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My eyebrows shoot up at the realization that Levi must have only started his career around a decade ago. Did he not start playing until college? A simple search could tell me, but I want to hear it from him.

“Well, we’ll make sure he wins it this time,” Bryan says.

“One thing we can do to help speed up the process a bit is take a look at his home simulator logs and recordings,” Murray tells me, pulling up a feed of recordings on the projector.

I nod and turn to look at the screen, and that’s when it hits me.

Home.

Simulator.

Recordings.

My chest tightens, hands shaking with panic. Could they see⁠—

There, at the top of the screen is the most recent recording. Dated two days ago, when Levi and I played a round together and I hit that 280. And then climbed him like a tree.

I swallow and close my eyes tight, mortified when Murray clicks it. There is no sound, thank god, but it’s very clear from our body language that this is not a professional practice.

The room goes silent and Murray clears his throat, fast-forwarding the feed.

Oh, no. That’s even worse.

He stops and pauses it near the end of the video, right when I jump into Levi’s arms, my legs wrapped around him like a koala.

I keep my shoulders back but breathe out a shaky breath. I can’t look at these men. What do they think of me right now? What do they think of Levi?

God, they’re gonna think I’m here for the wrong reasons.

Biting my lip, I push my chair back and slowly stand. With all the decency I can muster right now, I say, “Excuse me,” and very slowly walk out of the room.

I glance at the screen once more, and my mortification turns into red hot anger.

The bathroom is empty and I take a second to freak out. What the fuck? I mouth to myself in the mirror. Then, I turn the cold water on and splash my face with it. The cool sensation feels good on my heated skin, and I pat myself dry with a paper towel.

When I step out of the bathroom, I run straight into Levi’s chest. He stumbles, not expecting me, but his hands instinctively land on my waist, holding me steady.

“Haze—”

“We need to talk. Now,” I say, gritting my teeth.

I take off down the hallway in the opposite direction of the conference room. I don’t wait to see if he follows. I twist the doorknob of a utility closet, finding it unlocked and slipping inside.

“What’s going on?” Levi asks, following me.

I spin around and stab a finger into his chest. He falls back against the door, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that there is a camera in your home simulator?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

Levi frowns, uncomprehending. “All simulators have cameras,” he says, as though it’s obvious.

I inhale sharply through my nose and poke him again. “More specifically, why wouldn’t you tell me that your coaches regularly review your footage?”

At this, his eyes widen and the wrinkles in his forehead smooth out. “Shit. Did they pull it up?”

All the fight leaves me, and my hand drops from his chest. My shoulders slump and I run both palms over my face. “Yes. I just watched myself fucking climb you in front of three of my new coworkers. So instead of looking like a professional, I look like I’m trying to sleep my way to the pros.” I huff, pressing a palm against my forehead.

When Levi is quiet for too long, I look at him fully. He runs a hand nervously through his hair, green eyes pinning me with regret. “I’m sorry. It slipped my mind, and there’s no excuse. I’ll talk to them. They’ll understand.”