I tie the condom in a knot and dispose of it in a discarded coffee cup in her trash can. I don’t want anyone to see it, though, so I pull out the trash bag out of her bin and tie it up as well.
“I can’t seem to get the buttons right again,” she says, a playful sigh leaving her lips.
I steady myself in front of her and adjust her collar first, smoothing down the rest of her blouse before slowly buttoning it back up. I’m on the final button when my eyes drift over her shoulder to a piece of paper with a familiar icon emblazoned at the top, sitting out on her desk.
My hands freeze.
“Hey,” I say, my voice suddenly tight. I swallow down the tiny knives now in my esophagus. “What’s this?”
Campbell tenses under my hands, her eyes landing on the paper in question.
“That logo,” I say, pointing a finger at it. “My grandpa just got a legal notice today from a firm with that exact same logo on the letterhead. It said the town is trying to take my mom’s house under eminent domain.”
Campbell freezes, and though she doesn’t turn to face me completely, I can see enough of her face to notice the color draining out.
“Jake…” she whispers, swallowing hard. Her eyes finally reach mine, and they’re wide and full of panic. “You have to give me time. I’ll look into it.”
I narrow my eyes, a cold knot forming in my gut. “Do you know something about this?”
I reach over her and spin the page on her desk, turning it so the logo faces the right direction.
“Not for certain,” she says quickly, her voice trembling. She reaches out, gripping my forearm with one hand and nudging my jaw with her other hand until our eyes meet again. “But I promise you, the second I know anything for certain, I’ll tell you. Please, just trust me.”
I look down at her. Everything in my past tells me to put my walls up, to suspect she’s hiding something sinister from me. That this is all a grand illusion set up to distract me while slowly, everything I love is torn away. But as I look into her eyes, I feel this powerful, terrifying pull of trust. It’s a weight in my chest that tells me this isn’t just a locker-room hookup or a good time, not that it ever was.
Fucking hell.
I’m falling for her.
“All right,” I say softly, meeting her nod with my own. “I trust you.”
And I pray those words don’t come back to haunt me.
SIXTEEN
CAMPBELL
The late afternoon sun bleeds through my office window, casting long, sharp shadows across my desk. Outside, the muffled thump of the sound system testing the bass echoes through the stadium, a rhythmic reminder that the night game—the start of our crucial home stand—is fast approaching.
I’m supposed to be finalizing the press releases for the weekend—kids’ zone, special food vendors, pie-eating contest, fireworks. I have high hopes of getting regional TV stations out here, but my fingers keep freezing over the keyboard, and my window to get this release out in a timely fashion is quickly shrinking. Every time I close my eyes, I see the lion’s head logo. I see the sick, panicked look on Jake’s face when he realized his family’s legacy is under threat.
Ifeelit in my gut. Like a bullet.
Movement down the hall catches my attention, so I slip out of my office and eye Kevin’s office. I hear the shuffle of papers, then see his body pacing back and forth behind his expansive glass wall.
A sudden surge of adrenaline hits my chest. I need answers, and it’s no use waiting for them to fall in my lap. I force myself to stand, my heels clicking loudly on the polished concrete floors as I march down the short corridor and stop at his open threshold. I knock lightly.
“Kevin? Do you have a quick second to chat?”
He looks up, pulling off his reading glasses with a tired smile. “Always, Campbell. Come on in.”
I step inside and immediately reach back, shutting the heavy wooden door behind me. The sudden quiet of the room feels heavy. Instead of taking the chair directly across from his desk, I cross the room and sit on the leather sofa, trying to project a calmness I absolutely do not feel.
“Everything okay?” he asks, leaning back in his executive chair, his eyes tracking my serious posture.
I fold my hands in my lap, doing my best to ignore how sweaty my palms are.
“Yeah,” I start, clearing my throat and running my clammy palms down the fabric of my slacks. “I just . . . I wanted to ask a few more questions about this buyer you mentioned earlier. The development plans.” I feel around the edges of the topic, testing the waters. “Maybe I’m off base, but I get the feeling that the deal is close to finalizing. And, well, I’m trying to get a head start on the messaging. It would really help to know who we’re dealing with. To be frank, Kevin, I have a feeling about the legal representation involved. Is my fath?—”
