“Hey, you made the same decisions I did, alright? So maybe back off on the judgment. I’m glad to tell you that I’m single. Zeke was just confused. There was no cheating because I absolutely wouldnotdo something like that, so you can stop worrying about disrespecting my imaginary girlfriend. Any other feelings you have about what we did, those are on you. Because you know what, Troy? I loved sucking your cock, and I’m not ashamed to say it.”
Troy sucks in a deep breath. There’s a wild energy in his eyes, and he looks affronted.
Shit. I tore into him. I possibly just undermined my entire relationship with the agency and my soccer career with it. I didn’t subtly flirt to test his reaction, I blew up about cock-sucking in an elevator.
Troy’s nostrils flare as he eyes me. “Orlando,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly as always, too thick to read any emotion.
Before he can say another word, though, the elevator door glides open.
Troy exits immediately, storming out. It seems clear I shouldn’t hurry after him, so I step to the side instead, pressing my back to the brick wall as I let out a shaky breath.
Oh shit.
I just yelled at Troy Frisk.
I’ve barely reconstituted myself before the elevator dings again, returning with Kevyn. He looks at me with an easy smile as he steps out, totally unaware of what just went down. “This place is pretty cool, man.”
“Yeah. Unforgettable.”
Troy reappears, same stony face as ever. He has a small box of cigars, which he offers to us. “There’s a bar if you’d like another drink,” he says as though nothing’s happened.
My gut twists. He’s going to ignore the elevator scene, too, just like he’s ignored everything else. I’m going to be left languishing in silence, and the brick wall of a man isn’t going to budge an inch.
He turns to me, meeting my eyes. “And what you said in the elevator is correct,” he says evenly. “I agree completely.”
I blink, shocked. “Oh.”
He’s not ignoring me or punishing me for pushing back. Instead, he seems to have heard me.
Troy blows air out his nose. “We’ll smoke these cigars and call it a night,” he says. “Soon, I’ll have you both in the office to review your standing contracts with your team. Now come on.” He gives us a short nod. “The architect who designed your home stadium is here. She’d like to meet you both.”
“Cool,” Kevyn says.
“Yeah. Sounds good,” I agree, and follow them into the lounge, my head spinning, but more intrigued by Troy than ever.
CHAPTERSEVEN
TROY
“No,” I say as I run a fat black marker over another line. “No. And no.” I continue crossing out. “Hell no.”
Mel groans. We’re in her office tussling over our different priorities in next year’s budget, our fifty-fifty ownership essentially requiring compromise. Behind her, wide windows look over the city, blocked only by the rack of sports equipment she’s accumulated over the years, signed pieces from important games and players.
“I can’t see the paper,” she says, “but somehow, I know you’re trying to ax the video studio.”
I continue to drag my eyes across the finer details. “That room is supposed to be the media department’s conference room. And we already have a large space dedicated to in-house photo shoots.”
My negotiating brain kicks in. The studio is too indulgent. It’s there to distract me from something else.
I frown at my friend. “Twice a year,” I tell her, cutting to the chase.
She tilts her head to the side. “What are you talking about?” she asks innocently.
“For select clients and championship games, we can rent a private jet twice a year. But that’s all I’ll agree to.”
She looks like she’s about to object but stops herself. “And once more in December?”
“Not unless you’ll let me skip the holiday party,” I answer flatly.
