Chapter 47
Antonio
“Excuse me. Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist is on her feet. Her slender hips switch in tall heels to beat me to the door next to her desk.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks again, skidding to a stop in front of me.
Her penciled brows slanted into toothpicks are a reminder of my media training.
I’m a walking brand at all times, which is the only reason this door isn’t modeling my silhouette.
Flinging Kieran from a window is a different story.
He’d fall four floors before he met the sidewalk.
Anyone who messes with Miriam can die twice.
I knew something was wrong with Dickhead.
It was bad enough that he took my baby out for a tasteless salad and paid for a date to get close to her.
I never thought he’d physically hurt her, but this?
Stealing her idea to patent it for himself is sinister.
The reason why he did it doesn’t matter.
He preyed on her, and that won’t go unchecked.
“If you don’t have an appointment, you need to leave.”
Her again.
I could ignore Bobblehead Brooke and push past her. She’s the size of my elbow, but that wouldn’t end well for her or for me. She’d weaponize her tears on a two-part prime-time special, while I’d be staring at a double-digit sentence for shoulder-checking her too hard.
Option number two it is. Charm.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise a friend. Is Kieran here?” I practice my mugshot grin and point to the door.
Her softening scowl becomes wide-eyed. “You play for the Steel.”
“Guilty.”
“I saw you on PSN the other night. You’re…fit.” That nasally voice wanted to kick me out thirty seconds ago. Her gaze slides over my navy parka and down my sweats to my winterized sneakers. In hindsight, I should’ve worn steel-toed boots to stomp her boss’s ass, but I had to improvise.
“Can I run in real quick?” I didn’t come here to get eye-fucked. “Gotta get back to practice.”
“Yes, of course!” Her lashes flutter. “He’s free for the next hour.”
“Which office?”
“Fifth door on your left. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I won’t. “Appreciate it.”
Polished floors grumble under my feet as I make my way down the annoyingly long hallway.
Miriam’s tears play on an endless loop. She was still in her car when I pulled up to her house yesterday after practice.
Her gloves gripped the steering wheel, her breath visible in icy puffs.
Her eyes, full of light and my forever, didn’t blink.
She just stared until panic rose with the flush rising up her throat.
Doe is an angel among the living, too kind for this world.
I don’t deserve her, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve anyone playing in her face and stealing her brilliance.
After I kissed away every tear, I promised I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my freedom, but this motherfucker is seeing me.
Voices float under Kieran’s door. I let myself in.
“What are you doing in my office?” His eyes double in size, like he’s unsure if he wants to square up or stay behind the safety of his desk. Like I won’t clear it feetfirst.
Kieran doesn’t know who I am, but he’s smart enough to realize I’m not here to talk about bridges. He eases back into his chair, doing everything he can to look important in a bland suit that matches his bland office.
I’ve seen his type on the pitch. Players who talk shit but flinch before a tackle. His breathing changed, and so did his heart rate, given the erratic pulse popping out of his neck.
Silence chokes the office until someone clears his throat. In the corner, next to the door, is the second man on my shit list.
Frank Mancini.
“Antonio, right?” His head tilts, shifting the light from his Chuck Norris toupee to a mole sprouting on the bridge of his bulbous nose.
I don’t know if the former action star wears a hairpiece, but Mancini would benefit from a trip to the beauty supply store on Bailey.
A lace wig and some edge control might work wonders.
I tower over him by almost a foot. He’s short, with leathery skin hanging from his meaty features and bony shoulders that barely fill out his gunmetal suit. For one of Buffalo’s elite, he looks like he needs to check his drawers every time he farts.
“I’m here for Kerry.”
“Kieran,” Dickhead corrects.
“Kerry, like I said.” I smile. “I don’t see any accolades around your office. Is that why you get off on stealing ideas and selling them as your own?”
He swallows hard and looks away. “I think you’re mistaken.”
“Now that would make my lady a liar, and she’s far from it. Miriam is brilliant, but you already knew that.”
Kieran’s eyes snap to mine, his face a shade of rage.
Yeah, she’s mine.
I grin and cut the distance to put my palms on his desk. “You trying to get out your seat?”
“I suggest you go back to where I pay you, which is the field,” Mancini cuts in. “My business doesn’t concern you.”
I whip around, careful not to give Kieran my back. His trifling ass might try to take me out with some scissors. “Oh, but it does when it involves someone I love. Fix it. Now.”
“Or?” Mancini challenges.
“Or I have no problem going public.” That is, once Miriam gives the okay.
Cold gray eyes flash black. Mancini’s scowl loosens into a tight smile. “Good luck playing rugby after I release you. Nobody messes with my money.”
“And no one fucks with my baby,” I spit. “You own the team, not me.”
His tongue drags over his veneers. “I do own you, boy.”
I got your fucking boy.
“We’ll see about that.”
“Mind giving me a heads-up the next time you decide to wage war on the owner of this team?” Coach Washington rips off his glasses to massage his temples.
“I’ve been on the phone all morning with people I’ve never spoken to before about you disrespecting Mancini to his face.
Not to mention payroll will be late again. ”
My brow shoots to the ceiling. “And you think that’s a coincidence? How the hell is that permissible in the league?”
Coach eyes me. “It’s not. I reached out to a few people at the RLA to get to the bottom of it.” He lets out a long breath. “We’re already on thin ice with so many teams dropping. We don’t need this right now.”
I figured word would reach my coaches after I pulled up on Dickhead. Mancini is a coward. An aged version of Big Boy Caprice from Dick Tracy, who wants to punish me by punishing the team. I never meant for the Steel to get caught up in this, but I refuse to be silent.
“I’m not playing on Saturday.”
“What?!” The walls in the office shudder under Coach’s shout.
“I’m not playing on Saturday, the next game, or the one after that,” I say to his deepening frown. “Mancini’s real estate company is working with a firm that’s stealing Miriam’s idea. They’re gonna patent it.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly,” I nod. “I was fully prepared to stand alone, because it’s not the Steel’s fight.
To be honest, I think we should sit out the rest of the season until the RLA investigates why payroll issues continue to occur.
There’s no players’ union to protect us, but compensation violations are a big deal, no?
It’s not a coincidence to me that money starts getting funny around the time the Hunter Development Corporation announces a new project.
All I’m saying is, it might be worth looking into at some point. ”
Coach drags a hand across his face. His eyes catch on the photos of the team that line his broom closet of an office.
“A protest would yield consequences.” His stare slides back to me.
“Possible lawsuits, in the millions. Let me try to handle things on my end before it comes to that. Riggs can take your position on Saturday. Just give me some time, son.”
I stand from the seat that’s putting my ass to sleep. “Do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I need to do.”
If that means my time in the league is up, so be it. Doe will always come first.