Unless he was calling to end things. To protect himself, his family, the team. Anne Davenport was in Montreal, sitting in her family's owner's box. Beautiful, poised, unscandalized Anne who'd never bring gambling investigations and federal charges into his carefully controlled world.
Of course he's calling to cut ties, she thought, her chest tightening. He'd be an idiot not to. This is exactly what he was afraid of—being dragged into my mess, his reputation compromised by association. She remembered his careful words about Jane and Chase, how he'd talked around "complications" and organizational concerns. If he'd been worried enough about that to interfere, how much worse would this gambling scandal be? I'm not good enough for this world. I never was.
She rejected the call and turned her phone face-down on the table.
"Was that Liam?" Jane asked quietly.
"Doesn't matter," Libby said, her voice harder than she intended. "We have bigger problems."
"I'm staying here tonight," Jane said suddenly, looking at Libby. "Mom needs someone with her. But you should go back to Boston. There's nothing more we can do here right now, and youneed to..." She trailed off, glancing at Libby's phone. "You need to handle your own situation."
"Jane—"
"I'll be fine. Kitty and Mary are here. Dad's here. Go."
Libby looked around the living room—her mother in tears, her father hollow-eyed, Mary frantically compiling evidence on her laptop. Jane was right. There was nothing she could do here except watch her family implode.
"Call me if you hear anything," Libby said. "Anything at all."
"I will. Drive safe."
Libby hugged her sister tight, then headed back to her rental car. The drive back to Boston felt longer than the drive out, her phone silent on the passenger seat. Liam didn't call again.
It was dark when Libby pulled into the parking lot of Jane's apartment building. The game had started. Liam would be on the ice, focused on hockey, not thinking about her or her disaster of a family.
She was halfway to the entrance when a figure stepped out from behind a car.
"Elizabeth," Calvin Middleton said, swaying slightly. "Rough day for the Bennet-Cross brand."
"Go away, Calvin."
"But I can help you!" He gestured expansively, nearly losing his balance. "Look, your reputation is—it's shot. Totally shot. But I have a show! Millions of people watch my show. One segment, I defend your family, boom—all fixed."
"Calvin, you're drunk. Let me call you an Uber."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Pssshhhh. No one's going to want you after this, you know." He looked almost remorsefulfor a moment. "But I want you. Always have done. Well, after Jane was off the market anyway." He put a finger to the side of his nose conspiratorially. "And you'll have no choice—" He hiccupped. "—now."
"Charming," Libby said flatly. "Another man who wants a woman with no choices."
He reached for her and she backed away.
"Calvin," she warned.
"I'm trying to hug you! Comfort you in your—" He hiccupped. "—time of need. The chemistry between us is undeniable."
"Undeniably sulfuric," Libby said.
He started toward her again.
"If you touch me again, I'm canceling the Uber and calling your mother."
That stopped him. He swayed in place, looking wounded.
"Do you think we could get Kate Davenport on the show?" he asked hopefully.
Libby's phone dinged. "Your Uber's five minutes out."
Calvin sat down petulantly against a light pole, still muttering to himself.
