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He throws my best friend an antagonizing smirk before turning his back and leaving us to our own devices. I wait until Trent and his goons aren’t within earshot before nudging Piper.
“That is the Boston Guardians’ GM?” I ask, still bewildered by his job position in the club.
“Yep. He sure is. And a pain in my ass,” Piper sneers, her gaze never leaving his retreating form until he stops to chat with one of the suits.
“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to have a good relationship with the GMs of a team? Like, be his BFF or something?”
“In theory.” She shrugs before making a point of turning her back to him when his gaze glances over to us again. “But it’s hard to be amicable with a man like that. The only language Trent Nichols understands is intimidation and power plays.”
“Seems to me like you two should have hit it off just fine then,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“Nope.” Piper pops the ‘p’ at the end, still looking miffed. “You know what they say.”
“No, what do they say?”
“Like versus like repels, while opposites attract.”
My forehead wrinkles when I hear a trace of something in her voice that I can’t quite put my finger on. But if I were to venture a guess, it sounded an awful lot like sadness.
“So I’m guessing you have your work cut out for you in terms of renegotiating player contracts with Trent, huh?” I probe, still wondering why the pair hate each other so much.
“Not for long, hopefully,” she says with a wayward grin on her lips. “Rumor has it that the club’s owner is considering selling the team. With no heirs to speak of, it makes sense the old man sells it off to the highest bidder. Unfortunately, the media has been ruthless these last few weeks and hasn’t exactly painted the club in the best light, which doesn’t bode well for anyone on the team, especially its GM. If Trent doesn’t get his house in order, then his head will be the first one on the butcher’s block when the club gets sold.”
My stomach churns at how Nate is probably the leading cause of such turmoil within the team.
“Anyway, enough about Trent; let’s focus on our boy. Nathan better shine today, or else he’ll be added to the large list of casualties after the team is sold off.”
I frown and glance over the room again with fresh new eyes. Suddenly, it’s abundantly clear to me why some of the wealthiest men in all of Boston are seated in this small room. They’re not mere spectators—they are possible buyers. Thousands of people outside this room are here because they genuinely love the game. But inside these walls, I doubt there are many who can look past the accumulation of profit and dollar bills to truly factor in what this club represents to its fans.
It’s just another money-making venture for them.
The ugly side to sports.
“Charlotte?” I hear a familiar voice call out to me, breaking through my sullen reverie.
When I turn around and find Lawrence Preston III smiling widely at me, I can’t help but smile back.
“Lawrence?” I reply excitedly, giving him a quick side hug before stepping back.
Unlike the rest of the one-percenters in the room, Lawrence looks like he came to actually cheer for his home team. In simple jeans and a white and green polo, you’d never believe that his bank account was double the size of most of the men here. His all-American, boy-next-door charm also makes it incredibly hard not to like him on sight.
“I knew it was you,” he says, his forest-green eyes sparkling in amusement. “There aren’t many women who can get away with that tartan dress, but like everything you wear, it suits you.”
I stand a little bit taller with the sincere compliment, proud of my chosen attire for today. Since I wanted to show my support for the Guardians, I chose a simple green-plaid tartan dress with a white mini-Peter-Pan collar and cuffs, showcasing the club’s traditional colors.
“Thank you, Lawrence. That’s so sweet of you to say.”
“Now, now, Lottie. What did I say about you calling me Lawrence?” he teases playfully. “Please call me Laurie. All my friends do. Speaking of friends, I have a bone to pick with you. Agnes McDonald? Really? Is my dating pool so scarce that you had to set me up with Agnes McDonald, of all women?” He arches a taunting brow.
“Well, you did say that you wanted to date a woman who knew her own mind. Agnes fits that bill to a T. She’s very sure of what she wants and what she doesn’t want.”
“Oh, no one can deny that.” He chuckles. “She wasveryvocal about what she wanted from me. I, however, didn’t share in the sentiment, and, well… it made for an awkward night. Next time you set me up on a date, it would be nice if it wasn’t so… challenging,” he explains despondently while running his fingers through his brown hair.
Oh, lord.
I can only imagine what kind of hell Agnes put this poor man through.
“Fair enough.” I smile, wondering how two people born and raised with a similar background could be miles away in temperament and personality. While Agnes is the embodiment of high society and expected privilege, Laurie is as humble and down-to-earth as they come.
