Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“There’s a napkin.” She slides onto the stool beside me and peels it off the glass. “Universal symbol for Don’t touch.”
“I thought it meant the bartender’s on break.”
Her mouth curves. “Do you always assume things belong to you until proven otherwise?”
Normally, I would take such a loaded question as a challenge, but my hackles aren’t rising like they usually do. “It’s served me well in the past.”
She takes a sip of her martini and looks up at the TV. I wait for her to ask me another question… to goad. But she remains silent and it puts me on edge.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask.
“I’m with the team, remember?” she says. “Media obligations. Travel PR. My flight landed just a bit ago.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Langley’s really got you doing the full babysitter circuit, huh?”
“It’s called being thorough.”
“It’s called being a stalker,” I quip.
“Please,” she says, a manicured fingertip toying with the edge of her glass. “If I were stalking you, you’d never know.”
I almost choke on my beer, which is weird… almost no one has the ability to make me laugh or amuse me, except for maybe Tanner. “You always this charming off the clock?”
She twists her neck, lovely blue eyes landing on me. “Only with people who make my job harder.”
It’s tough to look at that simple beauty that absolutely gives off those girl-next-door vibes. I turn back to the TV. “That’s everyone, then.”
“Just you,” she says and takes another slow sip.
For a few minutes, we drink in silence and I eat my steak sandwich, eyes pinned to the football highlights. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not bad either, and not once do I consider picking a fight or trying to assert control over my new jailer.
When she breaks the quiet between us, her voice is soft, almost soothing. “You do realize your public reputation is about one suspension away from implosion, right?”
“Glad we’re keeping it light.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She exhales, frustrated but trying not to show it. “You’re more than just a player, Grizz. You’re a brand for the city and the league. Langley’s invested too much money in you to let you implode on live TV.”
“I don’t care about Langley’s money.”
“Then care about your career.”
I turn toward her, astonished she’d need to say such a thing. “You think I don’t?”
She angles her body to face me. “I think you care about winning and only winning. And when that’s all you care about, everything else becomes collateral damage.”
I ignore the twinge of conscience beneath my ribs. “Funny, that’s what keeps the lights on.”
“That’s what burns them out.” She meets my eyes, steady, unblinking. There’s a bite in her tone that doesn’t sound like a PR rep. It sounds personal. Before I can say anything, she adds softly, “In my exhaustive research on you, I saw you donate a lot of money to the Alzheimer’s Foundation.”
I freeze.
She’s watching me carefully, cataloging every twitch in my expression. “That’s not in any of your press material,” she says. “It’s not even in the Vipers community reports. I only found out because I saw the ledger for a matching grant last year.”
I take a long pull of beer. “So now you’re auditing me?”
“I’m curious why you keep it quiet.”
“Because it’s nobody’s business.”
“You’re right,” she says. “But it’s still a good thing. And most people who do good things don’t go out of their way to hide them.”
I look down at the condensation on my glass, tracing a line with my thumb. “Some things don’t need an audience.”
“Some things deserve one.”
My walls, which are already pretty high, go into hard lockdown. “Not this.”
Her voice softens. “Is it family?”
That rattles me. I don’t answer, but in my head, I repeat, Please don’t push. Please don’t push.
And thankfully, she doesn’t. I don’t think it’s because she knows how to pick her battles or that she’s not interested. It comes across as respect for my boundaries, and in a world where I get pushed constantly, it’s a balm to receive that.
Instead, she watches me, her eyes searching. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Noted.”
We go quiet again. Only this time it’s a different silence. It feels easier, as if she just earned some trust by giving me space.
A second round of drinks appears unrequested, but neither of us sends it back.
Daisy laughs, small, unexpected, almost self-conscious. “You know, I promised myself I’d keep things professional.”
“You’re doing great,” I mutter, but damn if I’m not curious as to what she means by that.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Please tell me what you mean by that.
She looks at me sidelong. “Okay, I’ll avoid the personal for now, but you want to know what my impression of you is so far?”
“Not really.” Yes.
“You’re the type of guy who can charm or bulldoze your way through every problem until people stop trying to hold you accountable.”