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“I’m so glad you asked.” She did a little circle, taking in the room—the room service and the champagne bucket. “I didn’t think a recovering addict could drink?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, so that bottle is for your company?” CiCi shook her head. “A whole bottle to herself?”
Brock ran a hand over his face, trying not to laugh. Then again, it was hard to imagine Emmy Lou drinking an entire bottle of champagne. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea.
“I never thought a football star like you would need to ply a woman with alcohol?” She wrinkled her nose and held up her hand. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Hell yes. She’d talk, he’d pretend to listen, then he could get back to important things. Like Emmy.
/> “I thought we’d agreed to pull the plug on this whole Bremmy media frenzy.” Her voice was soft, cajoling.
“I didn’t say a damn thing.” When the hell would he learn to keep his mouth shut?
“Right, I remember now. You’re not playing a game.” She took a deep breath. “You’ve just been pining away for her, all these years, but kept quiet? And now that your position is threatened by some younger, faster player, you’ve decided to try to win her back publicly?” To listen to her, anyone would agree that he was a self-serving bastard using her daughter for PR.
He knew better. “Is it so hard to imagine that I care about Emmy Lou?”
“Now?” She nodded. “Yes.”
Brock shook his head. “Not now. Always.”
Silence descended, seeping into every corner of the room.
Whatever CiCi was feeling, she masked it well.
Eventually, she looked at the table, the strawberries, the champagne, and the candles. “A deep, abiding love.” Her eyes narrowed.
He bit down hard.
The intense vibrating of his phone made them both pause.
“Do you need to get that?” she asked, staring at his phone.
He crossed the room, hit the mute button, and shoved it into his pocket. “Nope.”
“There is no one else here. Me and you.” She picked up a strawberry. “What will it take to get you to leave Emmy and my family alone?”
“Excuse me?” He didn’t like this.
“You heard me. I want you to think about it,” she said, searching his face. “I don’t know if this is about getting even with Emmy or… Is this to spite me? Because you blame me for your heartbreak all those years ago?”
And that’s when he understood why she was here. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Of what? You? Oh, sugar, you have no idea.” CiCi smiled. “You think you got that Roughnecks contract on your own? You think Hank being drinking buddies with Ed Salinas didn’t help? Ed Salinas, the owner of your little football team? Wake up, Brock. Hank saw what was happening. The minute someone interferes with his family, his children, he removes the obstacle. Why do you think you were drafted so quickly? Your talent? This family has helped you out more than you deserve. Didn’t your father ever tell you it’s not smart to bite the hand that feeds you?” She stepped forward. “I’m not scared, Brock. If anyone should be scared, it should be you.”
“Leave Emmy Lou alone or face the consequences?” He had to smile. “You do realize that sounds pretty damn over-the-top, don’t you?”
“I do.” She nodded, her smile wide. “You’re good at knocking people on their asses on the field. I’m excellent at knocking people on their asses in real life. Try me.” Her gaze bounced to the room service table. “You enjoy your evening. I’m taking my girls out to this fun little sushi place on the wharf.”
He didn’t move until the door had closed.
“Fuck.” He paced the length of his hotel room, sat on the couch, then stood and paced some more. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and opened it.
The first was a picture of Emmy, pouting, with Watson. Momma has sabotaged our night. Miss me.
I do. He smiled, running his finger along her face.
