Fierce Storm (San Francisco End Game #5)

Prologue

SALVATORE

D’Angelo. D’Angelo. Where is fucking D’Angelo?

I can’t remember another time when I heard my surname said so much.

Even as a CEO. Dad, yes. Salvatore, yes.

Even Sal. But Mr. D’Angelo and sir? I’m not my fucking father.

Sure, I have a dusting of salt in my previously pepper hair, but that doesn’t warrant the grandeur.

Most of the salt came from the stress surrounding my divorce.

I’m only fifty and I’ve been graying for years.

Why does it feel like my new role as team owner for the San Francisco Storm is going to speed up the process?

My mind runs rampant with the million things I have to get done, and I internally groan.

Book a meeting with the coaching staff.

Organize dinner with the board.

Meet the players.

Check in on Paige.

Paige.

Fuck. I can’t let work take over again. I only just got her back. She left her mother and moved here to be with me. It’s a big deal.

It’s all a big deal. Everything. Not one thing on my goddamn mind is small and God, my head hurts.

I hold my breath as I stride through the halls of Lightning Stadium, breathing a sigh of relief when I make it to my office without anyone stopping me. The door clicks shut behind me, and I jolt. Even that’s too loud for the hammering pain pulsing through my head.

What am I doing?

“Fuck. Fuuck!” I toss my phone across the room, but it lands softly on the couch, giving me no satisfaction. I wanted to see it shatter. Better the phone than my confident composure, because God knows, that’s wavering.

After kicking off my shoes, I lie back on the couch like it’s a psychiatrist’s office and cover my face with my hands.

Five minutes. That’s all I need. Five minutes, and I’ll be Mr. D’Angelo again. San Francisco Storm’s team owner. Business titan. New York billionaire. I just need a moment to be Sal. Father. Son. The man that built his empire from the ground up while still remembering where he came from.

I only manage a few deep breaths before knuckles softly rap against my door. And there goes that. With a huff under my breath, I stretch my toes and reluctantly sit up, pulling on my shoes before standing. I’ve been found.

“Yes?” I call out, keeping my tone as even as possible.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tabitha, my new assistant, speaks quietly through the closed door, and it’s nearly impossible to hear her. “Keeley’s needed for a media call.”

Did she say Keeley? “What?”

“Keeley’s—”

“You can come in, Tabitha. I’m not naked in here.”

The door opens and my assistant pops her head in, her messy brown hair escaping from her ponytail, as though she’s been frantically rushing around, her flushed cheeks suggesting the same.

She smiles shyly and fuck my life. This isn’t going to work if she feels the need to tiptoe around me all the time. “Thank you. What were you saying?”

“Oh. Ah…” She frowns, her eyes darting around the room. “I thought Keeley was in here.”

“Who’s Keeley?” I tilt my head to the side, lips pursed as I follow her gaze. Other than me, my office is empty.

I was advised to bring my own assistant, but no, I left her in New York to keep an eye on my new general manager, while I gallivanted to the other side of America to follow a childhood dream. Just because one has enough money to buy a football franchise doesn’t mean they should.

Tabitha rubs her forehead in confusion, which in turn confuses me. “Keeley’s our media liaison. You haven’t met her?”

“Tabitha, I’ve met a hell of a lot of people today, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure I would remember that name.”

“Okay. Well, she’s great. You’ll love her. Now I have to try and track her down because I said she was here. Do you need anything before I do that?”

“Why would you— Never mind. No. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Good.”

Tabitha turns to leave, and my pounding head makes me stop her. “Actually, can I have fifteen minutes to myself? Uninterrupted.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Tabitha’s pink cheeks darken, and I internally curse myself.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Tabitha. You’re doing your job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir.”

“Okay, sir.”

For fuck’s sake. I force a smile and wave her away before I fall back onto the couch, my fingers immediately moving to rub my throbbing temples.

This is a goddamn shit show. Financial issues, management power struggles, a fucking TV show.

It’s a mess. And I’m the idiot who volunteered to pick up the pieces.

Actually, I didn’t volunteer; I paid a shit ton of money to do it. All because of a fucking dream.

“Fuuck.” This day needs to end and it’s only eleven thirty.

“Can I help?”

“Jesus Christ.” I stiffen at the honeyed voice coming from above my head, dropping my hands to reveal a beautiful woman with thick auburn hair cascading down her shoulders. She stares down at me, her expression confident as she pops her hip. Where the hell did she come from?

I push up from the couch, preparing to greet her, thankful that I’d left my shoes on this time. As I stand, my gaze sweeps along her fitted navy suit, following the line of her dress pants until it stops at her pointed-toe stiletto heel. The kind that tells me she means business.

Though, the fact that she’s standing in my office unannounced should have given that away.

When I’m at full height, she straightens, standing taller, but still has to lift her gaze to meet mine, and her striking blue eyes catch my attention.

“Can I help you?” I counter, my lips curling into a forced grin. “I’m Salvatore, and you are…”

“Keeley. Sir.”

“Keeley?” She winks and my brows raise so fast, I guarantee it looks comical. “Right. So you were in my office?” As the question leaves my mouth, it occurs to me that she could have just walked in, until I remember the way she said “sir.” She was here. But where?

“I was,” she confirms, and while her confidence never wavers, the hint of guilt flashes in her eyes.

“I just told my assistant you weren’t.”

“I heard.” She cringes adorably before a smile lights up her face, telling me she doesn’t actually care about my mistake.

“You also asked for fifteen minutes of uninterrupted alone time.” Her smile widens as she stares at me pointedly, and when I understand her meaning, I actually laugh.

My first since I got here. What a fucking day.

“How can I help you, Keeley?”

“You’re not going to ask why I was hiding?”

“Nope. I’ve had a pretty surreal morning. What’s one more bizarre occurrence? Though I am curious as to where you were hiding. In case I need to disappear one day.”

Keeley snorts, her gaze falling to my hands, alerting me to the fact that my fists are clenched. “I was under your desk.” She gestures toward the grand mahogany structure in the middle of my office, and I chuckle again, flexing my fingers.

“Okay. Good to know.” Though I won’t be hiding there anytime soon, considering there’s a full wall of windows behind that desk. Windows that look directly onto the Storm practice field. If anyone had been on that turf, they would have seen Keeley.

A visual of this beautiful woman on her knees under my desk threatens to further complicate my already complicated day, and I change the subject to push it from my mind.

“Anyway, back to why?—”

“Ugh. Fine. I was patiently waiting for you to finish your meeting, and that painting caught my eye.” She points to the original work I had commissioned during the build of my first luxury apartment complex, after making it to the big leagues.

I still smile when I pass by that building in New York, thankful that it’s not the project that ended my marriage.

That one came with proud smiles from my now ex-wife.

“I didn’t mean to hide,” Keeley continues, bringing my mind back to the present, “but when you walked in and tossed your phone against the cushions, yelling ‘fuck’ several times, I deduced that you might need a minute to yourself. My brother owns the title for the world’s grumpiest human, so I can tell when it’s better to stay out of the way. ”

Wow, okay. “Thanks for that.” She’s a talker. “I was actually asking why you wanted to see me.”

“Oh.” Keeley throws her head back and laughs out loud, the light sound pulling another genuine response from within me.

This time a smile. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Storm’s media liaison.

I’m here to help make this as easy and painless as possible.

At least when it comes to the public’s perception of what’s going on. ”

“Great. Any idea who’s here to help with the players’ perception of what’s going on?

Or management?” I chuckle so she’ll think I’m joking, but if she has an answer, I want to hear it.

I couldn’t give a fuck about what the media thinks.

It’s the people within these stadium walls that concern me the most, and it’s not looking good.

Keeley smiles sympathetically. “There lies your first problem. No one knows what’s happening.

There are rumors, of course. That’s always going to be the case.

But with so many conflicting stories, no one knows what to believe.

And you’re the man they’re expecting to set it all straight.

The man we’re all expecting to set it straight. ”

She stares at me in question and I wince.

“Fuck.” Spinning away from her, I run my hand through my hair and inhale slowly. I prepared for this. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. “It?—”

“Sucks to be you?”

A throaty chuckle rumbles out of me as I turn back around, and Keeley shrugs, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, and yet, hearing it aloud feels wrong.

My eyeline shifts to the field out my window, and a moment of calm washes over me. I chose this. I’m here because I want to be here and I’ve never shied away from a challenge.

Closing my eyes, I let the moment consume me, vowing to fight my battles head-on from here on out. I’m Salvatore Fucking D’Angelo. I’ve got this.

“I take it back.” Keeley cuts into my thoughts, drawing my attention, and I catch her gaze morphing from amusement to curiosity, then to something that looks a hell of a lot like respect and understanding.

“It doesn’t suck to be you at all. You’re not just the man we expect to set it straight; you’re the man we need to fix the problem.

And something tells me you’re going to do a hell of a job. ”

My stomach clenches, and for the first time since making the decision to buy this team, I think I have an ally.

So, instead of puffing my chest out and confidently accepting the compliment, I offer her a rare moment of truth.

“I’m not so sure you’re right. I guess we’re going to find out.”