Page 26 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

I look back down at the logo, mind racing.

“In fact,” Elliot says, “I’m thinking we charter flights from now on. The team seemed to like it, right?”

“Right.” My lips are moving, and I know I’m speaking, but my brain is still fixed on his phone, on this reality. Nelson Financial wants to sponsor our team.

Nelson Financial — the largest bank in the world. Other women’s teams have big sponsors, sure, but Nelson hasn’t shown any sign that it’s interested in sponsoring athletics at all, letalonefor women’s sports. That’s not me being pessimistic — it’s just realistic thinking, after more than a decade as a female athlete.

And not only are they offering to sponsor a women’s sports team, but they’re offering to sponsorus? After five years without setting foot near the championship game?

“How did you…?” But when I meet his eyes again, the corners are crinkled, like he’s desperately trying to keep himself from laughing. “No,” I say, shaking my head and pushing the phone back toward him. “Don’t tell me this is another company you ‘don’t really own’?”

Elliot shrugs. “Let’s just say, I have some pull over there.” He leans in so our faces are half a foot apart. “And you wouldn’t realize this, Sophie, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

“Trust me,” I say, swallow. I swear, his eyes track the movement. “I know.”

CHAPTER 13

ELLIOT

Sophie Kendall cleans up nice.

Of course, she’s gorgeous in her everyday athletic attire, in a body that’s so clearly active, but this is a whole different thing.

She’s in a black dress that clings to her body and swoops low between her breasts, and it’s been difficult for me to focus on anything except that brand-new patch of skin. A part of her that I’ve never seen before.

Without meaning to, I find myself imagining what it would be like to press my thumb there, to feel her warmth, the beating of her heart so close.

In fact, most of what she has on display is new to me, and I’m drinking in every inch.

And it’s not just the dress — it’s the hair, curled softly and pulled back from her face. It’s the red lipstick, the way her side profile shines when she turns her head and looks out at the city.

I’ve seen a million cityscapes. Been to a dozen rooftop bars objectively better than this one — and yet, for some reason, I’m starting to think that this might be my new favorite. When Sophie laughs, throwing her head back and exposing her neck, I have to avert my eyes, the sight of her so happy strangely arousing.

“I can’t believe you’ve really never kicked a soccer ball,” she’s saying, leaning closer to me, blue eyes sparkling when they land on mine. “Not even like, in fourth grade?”

I think about seeing her on the practice field with Lena Athens, how she very purposefully did not kick the ball. But I won’t bring that up.

“In fourth grade,” I say, raising an eyebrow at her, “I was doing horseback riding as my athletic elective.”

“As your athletic elective,” she says, deepening her voice and laughing again before she takes another sip of her champagne. “Please tell me you boarded in the Alps, or something like that.”

“Unfortunately not,” I sigh, thinking of how nice it might have been to be away from my family as a kid. “Brandon and I didn’t board. We went to a private school down the road from our home in New York City.”

“Brandon?” Sophie tips her head, and I realize I’ve gotten too comfortable, accidentally letting the fact of my brother slip out like that. Without meaning to, I see the two of us as little kids, holding hands, walking to school in the mornings.

Other older brothers hated having their younger siblings around. Even back then, I loved it. I liked knowing that Brandon was the only other person in the world who understood what itwas like to grow up with our parents, what it was like to exist in that exact microcosm of space and time.

“Yes,” I finally say, realizing I’ve let too much silence stretch out in the moment. “Brandon. My brother.”

“I didn’t know we were doing the standards,” Sophie laughs, and I realize the champagne has softened her up quite a bit, making her loose-limbed and smiley.

“The standards?” I ask, tilting my head at her.

“You know, standard questions.”

“I’m not familiar.”

“Like, favorite color?”