Table Four

Summer

The Grand Ballroom of Eastern University was a masterpiece of old-world academia high vaulted ceilings, dark mahogany paneling, and massive oil paintings of long dead university presidents staring down at tables covered in white linen and silver.

But at Table Four, the atmosphere was pure, modern venom.

"Jaxson," a soft, breathless voice purred as we approached our seats.

I looked across the table.

Vanessa Vance was already seated, looking exactly like the half a million follower influencer she was.

She wore a strapless emerald green gown that showed off every perfect curve, her blonde hair falling in immaculate, glossy waves around her face.

But it was her eyes that caught me they were a pale, crystalline blue, and they were fixed entirely on Jaxson with a look of desperate, practiced longing.

"Vanessa," Jaxson said, his voice completely flat.

He pulled out my chair for me, his large hand resting briefly on my shoulder as I sat down, a silent gesture of solidarity that didn't go unnoticed by the girl across from us.

"It’s been so long," Vanessa said, ignoring me entirely as Jaxson took his seat beside me.

“When Sarah called my agent, I didn't believe it at first. But seeing you here.. wearing the Captain’s jersey well, the suit—it makes me remember sophomore year."

"Sophomore year was a long time ago, Vanessa,"

Jaxson said, his tone clipped.

He didn't look at her; instead, he picked up his water glass, his knuckles slightly white around the crystal.

"And you must be Summer," Vanessa finally turned her gaze to me, her smile sweet enough to cause cavities, though her eyes remained entirely cold.

"The journalism student. It’s so sweet what the university is doing for you with that... special scholarship grant."

It was a direct hit.

She was letting me know that she knew exactly why I was here—that I had been bought and paid for by the network.

Beside me, I felt Jaxson’s entire body go rigid. He started to open his mouth, his chest rising, but I reached under the linen tablecloth, my hand finding his knee and pressing down firmly.

Don't, I thought, locking eyes with him for a split second.

Don't let her get a reaction.

"It is a wonderful opportunity," I said, turning my most professional, broadcast-ready smile onto Vanessa.

“As a journalist, I’ve always been interested in how institutions manage crises. But being on this side of the camera? It really shows you who has true substance... and who is just playing a character for attention."

Vanessa’s smile faltered, her perfectly manicured fingers tightening around her champagne flute.

Just outside the perimeter of our table, out of the direct line of sight of the university donors, a HypeTV cameraman adjusted his lens, capturing every silent twitch of Vanessa’s jaw.

Sarah Sterling was standing behind him, her eyes gleaming with absolute satisfaction.

"Well," Vanessa laughed softly, a brittle sound.

"Substance is important, of course. But in a world like Jaxson’s the NHL, the travel, the constant public scrutiny sometimes you just need someone who already understands the lifestyle. Someone who knows what it takes to keep a man happy when the pressure builds."

"Jaxson doesn't need anyone to keep him happy, Vanessa," I said, my voice dropping its polite edge, turning cool and sharp as a scalpel.

“He needs people who tell him the truth. He’s had enough people using him for his jersey."

Across the table, Vanessa’s face drained of color.

She glanced at the camera, then back at me, realizing that for all her social media training, she had just crossed lines with someone who cross-examined people for a living.

But before she could respond, the orchestral music from the stage shifted, a slow, swelling waltz filling the room.

"And now," the master of ceremonies announced into the microphone, "we invite our team captains and their partners to open the dance floor for our annual charity waltz."