Decker turns his head and kisses the center of my palm. “Pen, you know if he came after you that I’d pay. Without question.”
“Do it.” The words are out of my mouth in a rush.
Decker arches a dark eyebrow.
“Do it.” I nod. I trust this man implicitly.
“Thank you. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you after our conversation though.” He leans forward and kisses me, then takes out his phone.
He types out a text and pockets it.
“I’m gonna shower, then I’ll be gone for a little bit, but I’ll be back before it’s time to pick Hazel up from school.” He kisses me again and gets up, picks up his suitcase, and goes upstairs.
I blow out a breath and fall back onto the couch. Why can’t Shane Whitaker just be a stand-up man and re-sign the best third baseman in the league?
My phone dings on the table with an Instagram notification, and I pick it up. It’s worth one last attempt to get Decker signed to the Colts. This man is going to put his entire career on the line to protect Hazel and me. The least I can do is try to save his job until he’s actually signed with another team.
Chapter
Sixty
Decker
* * *
Penelope was worried. I saw it on her face after I showered and told her I’d be back before pick-up.
Nothing will stop me from giving a piece of my mind to that prick. I probably should calm down more, but I’m thinking retirement looks good right about now.
Sutter is staying at the Langham. Not surprising. It’s the best hotel in Chicago.
I text him from the lobby.
I’m downstairs. Coming up.
Graham Sutter: (thumbs up emoji).
He probably thinks I’m here to shake hands and agree to his offer.
I ride the elevator up, trying to cage my rage so I can manage to have a conversation with him.
The hallway is quiet the way expensive hotel hallways always are. Thick carpet, low lighting, expensive paintings on the walls. I find his room number and knock twice.
He opens it, wearing an expensive dress shirt, jacket off, the ease of a man settling in for a celebration. His smile is already in place. It looks a little more practiced now.
“Decker.” He steps back to let me in. “Champagne is on the way.”
“Why do you want me?” The heat already present in my tone tells me there’s no way this will be a calm conversation.
I step inside, but I don’t sit. I stand in the middle of his hotel room with my hands in my pockets so I won’t get arrested for assault.
He turns from the door. The smile stays in place but the quality of it changes, the way lighting changes when a cloud moves past the sun. Same light, different temperature.
“Let’s talk through whatever concerns you have,” he says. “The offer is strong. I heard the Trojans are pulling at you, but New York?—”
“It’s not about New York. It’s not about the offer or the money or the position.” I look at him steadily. “Why me?”
His face goes very still for a beat, then he smiles again and raises his hands. “You got me. I have a little competition with Shane Whitaker. He’s an idiot for not re-signing you. I’d like to prove to him how wrong he was.” He smiles as though that would satisfy me.
