The problem with fame, Bailey decided, was that it arrived when you were still sweaty and undercaffeinated.

She’d barely finished a morning set when Kaiylin burst into the locker room, waving her phone like a siren.  

“Bailey. You’re on the news.”

Bailey blinked. “Did I win something?”

“Uh, depends. Does ‘mystery athlete seen flirting with sponsor heir’ count as a win?”

Bailey froze. “What?”

Kaiylin shoved the screen closer. A blurry photo filled it—Bailey, mid-laugh, coffee cup in hand, Man standing way too close under the rain.  

The headline screamed: **‘Badminton’s Rising Star and Billionaire Benefactor—Just Business?’**

Bailey groaned. “Oh, for—he was holding an umbrella, not my hand.”

Kaiylin grinned. “The internet disagrees.”

By noon, the photo had gone viral. Reporters were outside the training hall, and Coach Lin looked ready to retire on the spot.  

Man, of course, handled it the only way he knew—showing up uninvited.

When he walked into the conference room, Bailey’s patience was already hanging by a thread.  

“You can’t keep barging in like this,” she hissed.

“Relax. I brought PR.” He gestured toward a polished woman in a navy suit. “This is Tessa. She makes scandals disappear.”

“I don’t need a scandal fixed. I need it gone.”

“That’s literally her job,” Man said, leaning back. “See? Problem-solving.”

Bailey folded her arms. “Problem *creating*.”

Tessa, ever the professional, smiled tightly. “The best approach is to lean into it—spin the photo as a harmless sponsor-athlete narrative. Friendly, casual.”

Bailey looked horrified. “You want me to smile for it?”

“Preferably,” Tessa said.

Man grinned. “You smile beautifully. It’ll be great press.”

Bailey turned to him. “Do you ever stop being insufferable?”

He thought about it. “Sometimes when I’m asleep.”

“Good. Stay that way.”

Outside, cameras clicked like rain. Man shielded her with his arm as they exited.  

“Relax,” he murmured. “Pretend we like each other.”

“I don’t have that much acting range.”

“Liar. You’re doing great.”

She shot him a sideways glare. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“I enjoy chaos. This is art.”

“I’m not your art project.”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re the reason I finally care how it looks.”

Her breath caught—not because of the cameras, but because he’d said it too easily.  

She recovered fast. “Flattery won’t make me forget you caused this.”

“I didn’t post the photo.”

“You posed for it.”

“That was gravity,” he said. “You were too close.”

“I was trying to *avoid* you.”

“Clearly failed.”

Back inside, Kaiylin was waiting with two smoothies and a face that screamed gossip.  

“So,” she said, offering one to Bailey, “should I start the fan club or the denial campaign?”

Bailey groaned. “You start either, and I’ll transfer teams.”

Kaiylin sipped her drink. “He’s cute, though.”

“Don’t start.”

“Fine. But if you two end up on a magazine cover, I’m framing it.”

Bailey buried her face in her towel. “You’re fired.”

“Can’t. You love me.”

Man’s voice came from behind them. “She’s right, you know.”

Bailey didn’t even look up. “I thought you left.”

“I did. Then I came back.”

“Why?”

“To apologize.” He paused. “And to remind you the press conference tomorrow is at ten.”

She sighed. “You mean the one you created?”

“Yes, but I’ll take you to breakfast first.”

“Bribery doesn’t count as an apology.”

“It does when it’s pancakes.”

Her lips twitched. “You think you’re charming.”

He smiled. “You keep proving me right.”

“Get out, Man.”

He saluted. “See you at ten, Coach Justice.”

She threw her towel at him. He caught it easily, grinning all the way out.

Kaiylin whispered, “You know you’re doomed, right?”

Bailey sighed. “I’m considering early retirement.”

“From badminton?”

“From men.”

“Good luck,” Kaiylin said. “They keep showing up with umbrellas.”