Page 57 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“Sophie.” Elliot’s voice is low, and I realize his nose is close enough to mine that if I sway forward a bit, I could touch him. From far away, his eyes are so dark brown they’re nearly black, but up close, you can make out the color better, see the fleck of gold strewn throughout them. Like a nougat candy bar, or a glittering chocolate diamond.

When he leans forward, knocking his nose against mine, I don’t pull away. I suck in a breath, close my eyes, remember what it was like the first time he kissed me, the way my body felt light and full of life.

“Am I forgiven?” he rasps, his voice so quiet I wouldn’t be able to hear him if he wasn’t standing so close to me. I pull my handsfrom his and lift them, resting them against his chest, and he sucks in a breath at the contact.

“For now,” I finally say.

“Okay,” he says, “I can live with that.”

Then he reaches around, plants his hand in the small of my back, and pulls me into a kiss.

CHAPTER 27

ELLIOT

“Now,” Rhett says, reclining in his seat, a beer in his hand. “Thisis a VIP lounge!”

I have to agree. This is by far the nicest VIP seating area I’ve been to. We’re completely enclosed in a box up above the field, watching the sprinklers go off. To my left is a fully stocked bar, only available for people with these tickets, and a buffet table is to the right.

And yet, there’s something about this that feels a littletooVIP. I miss being immersed in the cheering, chanting, singing.

Steven drops down next to me with a plate of shrimp, and gives me a toothy smile. “Thanks for the tickets, suit-and-tie.”

“I don’t think you guys can call me that anymore.”

My complaints go unheard, because the sprinklers have stopped, and down below on the field, the players are lining up for the national anthem. We stand with the rest of the stadium, then sit and watch as the players are announced, the starting lineups running out onto the field.

I watch, holding my breath, until they get to the end.

“Damn,” Rhett says, when it’s done, and they alternate to announcing Orlando’s lineup. “Can’t believe she’s really not going to start Athens.”

Running my hand over my chin, I think about the conversation Sophie and I had when she couldn’t fall asleep last night, then bite the corner of my mouth to keep from smiling.

The players regroup, then set up, spreading out. I find Sophie on the field, already walking back and forth, and I just know she has too much energy cooped up inside her to keep still.

The whistle blows, we kick first, and the Women’s Soccer Championship has begun. The entire stadium is on its feet, cheering and whistling, watching as Dallas draws the ball back, setting up the offense and bringing it down the field.

“Good pressure straightaway,” Rhett says, when we get it down near the goal, shoot, but get blocked by the goalie.

One minute later, exactly two minutes into the game, the stadium erupts into cheers, going so loud that we can hear it even up here, the volume shaking the box.

And it’s all because number six on Dallas, Lena Athens, is taking the field.

“Oh!” Steven says, leaping onto his feet and putting his hands to his head. “She’s coming out — ohshit!”

“Genius move!” Rhett agrees, and we watch on the Jumbotron as expressions of confusion cross the Orlando players’ faces, their eyes following Lena as she takes the field. “They’ve let their guard down!”

And he’s absolutely right, because two minutes later, after a brutal fight for the ball at midfield, Simone Bernal rockets it to Lena, who takes it effortlessly, floating through the defenders with her excellent footwork, and blasting the ball through the hands of the goalie, directly into the net.

“Yes!”

We’re on our feet, cheering and shouting, startling some of the other viewers in the VIP box.

“I take it I’m late?”

My cheering is interrupted by a guy with a face just like mine, standing behind me in a Dallas jersey.

“Brandon.” I wrap an arm around his neck pull him in. “You made it!”