Delivered without arrogance, just certainty.
Jayson leaned back, glass resting loosely in his hand. “The league is going to go hard on promoting the rivalry. You and Reyes will likely be a focal point of the season.”
“The media does this every year. It’s part of the machine. As long as they keep paying me, I will keep playing regardless of what media mess they get me into.”
“You know each other well?”
The question landed with a piercing stare. Piper remained composed and kept his expression neutral. “Not really. We never played together since he was in another conference than me. I mean he is a talented dude, but careless.”
“Talent is rarely the entire story.”
“He improvises and that’s his thing.”
Jayson smiled faintly. “You disapprove of his style?”
“It’s careless and it’s just not my thing.”
“Does the rivalry bother you?”
“No, we have played one game and let’s not forget I won.”
Then there was silence which was a favorite of Jayson’s. Silence gave him more power over the conversation or whatever deal was in front of him.
Jayson nodded, apparently satisfied. “Public narratives are useful. They give people something to watch. You need to make the fans happy.”
“Okay,” Piper replied.
The jet began to descend as Jayson stood and adjusted his jacket. Even in the narrow aisle he moved with quiet authority like every moment was a negotiation.
“You will come to the house next month.”
“Of course.”
“There will be people I want you to meet.”
“Investors?” Piper asked.
“Something like that.” He paused near the front of the cabin. “You understand, Piper, that success requires careful relationships. I have spent many years building those relationships.”
His gaze settled. “And many years building you.”
Jayson lifted his glass when he sat back down.
“To the future. By the way, how is the Lalique doing?”
Piper raised his glass, “Hanging.” He sipped, the scotch burned.
He followed Jayson off the plane.
He knew what was next, and dreaded it.
Chapter Four: Los Angeles Nine years earlier
The charity auction at the Montage was for something his father would not have donated to if it hadn’t been a chance to be seen donating. Piper was twenty-one. He wore a borrowed suit cut slightly too narrow across the shoulders and stood near the bar with a club soda, pretending to follow a conversation about venture capital he couldn’t care less about.
Across the room, his mother worked. Donna always worked the room.
He had watched her do this since he was a child. Her hand resting on someone’s forearm. A slight forward lean, calibrated to suggest the conversation mattered to her and only to her. The person always leaned back in. His mother’s whole life had been built on leaning back in. She had Piper at seventeen so she was still a kid and her looks always garnered a certain amount of attention.
