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He seems honest, but my protective nature makes it hard to believe a damn thing he’s saying. It’s not as easy as reminding myself of our friendship and letting it go. This is my family on the line here.
“Why the wait for Maddox’s contract? Why not offer it to him sooner, before this all happened?”
He huffs a rough laugh. “I was trying to find the money. The new GM is a disappointment. He offered too much to too many guys last season, and I needed to figure out a way to make it work.”
A small tinge of guilt settles in my stomach, but I ignore it, nodding tightly.
“You need to let Maddox make his own choices, Alex. Without judgment or your petty threats. Own up to your part in this, and stop blaming everyone else. He’s not going to change his mind on this, and pushing him even harder is only going to make things worse,” I say shortly.
His jaw pulses, eyes drifting shut for a moment before opening again. “You’re asking me to let my best player skip out on the final round of the playoffs and potentially cost the VW a shot at the cup.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m asking you to leave my family alone. As a friend. And to help me get rid of Rose Carpenter.”
* * *
BRAXTON
The Sports Weekly office is small, tucked between a pet store and a seemingly empty hole-in-the-wall diner. Only a handful of cars are parked in the joint lot.
All it took was a quick phone call from my father to get an interview arranged for this afternoon. Rose Carpenter is a snake in high grass—impossible to see coming until it’s too late. But I’m ready, and I refuse to be taken by surprise again.
If a story is what she wants, then that’s what she’ll get. I’d do anything for Maddox, and if this will save his career, I’m going to risk the fallback. I will never let him suffer at my expense again.
My phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans again, and I ignore it. Just like I have the past three times it started to vibrate.
I step inside the office and take in the strong smell of coffee and concerning number of potted plants. There’s a young woman at the front desk, spinning the desk chair in circles and blowing bubbles in bright pink gum. As soon as she spots me, she lurches in the chair and pops the bubble between her lips, sucking it back into her mouth.
“Hello! Oh my God, I am so sorry about that,” she rushes out.
I stifle a laugh. “It’s fine. I’m here to see Rose? We have a meeting at four thirty.”
She nods, dipping her head toward the computer and beginning to type. A second later, she’s bringing the corded phone to her ear and making a call to her boss.
“Mhm. Okay. I’ll send her back,” she says before setting the phone down. Clearing her throat, she glances up at me, smiling timidly. “You can head back. First door on the right.”
I’m not sure why I expected Rose to come rushing out to lead me to her office herself, but I’m a bit surprised she didn’t. For someone as hungry for a story as she is, I was ready for a bit more . . . excitement.
“Thank you,” I tell the receptionist before brushing past the desk.
There are only two other offices across from Rose’s—one door open and the other closed—and a staff room at the end of the hall. A few frames line the walls with small snippets of articles and a signed photo of the Warriors in their retro jerseys from last year.
Suddenly, the door to Rose’s office flies open and she steps out, wearing a navy pantsuit and heels so high they should come with a safety warning. Her thick black hair is tied in a pretty bun at the base of her head, and her makeup is applied flawlessly.
If she weren’t out to get me and my man, I might have asked her for some tips.
“Braxton Heights,” she greets me, painting a sly smile on her glossy lips. “I’m so happy you decided to come in. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”
She shifts to clear the doorway, and I walk past her, trying to bite my tongue but failing.
“Oh, but I thought we already had an interview?”
Sitting on one of the dusty pink chairs in front of her desk, I watch her fumble slightly from my peripheral vision as she walks past me and then sits in her desk chair.
“Your father told me about your quick comebacks. I should have been better prepared.”
I hum. “I heard my father also told you not to bug my car, but you did that anyway.”
If it weren’t for the heavy bob of her throat, she wouldn’t have given her discomfort away. Her face stays blank as I stare at her, accusation heavy in my eyes.
