Page 93 of Double Puck

To trade Beck Morrison.

"How far are the negotiations?"

Colin shrugs, casual as hell. Like we're discussing lunch options down on the boardwalk and not a human being's entire career.

"Far enough."

I swallow and nod, staring out through the window.

Far enough means offers have been discussed. Contract terms and deals have been floated. Somewhere out there, a general manager in another city is looking at Beck Morrison's name on a whiteboard and deciding what he's worth.

And I'm the one who put it there.

I put it there before I knew what his laugh sounded like when nobody was watching. Before he fed me a cookie on the boardwalk and spent eighty-seven dollars on a claw machine because the stuffed bear reminded him of himself. Before he held me against his chest after sex and breathed into my hair that I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

My mind immediately goes back to last night on the pier.

You'd really be okay somewhere else?

"Darcy?"

"His decision-making still needs work, and I'm not pretending the mistake last night didn't happen. It did. It's going in the report."

"Good."

"But so is everything else. His integration with the team is huge. The Morrison Brother's brand is a huge part of the sell-out crowds. His commercial value is just as massive as the community response surrounding his brothers. And statistically, there are areas moving in the right direction."

Colin watches me carefully.

For the first time since I arrived, he seems to have completely forgotten about surfing.

I take a breath. "I don't think we need to rush anything just yet, sir. You said we had three weeks, so I say we continue to work to that schedule.”

I stand up and smooth my trousers with my sweaty palms. I take a deep breath and try to gather every shred of Madden composure I have left.

"Your call, Madden." Colin waves a hand without looking up from where he's checking surf conditions on his phone again. "Remember, this is why I hired you. I trust your judgement."

My judgement.

I nod once and walk out before he can see the crack in my face.

The hallway is empty. I stand there for three full seconds, hand pressed against the cool concrete wall, breathing.

I pull out my phone and text Josie.

Me: Breakers. Lunch. Now. Bring Rose.

Josie: On my way and by the sounds of it, ordering you a double. (heart emoji)

Breakers is bathed in sunshine as we grab a table on the back deck.

The salt air rolls across me in warm gusts, carrying the smell of grilled onions and hot oil and something deeply, aggressively fried that makes my stomach growl loud enough to turn heads.

Three cold drinks arrive before we've even finished sitting down. Josie ordered ahead, because Josie is the kind of friend who treats hydration like an emergency protocol.

My cocktail glass is already dripping with condensation, tiny beads trailing down the side of a bubbly, tropical mystery drink I don't even know the name of.

"I ordered everything," Josie announces, sliding her sunglasses onto her head as Rose drops into the seat beside her. "And I mean everything."