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13
CAMI
Ilook up at the sound of my office door opening, expecting to see my father walking in without knocking yet again. But when I see who it is, my blood turns to ice. Ryder Simmons leans against the doorjamb with that smarmy smile on his face that I hate so much.
“If you need treatment, go see Jordan and he’ll set you up with somebody who can take care of you,” I tell him.
He chuckles and steps inside, closing the door behind him. Appalled by his smug boldness, all I can do is watch as he walks in, drops into the chair on the other side of my desk, and sets his backpack down on the ground at his feet. My stomach feels rock hard, but I swallow the fear down, doing my best to sit up straight and look unaffected by his presence.
“What do you want, Ryder?”
He just keeps smiling at me. Without a word, he leans forward and unzips his bag. When he sits up again, I see a manila envelope in his hands. He looks at it for a moment then tosses it across the desk to me. The blood growing even colder in my veins, I stare at it like it's a snake that’s coiled and ready to strike.
“Open it,” Ryder says.
“No.”
“Oh, I think you should.”
“I think you should get out of my office.”
That grating chuckle drifts from his mouth again, and he shakes his head. “If I walk out of this office, my next stop will be to see your dad. And I really don’t think you want him to see what’s in that envelope, Cami. I think you should open it.”
His words raise goosebumps on my skin and make me even more hesitant to open the envelope and see what’s inside. I have no idea what it could be. Whatever it is, Ryder thinks it gives him some sort of leverage on me with my dad. That alone is enough to send my anxiety through the roof.
“Open it, Cami,” he repeats, his voice cold.
I pick up the envelope with my hands shaking so hard, I almost drop it. I manage to get it open and pull out a stack of pictures. When I see the subject of the photos, the thick, greasy taste of bile coats the back of my throat, and I want to throw up. I shuffle through the pictures and drop them on the desk in front of me.
“What is this, Ryder?”
"That, my dear, looks like you disobeying Daddy's orders," he says with a grin. "That looks like you're fucking Carter Cole."
The pictures are from the restaurant Carter and I went to last night. There are shots of us sitting at our table, holding hands, and looking into each other's eyes. Other shots of us standing at the valet stand and kissing. Other shots show us making out in his truck. And the last set of shots shows us going into Carter's place.
“You had us followed?” I croak. “What the fuck?”
“Now, you knew your daddy ordered Carter and me to stay away from you, right?” Ryder asks. “What do you think he’d say if he knew you were fucking him?”
“Ryder, this is low. Even for you.”
“I bet you anything that your dad would be so pissed, he’d cut Carter. Like immediately,” Ryder goes on like I hadn’t said a word. “And for a man Carter’s age and with his injury history, how many other chances do you think you’d get? The way I hear it, he only signed on here because the GM is his old college coach.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“If your pops saw those pictures and cut Carter, I bet you cash money that would effectively end his career,” Ryder says nonchalantly. “On the upside of that, there’s no question I’d be QB1 coming into the season. I mean, I’m the future of this franchise and your pops knows that, so I’m almost positive I’m going to be QB1 anyway, but getting Carter off the roster will guarantee it.”
“You are disgusting. You are absolutely revolting.”
“Do you want to be responsible for Carter’s playing days coming to an end? On second thought, you will be either way.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He leans forward, his dark brown eyes filled with a malevolent glee, fixed on mine. That slow, creepy smile crosses his lips again.
“Because I’m a winner, Cami. I win everywhere I go,” he says. “Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win. This is just another example of that. I win and I get what I want. In all things. I always get what I want. Always. You get me?”
"No, I don't. What is it you want?" I ask. "If it was as simple as getting Carter cut, you would have gone to my father straight away, so I know that's not it. So, what do you want?"
