I scrolled through the media blast again on my phone before the flight attendant told me I had to turn off all electronics. I smiled politely at him, but I was hesitant to be detached from the firestorm of bad press for over eight hours.

I hadn’t stopped reading about the British soccer star’s scandalous night out since I awakened this morning. And the pictures. It seemed as if it was the only thing anyone was talking about on Sports Now.

Oh my God, the pictures.

If Lachlan Kenzie could upend everything in one night, he had the potential to take down my biggest account before I even touched down in Rio de Janeiro.

I pulled the strap on the seatbelt and tried to relax. That was crazy—I couldn’t relax, not even with a drink in my hand—not with two. There wasn’t enough alcohol to undo the damage he had done to his reputation or to ours.

I wouldn’t be able to take a deep breath again until I knew that rogue of a soccer player was under control. What in the hell was he thinking?

He had to know everything he did in public was recorded. I had watched the same thirty second clip on repeat. I told myself I was repulsed an ambassador of our company would lick a woman’s stomach in a bar while someone filmed it, but every time I saw it, I squirmed in my seat. He had bad judgment, but it didn’t come without undeniable sex appeal.

He eyed her with primal hunger before he lowered himself over her half-clothed body. I didn’t know who she was, but she was exotic and gorgeous with dark hair that reached her waist and long eyelashes that fluttered every time he lapped liquor from her navel. The entire scene annoyed me, but I didn’t know if it was because the girl was the complete opposite of me. I was a blond-haired, blue-eyed Southern girl with creamy white skin. There was nothing foreign and exotic about me.

It didn’t matter what the reason was—what Lachlan Kenize did was a publicity nightmare for me.

I closed my eyes when I felt the plane reverse from the jetway. I hated flying. I took a sip of the champagne, hoping it would do something for the rolling queasiness I felt when we launched into the air. An eight-hour flight was not my idea, but unless I wanted to hop around for two days on multiple flights, it was the quickest way to Rio. I didn’t have that kind of time.

The plane slowly started down the runway. I think it made me hate Lachlan even more.

Not only was he about to cost me my position with Revolution, but he also made me fly—two things that shouldn’t be happening. I was on a plane because he couldn’t keep his rash ego in his pants. I squeezed my eyes tighter, avoiding the view from my cushy window seat. First class couldn’t make me forget I was getting ready to be shot into the sky like a bird. I hated not having control. I hated not being able to know what was happening.

I heard the captain rev the engines as we accelerated. Oh God. I cringed.

Within seconds, I felt the plane angle into the air. The ground was gone and we were airborne. I opened my eyes one lid at a time. It wasn’t as bad once we were up. It was the getting there that scared the shit out of me. I peered out of the window. Miami looked small from here.

“Can I get another glass of champagne for you?” the flight attendant asked on his way through the aisle.

I nodded emphatically. “Please.”

It was true I was headed to Rio to reign in our highest paid ambassador for excessive drinking and partying, but I had eight hours to go—I needed another drink if I was going to make it.

He returned to my seat within minutes and brought an extra plate of fruit.

The lavish display reminded me of another reason I wanted to keep this job. I always traveled first class for the company. I stayed in the best hotels. My clothes were always new. I never wore the same suit twice. I had made it. Some people thought I had skipped a few rungs on the ladder, but I didn’t care.

Revolution was the pinnacle in the industry. The company had its hands in everything electronic: equipment, music, and gaming. We had the best tech developers in the country. There was nowhere else I wanted to be. And I had the hottest video game on the market. The launch was in less than two months. The timing couldn’t be better—until last night.

The marketing team counted on Kenzie walking away from the Olympics with a medal. He was already a world star in the sport, practically a household name. Anything he touched would sell, but for kids around the world, a video game with his name on it would be even more thrilling if he had a medal around his neck.

Women loved him. The fans loved him. Kids wanted to be him. Getting him to sign for this game was a clear coup. But he had screwed it up. How was I going to sell games to kids if he was whoring around? What parent would let their child play a game whose star licked shots off women? I cursed myself, thinking we should have gone with Taylor Dirks, the squeaky clean dad. Sure, we’d lose the twenty-something demographic, but I wouldn’t have to deal with the angry email assaults and posts from parents who had to explain to their children why Lachlan Kenzie’s game wasn’t welcome in their house.

It was a risk choosing Kenzie, but he was the edgier, sexier choice.

I took the frosted glass and pressed my lips to the rim. The tiny bubbles slid down my throat as I released the death grip I had on the arm rest.

When I awoke this morning, the last thing I expected was to pack a bag and head to the Olympics, but I didn’t see what choice I had.

If I let Lachlan Kenzie keep on this rampage, he would take the Kenzie game down with him. And that meant my biggest account would lose its ambassador and I would lose my position. It had taken over a year to develop the game. I’d spent six months preparing for the release. I’d worked too long and too hard to let some privileged, egotistical asshole ruin my life.

He was reckless. Arrogant. Selfish. All the things I wasn’t.

He had to get his life under control while he was in Rio, and I was the woman who was going to make that happen.