Page 123 of Over the Limit

“And this new man of yours made you hear the music?”

I nod and smile, thinking about Lachlan. About the lessons I’ve realized I learned from my relationship with Rossi. And about how Lachlan truly made me hear a different tune.

“He did. He still does. But I never would have been able to hear that music if it weren’t because you and Dad believed in me to begin with. You gave me a strong foundation, you continue to reinforce it and for that, I’ll forever be grateful.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Lachlan

“So you’re telling me the deal is almost done?” I ask Chandler—or actually I pant out to Chandler—since I’m on kilometer seven of my 10K run. I’m feeling it today. Poker night with the boys turned into drinks at Cruz’s last night.

Too much excess on this body that’s supposed to be a well-oiled machine.

“It’s almost done.”

My shoulders sag and my head falls back as I stare at the sky. Tears well in my eyes. “Thank fuck.”

“I’m trying to get you that top pick, Lach. Gravitas could be next level for you. Especially with talk about new ownership possibly coming in. An influx of marketing and cash.”

Excitement races through me. So does relief.

Apex was where I’d wanted to stay originally, but truth be told, I’ve become disillusioned with them. Between their delay in pulling the trigger with me on a contract and their continued pacification of Rossi, I’m thrilled to get a chance at Gravitas.

New doesn’t always mean better. It presents new challenges—learning a new team, new ways they do things, unforeseen risks—and yet, Gravitas is clearly showing to be the superior team of the two right now.

It seems Zola was right. Our association was good for me. Her mother thinking we were together had her calling in some favors—or more like influencing minds and opinions.

We scratched each other’s backs but frankly, I think Zola got the short end of the stick in this deal.

I definitely owe her one—whatever that may be.

I replay Chandler’s words in my mind. A three-year contract for a ridiculous amount of money. I mean, I’d be a dumbarse to turn it down and stay with a team who might be offering similar figures but doesn’t seem to value me as much.

It’s a no-brainer.

“I’m excited.” I swear the stress dissipates with each passing second. “Can I sign the contract? Can I announce it? I want to break the news in my own terms rather than have it leaked to the press.”

“In other words, you want to say fuck you to Rossi.”

“No. It’s not like that.”

“It’s not? Because the fucker tried to put you in a wall. It’s him you have to be grateful for this contract.” He clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure they were gunning for Rossi to sign but that stunt showed that he was a liability.”

“Way to boost my ego,” I say sarcastically.

“I don’t sugarcoat. You know that.”

“So when can we sign?”

“We’re ironing out the last details in the contract. Early next week is what it looks like right now.”

I make a mental note of it. The gala is Sunday. Sign the contract within a few days after. Then have a kick-arse race the following Sunday.

Once that’s all done, no more hiding.

Hell. It looks like it’s shaping up to be a perfect week.

Now if Blair will just come home, then all will be right with the world.