Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
SALVATORE
“Thanks, Bronte. I appreciate you keeping me up to date.” Thank God for friends in high places.
If it weren’t for Bronte and her publishing contacts, I’d be completely out of the loop on Gregory’s damn book.
I should also be thankful that she’s still friendly with me since she was Camilla’s friend first.
“Anytime, Sal. I’ll be in San Francisco next month; we should meet for a drink. It could be a good time to talk about your own memoir.”
“Mine?” I chuckle under my breath. “No one wants to read that story. I’m boring as hell.”
“A billionaire workaholic who ran his marriage into the ground before moving halfway across the country to buy a football franchise, while continuing to run his business? Not to mention your adventures assisting in the arrest of two crooked businessmen, saving your daughter from public humiliation.”
“Wow. Something tells me you’ve thought about this. Also…you know way too much about me.”
“You know Camilla and I will always be close.”
“I do. I just didn’t realize she was still talking about me.”
“I love her, but she’ll talk about anyone for attention.”
Anyone? My hackles rise and a tightness works its way into my chest. “Even the kids?”
“No,” Bronte’s quick to reassure me. “I promise. She doesn’t talk about the kids. Not in a gossipy way.”
“Good.”
“Anyway, moving on. I have contacts. I could find you a ghostwriter.”
I chuckle again, my brows furrowing. “Thank you. If I ever decide to go down that path, I’ll keep you in mind.”
“Please do.”
“Talk soon.”
“Definitely.”
I hang up and immediately pour myself a whiskey, the idea of sharing my life with the world eliciting a dull pang in my stomach. Gregory’s tell-all is sharing enough; I don’t need any more out there, even if he doesn’t mention my name. He’s attacking my team and that’s like a personal attack on me.
Thank God for the delay in the release. It turns out, the Storm football team wasn’t the only team he mentioned in his book, and he’s currently being sued for defamation over one statement he made about another franchise’s general manager stealing money from his players to support his luxurious life.
Of course, his claims come with no reasonable proof.
What the hell kind of publishing company lets shit like that through?
I probably owe them a drink, because without that, we’d be thrust back into the spotlight again at the start of a new season. Here’s hoping the case goes to trial and takes years to be resolved, and maybe they’ll scrap the book altogether.
After sitting down at the desk in my home office, I roll the bottom edge of my glass on the dark wood grain finish, staring at the liquid as it swishes close to the edge.
I needed this news, and while it could still go either way, it feels like a temporary victory. Meaning, it’s back to normal programming for me. And that means budgets.
I’ve been spending more time in this office over the past few months, working on D’Angelo Construction during the Storm’s offseason. But that’s all about to change now that we’re back in the swing of things.
It felt wrong to work full days in the Storm office when I wasn’t doing anything for the team, so it made sense to move my work here. It had nothing to do with avoiding the temptation of a beautiful redhead. Nothing at all.
Time passes slowly as I stare at the numbers in front of me, unable to process a single thing as that beautiful redhead haunts my mind. I’m so out of it that when my phone vibrates across the desk, I jolt, my heart racing as though I’ve been caught with my mind wandering where it shouldn’t.
Which is exactly what was happening.
Instead of thinking about the task at hand, I’ve been thinking about Keeley. Replaying her moment with Beckett in the locker room.
It wasn’t even a fucking moment and yet… What the fuck am I doing?
It’s been months since we kissed, and I still can’t stop thinking about the softness of her lips and the light whimper that escaped her.
I can’t have her. Plain and simple.
We work together, she’s my daughter’s closest friend, her goddamn sister-in-law, and more than that, she’s twenty years younger than I am. We’ve been over this.
So why can’t I accept that truth? She has. She seems to have moved on easily. Business as usual.
My phone vibrates again, reminding me I missed a text, and I absentmindedly pick it up, unlocking the screen without looking at the sender.
KEELEY: Hi
Keeley? Hi? My eyes bulge over a two-letter fucking word, and I stare at it for a beat before deciding how to answer.
If I was to scroll back through our message chain, I’m certain I’d discover that the last time either one of us texted about something that wasn’t work-related was right around the time that we kissed.
Although, since she only said hi, I’m making the assumption that it’s not about work.
SALVATORE: Hi back.
KEELEY: Why is it awkward between us now?
SALVATORE: I didn’t think it was.
KEELEY: You know it is
I laugh at her response though it’s not exactly true. When we’re at work, it’s like nothing has changed. Only we no longer have after-hours working dinner dates, long chats in my office, and we don’t talk about anything personal. She could have a fiancé and I’d have no idea.
Okay, that’s not entirely true because Paige would have mentioned that, most likely in the sense that Easton was grumpy about it. The point is that I don’t really know what’s going on in her life. Like what she’s doing at—I check the time and groan—one thirty in the morning. What the fuck?
SALVATORE: It’s not awkward, though I did think you’d given up on me. As a friend.
There’s so much more I want to say right now, but it’s none of my business.
KEELEY: I haven’t given up on you. As a friend
SALVATORE: Okay. This is work-related then?
KEELEY: Definitely not. I don’t talk about work when I’m drinking
Fuck. I reread her previous text and laugh at myself. She hasn’t given up on me as a friend, just as someone to give her more than that.
SALVATORE: Where are you?
KEELEY: Wouldn’t you like to know?
Yes. Dammit.
SALVATORE: That’s why I asked, Keeley.
KEELEY: I’m out. With friends
KEELEY: Actually, I WAS out with friends, but they left
SALVATORE: Where are you?
I have to stop myself from calling her or overpunctuating the text to show my frustration. She’s in her thirties and not my responsibility. I need to calm the fuck down.
KEELEY: I’m out
Goddammit, Keeley. I clench my fist and tap it against my lips, taking a deep breath through my nose. I don’t have to worry. I don’t have to worry.
SALVATORE: Are you having a good night?
My fingers stab the letters a lot harder than necessary while I say the words out loud, my teeth clenched.
KEELEY: I am, thank you
SALVATORE: Good. Who were you out with? Anyone I know?
Please tell me it was Paige. She mentioned something about wanting to sleep in tomorrow so that could be why.
KEELEY: Hayley, Amelia, Blair, and Paige. But they went home to their men
KEELEY: The guys on your team. Your players
KEELEY: I’m happy to report there are no players here tonight. Well, no SPORTS players. Wait, I guess the guys could be athletes, though I don’t recognize any. Maybe they’re rookies
Christ, she’s not just drinking, she’s drunk. And she’s texting me.
SALVATORE: …
KEELEY: Are you sure you want me to be single? There are a lot of fine-looking men here
Fuck. I have no right to want her to be any way—single or otherwise—but I don’t like where this is going.
SALVATORE: Don’t do something you regret in the name of pissing me off.
KEELEY: Believe it or not, I only do things for myself
I believe it. Still…pissing me off would bring her a lot of joy right now. I blow out a breath and stand, pacing the floor of my office, abandoning the glass of whiskey I never actually got to sip. What the fuck do I do here?
I pass my desk, and a photo of Paige comes into view.
Paige.
SALVATORE: Hey kiddo. Were you at the Westerly tonight? A friend thought he saw a photographer following you around. I wanted to check in.
PAIGE: It’s 1:30, Dad. You worry too much. But thank you. I wasn’t there. I was at The Satin Rose
She was where? I’ve never heard of that place. Even so… Thank you, Paige.
SALVATORE: Good. But I’ll always worry. That’s not going to stop anytime soon.
With a sigh, I sit back down and grab my glass of whiskey, a little of the tension leaving my body as I finally take a sip.
PAIGE: You need a girlfriend
I choke on the liquid, coughing a few times as I rub my chest.
I don’t need a girlfriend. Worrying about Paige is a full-time job, and now look at me worrying about Keeley.
I’m too old for this shit.
Speaking of Keeley, what the hell am I going to do?
SALVATORE: Can you please look after yourself, Keels?
KEELEY: Always. Someone’s got to do it. Have a good night, Sal
SALVATORE: You too.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my ankle over my knee as I swirl my glass. It’s one thirty a.m. I should be going to bed. And I will. I’m going to finish this drink and go to bed. It’s the smart thing to do.
I’m a goddamn billionaire running a construction company while being a hands-on owner of a football team. I’m a smart man.
I’m going to bed.