Page 128 of Double Puck

"I have that effect on markets."

He smiles.

And you know what? It looks absolutely genuine.

"So here's what we see. We want you in a city that builds stars. Instead of borrowing them." He taps the table. "In Beachside, you're one of three Morrisons. Here, you'd be the only one. You'll be the face on the billboard. The headline each and every week." He leans in closer, looking me dead in the. "Beck, you sign for us, and I promise you, you'll be the guy this whole town shows up for."

And there it is.

Everything I've ever wanted, plated and served with the good silverware.

Not the baby brother. Not the bundle deal. Not the punchline waiting for someone else's decision.

The guy.

Proper ice time, the spotlight, a franchise saying we choose you before I've had to earn it, charm it, or joke my way into it.

Last night, I'd have signed right here on the tablecloth.

But my brain keeps going sideways.

They keep talking around me, with Philip searching for numbers, a defined role, and a development plan with my name on the top line instead of the bottom.

And it's good. It's genuinely, legitimately good.

Philip is glowing beside me like a man watching his commission do jumping jacks.

But I can't stop the images flashing through my mind.

To a black lace G-string on the floor of Goldie's and me throwing my body over it like a grenade. To her laugh echoing in the back kitchen of a gala, both of us hiding from four hundred people in tuxedos. To her swimming into my arms at dawn, hair plastered to her cheeks, grinning up at the sunrise because for the first time in her whole Spreadsheet life, she'd figured out how to float.

To every version of her — buttoned-up Darcy, jogging Darcy, furious Darcy.

It's all just… Darcy, Darcy, Darcy.

And you know what?

All of it leads to the one question I still can't answer.

So where does that leave us?

The meeting winds down with handshakes and the assistant GM saying "we're serious, Beck," and me saying "I can tell," and then it's just Philip and me and the ruins of the charcuterie board.

"That was the best pitch I've heard in ten years, Beck." Philip studies me over his cold espresso. "What do you think?"

"I'm excited. Really excited, actually."

He puts the coffee down and plants his forearms on the table. "So what's with the frown?"

I sigh. "There's a woman."

Philip looks at me like Biscuit did after he pissed on Declan's gym bag and somehow expected me to fix it.

"Beck…"

"I know, man. I know." I turn my water glass in a circle on the white tablecloth. "The problem is, she's smart. Terrifyingly smart. She has a spreadsheet about me and everything. It's not flattering, but she said she loves me last night. Mid-argument, which honestly, was kind of hot."

"And you're telling me this because…"