“Babe, is there anything wrong? You’ve been quiet since yesterday”, Blair said softly, running her hands through her husband’s hair. Carlos De Leon, Blair’s husband and currently the most popular NFL star in the country, had an adorable pouty look on his face as his head stayed buried in his wife’s lap.

“Nothing. Just in a bad mood”, he said, sitting up and away from her after sending her a small smile. “You should be getting to work. I have a couple of interviews scheduled for today”.

Blair couldn’t help but feel like he was dismissing her, but that was how Carlos liked to handle his problems. Quietly and alone. They had been in love and married for over a year and Blair had quickly noticed that Carlos wasn’t the most proficient in sharing his problems with other people, not even her.

“Will you be okay without me?”

He grinned at that, standing up and pulling her up alongside him so he could lean in to plant a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll never be okay without you.”

“Oh stop it, you big lug. You know what I mean”, Blair’s hands linked loosely around his neck as he pulled her closer, one of his hands spanning across the width of her lower back.

“I’ll be fine, Mrs. Worrywart”.

“You’d bet-”

She was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. It was time for her to get in to work. Her assistant always acted like he would die if he didn’t see her every morning at 9 o’clock sharp. He was the most reliable alarm clock.

She rolled her eyes and rejected the call, at least that way he would know she was alive.

“Well I have to get going now”, she said, her tone slightly disappointed. She wanted to stay and watch over Carlos. If there was one thing Blair loved the most in this world, it would be the way Carlos liked to cling whenever he was in a bad mood, even if his words weren’t showing it.

She was meant to be holding her husband tight to her chest right then, but she had to go preside over a divorce case for two people who had more money than sense and nowhere to use it. Her latest clients were the most problematic she had ever dealt with simply because it was their fourth time getting divorced from each other. She wondered why they kept getting married in the first place.

“Unfortunately. I’ll attend the interviews and wait for you to tell me all about how you ‘just want them to go fuck themselves’”, he said, dislodging from her and imitating the stance she usually took when she was talking about her clients.

Blair scowled and gave his rock solid chest a smack before grabbing her purse. “How dare you mock your darling wife?”

“I wouldn’t dare”, he said, laughing as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Have a lovely day, Blair”.

Blair had to stop herself from doing a double take. He rarely ever called her by name. Whatever he was thinking about had to be really serious. She half contemplated staying behind, just for the day. The Dubains could be rescheduled.

“No, you’re not cancelling your appointments, you know how hard they hounded you the last time you did that”, he said matter-of-factly, gently guiding and herding her away from the living room and through the door.

Blair still hadn’t gotten used to the way he could read all her microexpressions. Being able to keep a straight face all the time was one of the reasons why her job suited her so well, but ever since the first day Blair had met Carlos, he had been able to clock her.

They first met at one of his games. She hadn’t been a fan of sports, only attending the game because she had been blackmailed to by best friend Jolene, who was obsessed but couldn’t attend because she fell ill. She had somehow been pulled over to talk to the stars because that was the perk attached with Jolene’s seat.

When their eyes first met, her heart skipped a beat. He was all sweaty and heaving with a brilliant smile on his face and Blair was sold. Then someone shoved a mic in her hand and a camera in her face.

She had no idea what to ask. She’d never been to a game in her life. So she did what she did best and slapped on her poker face, freezing under the lights. The camera was rolling, the mic was live, and all she had was a vague understanding that she was supposed to ask questions like a fan if she didn’t want to get lynched by actual fans.

Carlos took one look at her, blinked once and somehow knew.

“Don’t be mean to the shy fans, c’monns,” he told the reporter with an easy grin, sliding an arm around her shoulders like they were old friends. “Be nice.”

Then he answered his own questions, cracking jokes, charming the crowd, and keeping her from looking like a total fraud.

Then later in the night, they were at a bar and he was being incognito, his huge hoodie doing nothing to hide the mass of muscles he had under it.Later, they were both at a bar, on a date. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No,” he said, tone mild, “but it was either that or let you implode on national TV.”

She scowled, but he wasn’t finished.

“You know you took a fan’s seat, right? Someone who actually gave a damn about the sport?”, he asked with a small grin on his face.“

My best friend does, and she forced me into going.”

“Still. Next time, maybe try not to steal the dreams of people who cry when we win.”

“You’re making it sound like i murdered someone’s puppy.”

He smirked. “Depends on the fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but he just laughed and in that moment, she realized he wasn’t just annoyingly perceptive.

He was kind. Sharp. Funny.

And now, here they were.

“The prenup at this time ensures that you won’t be getting anything out of this, Mrs Dubain”, Blair said, her voice even. Mrs Dubain kept signing prenups with her husband and kept acting disappointed when she couldn’t cash in on the man, despite Blair’s earnest requests for the woman to not sign one if she wanted anything from Mr Dubain.

“I don’t care! I just want to be free from him!”, she yelled, smacking her hand on Blais’s pristine glass table, leaving angry fingerprints. She hoped the woman never planned to commit murder one day, she would fail terribly because she left her marks everywhere.

“Alright, you know the drill Mrs Dubain”, she sighed, shifting the documents in front of the woman. Then her door slammed open, a pale pudgy man coming in, Mr Dubain.

“I know why we keep getting divorced! Your lawyer’s a bitch that can’t keep a man and she’s poisoning our minds!”, he yelled.

Blair didn’t flinch. She was used to being the target of impotent rage. Divorce brought out the worst in people, and Mr. Dubain had already set a personal record for tantrums.

“You keep getting divorced because neither of you should’ve gotten married in the first place,” she said coolly, standing up. “Now unless you have a court order, or you’re planning to throw yourself out of a window, get out of my office.”

“Witch!” he spat.

“Excellent. Much better than bitch,” Blair replied with a practiced smile, pressing the intercom for security. “James, please escort this child out.”

As Mr. Dubain was dragged out whining and his wife followed him in worry, Blair sank back into her chair, running a hand through her hair. Her head throbbed. This job was draining her soul.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

At first, she ignored it.

Then it buzzed again. And again. And again.

She finally reached for it, with a couple of texts from her assistant, a news link, then Jolene in all caps:

“TURN ON THE FUCKING TV.”

There was another link from her assistant, punctuated with a hesitant “I’m so sorry if this is real.”

Blair blinked, heart tightening.

She tapped the link.

There it was.

“NFL Star Carlos De Leon Caught in Alleged Infidelity Scandal: Sources Say There’s Proof”.

And she began to spiral.