to me with an exasperated look. “If you didn’t want to do this, you could have said no.”

“To be fair, you said we’d be doing an interview, not going on the sports equivalent of Good Morning fucking America.”

“They have more reach than Clara. The only reason she’s become relevant is because these stories started going viral. But these people are always relevant.”

“Tell me again why we can’t ignore it.”

“If you don’t speak, the story speaks for you. Cole does.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know that, but they don’t. You’ve only been on camera twice, and that impromptu LIVE with Clara didn’t exactly help.”

“You said it was funny,” I reminded him.

“It was. But with everything else, it might make you look vindictive or something.”

“Sounds like what Renshu would say.”

“We can back out . . .”

Looking at the uncertain expression on his face, I sighed. “No, we’ve come this far.”

With a smile, he straightened the collar of my flannel. Renshu had tried to get me into a suit, but that wasn’t happening. Not at the behest of the fucking public relations department. I’d act the way they wanted, but I wouldn’t primp and preen.

Renshu popped his head in again and simply jerked his chin. Amir led me out of our little room, down a short hall, then to a heavy curtain, through which I could hear far too many sounds. As soon as we stepped out, a crowd cheered.

Immediately, I wanted to backtrack. Maybe I wanted to throw up. Not once in my life had I dreamed of being on a stage. It wasn’t that I was afraid of being seen; I just didn’t give a single shit about fame or recognition. I wanted to live my little life and tend my bar. I also wanted to find that true love thing people talked about, which was the only reason I was still here.

“Welcome to The Morning Pitch!” the host greeted with a bright smile. He was a young guy, and I had to contain my distaste for him. The only possible ways I could imagine he’d gotten this gig were through nepotism or superior mouth-game.

A sound rang out through the studio, like a bat cracking against a ball. My jaw tightened as I scanned the crowd. The cheers were a bit much and most definitely orchestrated. The whole show was fake, especially considering how Renshu had pre-selected the questions, but people either didn’t care or were too stupid to realize it.

Fucking NPCs, obviously.

He shook our hands before he sat down in his comfy chair and rested his calf on the opposite thigh. “Today, we’re joined by Boston’s own Amir Darya and his partner, Remi Keane. Thanks for being here, guys.”

Amir flashed a camera-ready smile that was too good for someone who liked to stay out of the limelight. “It’s our pleasure, Brody.”

I hid my snort by clearing my throat. Amir squeezed my hand tightly, so I made sure my composure was absolutely perfect.

The noise died down, giving me less to focus on, which made the lights feel brighter. I brushed my hair out of my face and wondered if these cameras would capture every bead of sweat.

“So, Amir,” Brody began, “you’ve had quite a strong start to the season, batting just below a .30. How’s it been adjusting back after spring training?”