I look at the text again, running through every meeting I have today, every scheduled call I’m going to have to scrap past three o’clock so I can pick up my kid, because god knows Halsey won’t agree to do it.
“Something’s come up,” I say. My voice is flat enough that it could mean work or home. “That’s all.”
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I want to tell Ellie she’s fired for calling out so often lately. I want to scream and punch a wall and tell the world to go fuck itself. But I don’t. I can handle that later.
I look up and meet Carly’s eyes again.“I need to make a call. Give me a second, and then I’ll take you down to HR,” I say, already lifting the phone to my ear and heading toward my office door.
I have the feeling this will be my rock bottom.
Chapter 6
Carly
“I need to make a call.Give me a second, and then I’ll take you down to HR,” Grayson says, already lifting the phone to his ear and heading toward his office door.
“Okay,” I manage, which is impressive, considering my brain is stuck back on head-of-the-training-line and has moved through the stages of shock.
He nods once and steps out. The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m left alone in his office.
It’s quiet in here on my own. I can hear my own breathing, can almost hear the blood rushing in my ears. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook Boulder and the hazy outline of the Flatirons, snow frosting them like powdered sugar. The leather chairs look like they cost more than my car. Everything is neat, ordered, masculine, and controlled.
And thephotos.
I shove my empty cup into the trash can and drift toward the wall like my feet aren’t entirely under my control. Jersey after jersey is framed behind glass, each one with his name stitchedacross the back in block letters: SPARKKS 82, SPARKKS 65. CU Buffaloes gold and black, and Denver Broncos orange and blue. Action shots frozen midair: him catching passes, him sprinting down fields, him grinning with a helmet under his arm and sweat slicking his darker hair back, attractive in a way that is far too effortless and dangerous.
I’ve seen these images online, on posters, in the lobby. But it’s different seeing them here, in his space— like it’s proof that this is just… who he is. That this ridiculous, powerful man with the controlled voice and an expensive watch used to have eighty thousand people screaming for him on Sundays.
My gaze snags on a photo that doesn’t look like the others.
Grayson on a field in jeans and a Sparkks hoodie, not gear, holding a little girl on his hip. She can’t be more than one, maybe two. Tiny puffy jacket, tiny pompom hat, tiny sparkly boots. Her hair is a dark tumble of curls, her cheeks flushed from the cold as she grins at the camera. He’s looking at her instead of the lens, and the expression on his face does something awful to my insides.
He looks soft. He’s looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat and force my eyes away, only to land on another frame — him with a group of guys in suits at some awards thing, all of them broad-shouldered and stupidly handsome. I recognize a couple from billboards and ESPN clips, and one of them has averyrecognizable, charming smile.
“Oh my God. That’s Tim Tebow,” I murmur.Damn.
I drag a hand over my face.Focus, Carly.
My boss’s boss’s boss just promoted me. I’m standing in his office. And he is somewhere outside of it, muttering curses about something that is very clearly not my business. I should not be sightseeing.
I slip my phone out of my pocket with shaky fingers and open my messages.
Me:
I think I’m going insane? bc if not I think I just got promoted??
I stare at it, then type again.
Me:
Like ACTUALLY promoted. Head of the training line. NFL stuff.
Three dots appear in the bubble for half a second, then disappear.Typical. It’s not exactly easy for Zoe to text when she’s with customers most of the day.
I pace in a circle in front of the windows, looking down at the city. The streets are crusted with old snow, the kind that’s gone gray around the edges. Sun glints off car roofs. People move in little puffy-coated dots along the sidewalks.
My phone buzzes.
