Chapter 16- Ezra
Schemers gonna scheme.
She didn’t reply to my last text. Dammit, I pushed it. Shouldn’t have talked about earning more moans like it was a foregone conclusion, especially after I came from one little squeeze like the proverbial two-pump-chump.
The usual Friday buzz at the office is multiplied by ten with the upcoming game tomorrow night. Nearly two years of hard work has gone into bringing the Fog from a daydream to a reality. Even the employees not remotely connected to that don’t want to focus on finance today.
I’m worse than all of them.
Except, in my case, I’m more distracted by memories of Wyatt’s goodnight and goodbye routines to care as much about the preseason game as I should. And, I’m much, much too distracted by the thought of Callie’s soft moans, softer skin and the way she felt in my arms when I made her come.
I told the restoration people ASAP yesterday and they’re going above and beyond getting things back in order so fast. I suppose it wouldn’t be kind to wish for another domestic crisis that would give me an excuse to keep them another night, would it?
“Morning, Celeste. Thanks for arranging the courier to Golden Gate earlier.”
“Of course, sir. And, good morning to you,” my assistant says briskly while passing me a cup of coffee. She’s getting better at anticipating my needs and moods.
“Thanks, I needed this,” I tell her, holding up the cup.
Ordinarily, that would produce a smile from her but I know she still feels like she’s walking on eggshells around me some days. I resolve to work on that.
I take a gulp of the hot coffee, awaiting the much-needed caffeine buzz. After I’d carried Callie to the guest room, I’d spent a ridiculous amount of time online tracking down a first-edition copy of everyone’s favorite grump of a dump truck. Lucky me, finding a signed copy here in San Francisco. Felt like fate. Same way it feels having found Callie again and discovering Wyatt.
Nope, the distraction is too much today. One look at the flood of unopened emails on my laptop has me closing it. “Celeste, I’m going over to the arena today. Not sure I’ll come back here before…” I’ve nearly swept past her desk when I truly look at her. “Celeste?”
A fake smile doesn’t hide the tracks of her tears. Fuck. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just personal stuff. Doesn’t matter. I’ll see to it everything is managed here, sir.”
Leaning over, I keep my voice low so the busybodies down the hall won’t hear. “Personal stuff matters, Celeste. If you need to take the day…”
She’s more stubborn than I expect but I win in the end. A few words of comfort, an unexpected hug of thanks. Celeste isn’t like Callie to me but I never gave Callie comfort the night she probably needed it most. I accused her of things and wounded her deeply because I thought I knew everything. I don’t want to be that man ever again.
“I can’t believe I’m crying to my boss over my piece of trash boyfriend,” Celeste sniffles.
I promise her it’s alright and encourage her to go home, to do something nice for herself today. “Namely, dump the piece of trash, Celeste.”
She wipes her eyes, snorting back a laugh. “Yeah, that’s good advice. Thank you, Mr. Sokolov. And, I’m sorry about your suit.”
I shake my head, sending on her way.
The buzz at the arena is on another level and breaks through my rambling, distracted thoughts. My excitement for the team starts to build. The arena workers are checking and double-checking every little thing. Callie’s greeter bots are turned on and I see more than one member of team personnel playing around with them. The players are having a final practice. I speak to several people, from the head coach to the newest assistant trainer. Members of the press are loitering about, hoping for interviews, but we keep them to their designated spaces so they don’t interfere.
I take a seat higher up in the stands where I can watch my team without disruptions. Yes, there’s a twinge of envy that I’m not on the ice but mostly there’s an undeniable sense of pride over this thing I’ve created.
“Did you have a run-in with a makeup counter this morning, Ezra?”
Laughing, I look up to see my father, standing beside my seat. Glancing at my shoulder, I see what he means. No wonder Celeste was apologizing about my suit. “Not exactly. Join me.”
“You said you were busy with a lady the other night. Still busy, eh?” he asks with raised eyebrows.
“Not the same lady.” My father smirks and looks toward the ice. I didn’t mean it that way but decide it best to simply distract him from the topic. “What do you think of Jared’s speed?”
We talk hockey, the one thing we’ve always known how to talk about, but it’s not long before he’s bringing up Chase. “If he could get a weekend pass, perhaps he could catch a flight and see one of the games.”
“I think distractions should be minimal, don’t you think?”
That’s true, surely. I’m not just being selfish. Wanting to protect Callie’s secret isn’t selfish. Wanting to be sure I’m the only Sokolov Callie’s interested in might be.
“I suppose,” my father concedes. “Do you have anyone coming to the game with you? I invited a couple of friends to sit in the box with us.”
“I’m, uh…”
The owner’s box and tomorrow night. I’d have to introduce them, can’t ignore my own father, and what if he says something to Chase about the woman with me and her son?
Below, I notice Emmy, the podcaster, holding her own against the bigger reporters as the players step off the ice. Her grandson had been a nice kid along with his teammates. Wyatt’s team seems like a good group of little kids.
“You can invite as many friends as our box holds, Dad. I’ll be closer to the ice,” I tell my father, weaving the tale as I go. “I’m inviting a group of local youth players to come watch and I’m going to be sitting with them. Community involvement and all that.”
And, hopefully, that will be enough of a smokescreen to protect Callie and Wyatt from any unwanted media scrutiny.
Speaking of unwanted media scrutiny…
“Hi, Ezra!”
My father and I look around to find Amber Ellis at the end of the row. I give the security guy nearby the side eye. I’d specifically requested no press on this level but she flashes that pretty smile and gets all sorts of places when she’s after a story from what I’ve heard.
“She’s a hungry one,” I grumble to my father.
“She’s hungry for more than a news story, son. Beware.”
Rolling my eyes at the old man, I rise to join her. She may be annoyingly persistent but she’s part of the nation’s biggest sports network, the Fog is still very new to the scene and I’m an expert at keeping women at arm’s length when necessary. “Hello again, Amber.”
“Big night coming up for your team tomorrow. Do you have a moment to spare?”
Ordinarily, I’d say no because I hate being cornered by the press. But, she could report about a new team owner spending time with local kids and that would add credibility to my last-minute plan to enjoy Callie and Wyatt’s company tomorrow night without the media wondering who the mystery lady is seated with the well-known billionaire bachelor.
So, I flash a smile of my own. “I always have a moment to spare if you want to hear about my team instead of my non-existent tattoo.”
“I’ve interviewed Blazer. He’s said it exists and he swears it’s a falcon. He just wouldn’t comment where,” she counters, firmly and flirtatiously. “Makes for an intriguing story and I’m all about investigative journalism.”
Her eyes slide down my body and that was definitely a pass being made. Fucking Blazer should’ve kept his eyes to himself in the showers and his lips zipped.
“A little ink intriguing? I can hardly see how.”
“So, you’re saying it’s on the smaller side as tattoos go?”
I smirk, refusing to confirm or deny. I suggest we move to the concourse level but she’s got her own moves in mind. “Oh, I shouldn’t have worn these heels up here. My vertigo.” She grasps my arm, holding on tight and saying she’s afraid of heights. Afraid of heights, my ass.
But, I plan to use her to my advantage so I walk the lady down the steps, figuring I can spare her ten minutes. At least, the story will get around.
When we emerge onto the concourse, I’m surprised and delighted to see Callie is here. I hadn’t expected her today.
She turns and her smile nearly knocks me down. But, the next instant her expression morphs into something else. She stares at Amber who I’m busy trying to shake off. The stubborn reporter follows anyway. Always hungry for more sound bites and way too invested in the story of my tattoo.
“Ms. Anderson, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Yes, unexpected,” Callie repeats, staring at me strangely. “We’re just checking that our end of things is in order.”
Amber clears her throat. Why is she being a pest? “Ezra, I thought we might continue-”
“The interview is over Ms. Ellis. You understand what a busy time this is for me and the team.” Christ, she’s pouting at me. Go away.
“Very well. Thank you for your attention. I’ll leave you to speak with your employee.”
Callie’s mouth thins out as Amber struts away but I’m too damn happy to let the reporter spoil anything. “Could we speak upstairs in my-”
Jameson Reynolds from Golden Gate appears out of thin air beside her, cutting off my question and glaring. I suppose he’s heard less than favorable things about me from Callie, too. “I’m driving back to the office, Ms. Anderson. You staying or going?”
“I can give Ms. Anderson a ride back to Golden-”
“No, I’m afraid that won’t work. Mr. Reynolds and I just rode over here to make sure everything was in order for tomorrow night and to thank you… for the book.”
She drops her head and turns away, leaving me stunned and disappointed. I’d hoped she would be pleased by the book. I’d hoped that maybe she came because she wanted to see me as much as I want to see her.
Instead, that conversation felt as if we didn’t spend last night together. As if nothing has changed between us since the first time we saw each other without our masks weeks ago.