“Nope. Just doing my best to keep us both from face-planting. Pretty sure this red carpet is from the dollar store.” Leon had done his best with his meager budget, but the thing would only look like a plush carpet in pictures. In person, it was less carpet and more a curtain placed on the ground.

Catie glanced down for a second, and when she looked back up, the pinched look was gone from her eyes. “It’s ripping at the corners.” She pursed her lips after that whisper. “Your poor friend.”

“At least people are too focused on us to notice.” He angled his arm.

Tucking her hand into the crook, she said, “If we’d made a spectacle of ourselves before this, he could’ve probably gotten a sponsored freebie.”

“Next time,” he said, not thinking about it.

Before Catie could respond, the media’s cries for them to turn around became an overwhelming chorus.

“Showtime,” he muttered under his breath and slipped his arm around Catie’s waist while she did the same to him.

Her sleek sprinter’s curves fit perfectly against him, her skin warm gold under the bright lights and the glow from the standing heaters Leon had managed to finagle. Glancing at her as she laughed at something a reporter had said, he was struck by just how beautiful his childhood nemesis had grown up to be, all sleek hair of dark auburn and sparkling bright eyes, her confidence stamped on her skin.

Leaving aside her uncharacteristic “poochy” comment earlier, which could be explained by the general craziness of the current situation, the only physical thing about which Catie was ever touchy were her legs.

Danny hadn’t understood why when he was younger, but he’d grown up in the interim—and he’d seen how some people treated her. It infuriated him as much as it did her. She was so eminently capable that she could outdo most people any day of the week, and still there were idiots who tried to infantilize her.

He always had to fight his instincts to step in and put them straight. He knew better than that. Catie wouldn’t thank him for playing knight in rugby armor. Instead, he’d learned to stand back and watch the show—as Catie took them down with acerbic wit and sharp commentary that drew blood.

She’d gotten very, very good at it over the years.

So yeah, he understood her touchiness on that point. He just wished that after so long, she’d figure out that he wasn’t one of the idiots.

“What?” she said at that moment, having turned to look at him.

“Stop scowling,” he said with a scowl. “How are we going to sell this if we’re glaring at each other?”

She shrugged. “Please. No one will believe it if we’re lovey-dovey.” A sudden, dazzling grin, a wicked glint in her eye.