Max takes another deep breath. “Seeing you there got me all fucked up in the head. I wanted to figure out what you wanted, what it would take to keep you quiet…”
“The terms,” I whisper, remembering that night with vivid clarity. He kept asking for my terms, wanted me to name my price…
Max nods. “But then, as time went on, I realized you had no idea who I was…”
“A perfect time to tell me.”
“I know.” He groans, then drags his hands through his hair. “I know. I’ve gone over it in my mind so many times since—”
“So many timessincethat you could have told me, Max.”
He winces, closing his eyes on a long blink. “I know.”
We stay like that for a long stretch of silence, his head hanging and my heart breaking. Thoughts whirl through mymind like a merry-go-round that’s lost its conductor, no one to turn it off or slow it down.
“It was selfish of me,” he finally says.
And I can’t hold back the laugh.
“Sutton, I’ve been in love with you for so fucking long.”
“No.” I cross my arms tighter across my chest, trying to stop the growing ache. “You don’t get to use that word.”
He presses his lips together, then gives me a curt nod. “I wanted you, and there you were. I dreamed of you, and there. You. Were. I’m a fucking asshole for letting it continue, Sutton, but you needed it.”
My lip curls.
“You needed what I could give you as Dominus.”
My teeth grind together as I clench my jaw.
“And I needed you,” he finally whispers.
Taking a deep breath, I nod, then point to the door. “Now you can go.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
One Month Later
Sutton
This Los Angeles winter is colder than usual. Grayer. I can’t seem to get warm no matter how many layers I put on or how high I crank the heat inside my apartment. I get up each day and go through the motions, but nothing feels like it did before.
No potential clients inspire hope anymore. I haven’t heard from Emerson Bratt—or Cecelia for that matter—but I caught wind of an event last week that was put on by the Rams, and both he and Max were rumored to be in attendance. I imagine they were there together, but can’t find it in me to care.
I’m going to release the few players I have from their contracts by the end of the year, then walk away from Hart Strategic Management. No one can say I didn’t give it my all.
But I just don’t have it in me anymore to fight for a company that seems to push back every step of the way. I don’t enjoy this the way I once did.
People with my law degree make hundreds of thousands a year while I’m over here barely scraping by to keep my father’s dream alive.
What aboutme? What aboutmydreams?
I close the file on my desk, then slip it back into the bottom drawer.
Honestly, I don’t even know what my dreams are anymore, but I know that running a failing sports agency can’t be at the top of the list.
Anderson knocks on my open office door, and when I look up at him, he gives me that same sympathetic look he’s been giving me since mid-October.
