Page 20 of Hard Pass

I lift my hands up. “They can stay,” I say. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Noted.” She jots a note down. “I want you to feel like you can speak freely.”

I snort. “Then maybe start speaking freely, because right now, I’m still waiting to hear what the hell I’m doing here.”

She smiles but there’s no warmth in it. “How about we start with me giving you the opportunity to get out ahead of this to come clean.”

I laugh. “You’re skipping a step. Like the one that tells me what you think I did before I can confess to it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

“No,” I counter. “That’s what you are accusing me of.”

“If I were accusing you, Mr. Valor,” she says coolly, “there would be no ambiguity.”

Calm. Controlled. Untouchable.

“You always look at people like they’re guilty?” I ask.

She purses her lips, tilting her head to the side and says without hesitation, “Only when they might be.”

My chest tightens but I ignore it. I’ve dealt with someone much tougher than her.

The difference? He pushed you into your career, and she’s threatening to take it away.

I swallow over the lump in my throat and put the armor of indifference on that I’ve used my entire life.

“Good to know.” I flash her a slow, purposeful grin. The one I use to get me out of trouble when it comes to women. “Should I be worried or is this just your version of small talk?”

Ms. Locke—because she most definitely isn’t Trouble, the woman I briefly knew—flashes me a shark’s smile, pushes a folder in front of me, before placing both hands on the table and leveling me with a glare. “Small talk?”

“Yeah.” I lean forward slightly, watching her instead of looking at the file. Waiting. “Pretty sure we could clear this up somewhere with less fluorescent lighting. Maybe a bar. A couple of drinks.”

If the comment lands, she doesn’t show it. Not a blink. Not a shift. Nothing.

But I do hear the groans and throat clearing of the others in the room.

Yeah, that was totally out of line.

I hold my hands up. “Sorry. Uncalled for.”

Her eyes hold mine. “Thank you. And for the record, that’s a hard pass on my end.” She lifts her eyebrows. “This isn’t something that can be explained away with alcohol and distracted flirting. And while by all accounts you seem to think this is a game, I’m here to tell you that you need to take these accusations very seriously.”

“I’m listening but have yet to hear a single thing pointed in my direction.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. I catch a hint of a clean, floral scent and ignore it. “Simply put, there have been multiple instances over the season where betting lines shifted in direct correlation with your game day performance.”

I bark out a laugh. “I don’t know if I should be offended someone bet on me having a shitty game or be impressed. Either way, I willingly gave no information to anyone to influence their bet.”

“The data implies otherwise.”

“Correlation doesn’t equal causation,” I say as her brows lift slightly. “I may play football for a living, Ms. Locke, but don’t assume I’m a dumb jock.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Didn’t have to.

I push the thought aside, done entertaining it.