Page 84 of The Off Limits Captain
Jennifer’s hand lowers with the tablet.
Silas watches me carefully. “That’s a request?”
“That’s me being captain of the team you keep putting in copy.”
For once, neither of them corrects me.
I keep walking, the noise of the arena fading behind me.
I know what the room will write.
Ryan McAllister shows restraint.
Ryan McAllister refuses revenge.
Ryan McAllister changes under pressure.
Let them.
The only version I want to read is Peyton’s.
Peyton
Ryan chooses the Pearl like a man who has Googled a real date and then interrogated the results for security weaknesses.
I know it the second he texts the address.
Public enough to be honest. Controlled enough to survive him.
Hotel Emma rises warm and old against the San Antonio night, brick and iron and soft lights turning the courtyard gold. People move through the Pearl with shopping bags, dinner reservations, children sticky with dessert, couples who have clearly learned how to hold hands in public without calculating consequences.
I stand near the entrance in a black dress I chose because it said adult woman with boundaries and then ruined with boots because I still need to be able to run from bad decisions.
Ryan finds me exactly on time. He does.
Dark jeans. White shirt. Jacket that fits too well for my peace. No cap, no team hoodie, no attempt to disappear except the one built into his shoulders.
He looks me over once. Slow enough to be rude. Careful enough to be worse.
“You look nice,” he says.
“Nice?”
His mouth moves. “Dangerous.”
“Better.”
He offers his hand like he is not sure whether I will take it.
I look at his hand, then at the restaurant windows glowing behind him. “You picked somewhere people could see us.”
“Yes.”
“And somewhere your communications director will not have a stroke.”
“Jennifer only has controlled events.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
