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I skimmed it while dodging the dry-fit shorts Ty chucked at me.
“If those were dirty, I’m gonna fuckin’ whoop your ass,” I informed him seriously before sending Iain a reply.
ME: Busy. Shagging flies.
I didn’t feel like talking to him.
Since Emmett’s party two nights a
go, I’d been vaguely irritated with my agent, mostly because he hadn’t told me about my risk of being traded last year, but there was also the fact that I had a hunch I knew who his source was on the trade intel. I’d asked him repeatedly about where he’d gotten it, and since he wouldn’t say, I suspected it was Emmett. He was Iain’s business partner, my good friend and the younger brother of the guy who owned this team. He was a good dude but I was clearly third in line of where his loyalties lie.
That much had become abundantly clear to me that night of the surprise party.
IAIN: I wasn’t aware you took your phone with you on the field.
IAIN: Read: Don’t bullshit me. I can hear you and Damon dicking around in the clubhouse.
I stared at the text then up at the closed entrance of the clubhouse.
Goddammit.
Muttering under my breath, I reluctantly got up and crossed the room to swing open the door. Standing in the hall plastered with portraits of past and present Empires – myself included – was Iain. He was in a suit, as usual, but he had the jacket draped over his arm, probably because it was ninety degrees outside.
I greeted him with an upward nod, raising my eyebrows when he didn’t immediately tell me what was going on.
“What’s up,” I finally said, annoyed to have to be the one to break the silence.
“Did you read the papers today?” he asked.
“You told me to stop reading the papers.”
I hadn’t gone near them since my first year in New York. The Post had a particular affinity for shitting on me and as a result, I developed a reputation for mouthing off to their reporters during post-game interviews.
Iain nodded.
“True. Then I’ll skip to my next question. Are you really willing to do anything to stay with this team?”
“Yes,” I replied straightaway, despite feeling instantly wary and suspicious.
“Good. Because I have a proposal for you and I have to be back at the office at six, so I’m going to make it quick. We’ll start with this.”
He handed me his phone, which was already open to Page Six. My eyebrows pulled together as I read the bold headline up top.
DREW MADDOX PUBLICLY GROVELS WITH GIRLFRIEND.
I stared.
“What the fuck is this?” I looked up as Drew took his phone back.
“Walk with me,” he said, nodding down the hall and away from the clubhouse. I was already anxious but thankfully, once we got far enough, he went straight into it. “That article assumes that you’re dating the girl from Emmett’s party the other night. Allegedly, you two had an obvious ‘lovers quarrel’ on the terrace, which resulted in your chasing her around and groveling till she forgave you. There’s also mention of how other women were trying to steal your attention, but you only had eyes for your girlfriend,” Iain summarized so fast my swirling thoughts could barely catch up. Looking at his phone again, he read from the article. “‘According to onlookers, Maddox referred to Miss Larsen as ‘wifey’ and even shared a deep and passionate kiss with her under the stars.’”
I blinked, completely floored.
“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
“I’m not,” Iain deadpanned. “They think you did what you’ve never done before, which is show actual shame and remorse with another human being. Another important detail: they claimed this girl from the party was the ‘mystery brunette’ you were photographed ‘wining and dining’ at Mercer Street Kitchen five months ago.”
“That was your girlfriend, and you were literally sitting at the table.”
