Page 13 of The Prime-Time Experiment

“No,” he agreed. “But it is the reality of the platform.”

His attention held hers steadily now, sharper than before.

“People follow me because they feel involved,” he said. “Not because they’re interested in technical terminology or data interpretation. If this experiment’s going to translate beyond an academic setting, they need to see it happening to someone in real time.”

Riley’s fingers stilled briefly against the edge of the document. Declan leaned forward slightly then, the relaxed posture easing into something more deliberate.

“You said cardiovascular fitness impacts cognition,” he said. “Fine, so show people what that actually looks like over time.” His gaze held hers.

Riley stared at him for a moment. Because structurally, his argument made sense.

“You’re asking me to become part of the experiment,” she said carefully.

“I’m asking you not to hide behind it, yeah.” The words landed with irritating assuredness.

Silence settled briefly across the room. Riley became aware, distantly, that everyone else had stopped speaking. His team watched the exchange without interrupting it, as though they realised the negotiation stopped being about contracts several minutes ago.

“And filming remains standardised,” Riley said finally.

Declan’s expression shifted immediately, something brief and unreadable moving through it before it settled again. “Within reason,” he said.

She considered him for another second. He had manoeuvred her into this deliberately. He recognised the weakness in a purely observational design for public engagement and pushed until she reached the conclusion herself.

Irritating, yet effective. Riley inclined her head once. “Then that condition is acceptable.”

His legal team moved quickly after that, revising language, restructuring clauses, adjusting deliverables. Declan barely looked at the documents. His attention remained fixed on her, steady enough that Riley became increasingly aware of it despite herself.

“Everything else stays the same from my conditions?” she asked.

“Of course.” Another pause stretched between them. Then Declan reached for the pen and signed the document with quick, practised ease before sliding it across the table toward her. “You have a deal, Riles.”

Riley’s hand stopped mid-reach. The nickname registered less as familiarity and more as immediate procedural error. Her eyes lifted slowly. “That is not my name.”

Declan looked entirely unbothered. “Close enough.”

“It is not functionally equivalent.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Right. Of course. My mistake.” A beat passed. “Riles.”

The repetition was abrupt. Riley tightened her grip slightly around the pen. “Stop doing that.”

He didn’t. Worse, he looked entertained by her irritation. Riley held his gaze for another moment, long enough to confirm that compliance was unlikely, before looking back down and signing the contract anyway. The motion remained meticulous, every letter aligned neatly despite the growing suspicion that she just agreed to something significantly more complicated than anticipated.

“You’ll get used to me, Riles,” Declan said easily.

Riley capped the pen with exact alignment before setting it parallel to the edge of the table. “No. I disagree with that outcome.”

Declan smiled properly then, bright and unreasonably confident. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

Riley adjusted the document stack once, smoothing the edges as her mind re-calibrated around the new framework. The terms were now defined, the methodology established. The variables accounted for.

At least, most of them. Because Declan Montgomery himself remained an increasingly disruptive factor within the environment.

Riley suspected that would become a problem.

Chapter 4

Environmental Variables