Oh, holy hell.
I know who he is.
Dad gently lets me go.
“Sloane,” he says with suspicious calm. “There’s something we need to talk to you about.”
Cohen Becker.
I look at him.
I look at Mom, who still has that bright smile.
And then back at Cohen, who returns a look that’s halfway between “I didn’t want to be here” and “I don’t know how the hell this happened either.”
Oh no.
Oh, no, no, no.
If Cupid has a sense of humor, he’s laughing until he cries today.
5
A New Assignment
Cohen
I walk out of that office more confused than ever.
I don't know whether to be more confused by Coach Heart's family man persona—all smiles, hugs, and gooey sentimentality—or by the fact that I just found out who the fuck his daughter is.
Damn.
I expected a girl with pigtails, not… her.
The magnificent specimen of a woman is walking ahead of me, storming down the corridor like a fury, while I trail her like an idiot without a compass.
I'll be damned.
She doesn't turn around. She doesn't even slow down when I catch up. The rhythm of her heels echoes on the polished floor, and every click is a fucking declaration of power.
“Are you here to blackmail me?” she asks, without glancing my way.
Her voice is a knife: sharp, cold, and completely different from the honeyed tone she used with her father.
“If anything, were you the snitch? Were you there for that?”
The words rush out before my brain can stop them, and I instantly cringe with embarrassment.
Great job, Becker. You just said the dumbest thing possible.
But whatever… she seems angry enough already. Might as well play the jerk—that’s what everyone expects of me, right?
She stops dead, and her fiery gaze pierces through me.
Then, without a word, she turns and resumes walking.
I think at least two assistants catch me red-handed staring at her ass, but hey, sue me.
