CHAPTER NINE
Dublin
Josie clicks the door shut behind her as she leaves. And just like that, without a buffer between us, the conference room suddenly feels like a powder keg once again.
“So,” he says, dragging the word out as he leans back in his chair, arms folded loosely across his chest. “That was fun.”
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I take my time closing the folder in front of me, aligning the edges with more care than necessary before lifting my gaze to meet his.
“It’s clear she knows what she’s doing. She had a lot of good advice. I’m sure if you follow it, it’ll help,” I say professionally.
His mouth quirks but there isn’t any humor behind it. “So glad you were here to tell me what would help.”
Yep, he’s definitely pissed off now.
He pushes to his feet in one smooth movement. The chair scrapes quietly behind him as he steps closer, closing the distance in a way that feels intentional. “Funny how you’re the only new variable in my life and somehow everything blows up the second you show up.”
“Everything? Last I checked, I wasn’t the one responsible for your on-field performance nor your arm,” I say, meeting his gaze without flinching.
His laugh is hollow and sarcastic. “Wow.” He pretends to put a dagger in his heart. “Going straight for the jugular with that one.”
“Just stating facts.”
“Facts? More like you’re trying to reassign blame because someone leaked your investigation, and you’re too goddamn perfect for it to possibly be you.”
The anger is there and it’s warranted. I had no right to say what I said, and yet—
“Is that what this is?” he asks, head tilted slightly and eyes sharpening as he looks at me like he just put something together. “You’re here on crisis media training when how I handle this is none of your damn business because you’re trying to clean up your own mess?”
My stomach tightens. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, you do.” His voice drops, loses some of its bite but gains what sounds like resolve. He studies me for a beat and for the first time, I struggle not to look away. “You don’t think I did this, do you?”
I don’t respond because I almost say yes.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he says, watching me closely now. “You don’t think I’m guilty, but now the whole world does, so you’re trying to play both sides. Do your job while making sure you don’t look like the one who screwed me over.”
I refuse to be bullied by this man, even if I understand his anger.
“My job requires me to operate on data and facts and interviews and those are what matters most.”
“Bullshit.”
“I won’t stand here and be disrespected, Cole.”
He chuckles. The asshole.
“Right. That going in your report too?”
“Enough. I have a job to do and so do you. We’re on the same team.”
He snorts and looks around slowly before his eyes find mine again, his lips curving slow and deliberate like he’s just decided something. “Is it the conflict of interest making you so touchy?”
There’s a beat, where his words hit my ears and my lips ask, “Conflict of interest?”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it, Trouble?”
For a second, I don’t breathe. Don’t move. Can’t think.
Because with that one nickname, comes everything I’ve worked so hard to compartmentalize.
The salty breeze. The loud music. His lips on mine.
Laughter tangled with kisses. My trembling hands as my bravado waned.
And then one thing I didn’t recall before—the quiet unexpected softness of his voice when he thought I was asleep.
My pulse stutters and then races. My thoughts do the same.
He remembers.
I drag in a breath, slow and controlled, even as my mind struggles to catch up, to reorganize, and shove all of this back in the neat, sealed box it belongs in.
Is it the conflict of interest making you so touchy?
“No.” The single syllable breaks when I say it. “That’s not it.” I swallow.
His grin is pure male arrogance. “So you do remember me, Trouble.” His eyes dance with condescension as they hold mine.
Fuck. Just . . . fuck. This was way easier when he thought I didn’t. When—
“You don’t get to call me that,” I state, spine stiffening.
His brows lift slightly and I swear to God if this was a sports game, the momentum just switched to his side. “No?”
You wanted him to remember and now you want him to forget. Which is it, Dublin?
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, using the action to anchor myself. “That was five years ago. A drunken and brief mistake.”
Emotion flashes in his eyes—bruised ego, maybe—but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“A mistake?” he repeats, taking another step closer. Is he trying to intimidate me? I won’t let him. I need to get out of here and start working this case. This whole conversation is redundant. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Of course it isn’t. I almost roll my eyes.
Because he didn’t get what he wanted?
“Listen,” I say coolly. “Enough. Cabo was years ago and ancient history. Now we’re dealing with something more serious and that has to be our focus. My focus.”
His gaze drifts over me, slow and measured, but then I see anger brewing again. “Right. Despite our ancient history, you’ll be fair?”
Those two words shouldn’t feel like a jab, yet they do.
“People evolve,” I say. “You should try it sometime.”
A smirk ghosts over his mouth. “I liked you better before.”
I shake the comment off, but it still has barbs to it.
“Then it’s a good thing my job isn’t to be liked,” I say.
“No. But it is to be fair, right?”
“Always,” I say, trying to figure out where he’s going with this.
“Then tell me something, how fair are you being right now?”
I blink. “Meaning what?”
His gaze sharpens again, that earlier edge creeping back in. “From where I’m standing, you’ve got a significant conflict of interest sitting between us.”
There it is. I should’ve known the minute he realized who I was, that this was coming.
I clear my throat and lift my chin. “I’ve handled far more complex situations than this,” I say, keeping my tone even. “My ability to do my job is far from compromised.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.” I glance over my shoulder to make sure the door is closed, even though I know it is. And then I realize that small action just gave him a chance to think that this concerns me. “This has nothing to do with our past.”
He chuckles. “Good thing. That means you already informed your boss you know how my kiss tastes?”
Fucking hell.
I temper my expression and hope it works to hide my sudden fear.
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Maybe we should let your boss be the one to make that decision.” He quirks a brow and picks up his phone. “We can call him now and let him—”
“Cole.” His name is a gritted plea that has his eyebrows rising.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He angles his head to the side, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “Like I said, conflict of interest.”
We stare at each other in a visual standoff. He has something against me, and I have the ability to seal his fate. Not good at all.
Fix this.
“I’m more than capable of being completely objective,” I say.
“Even though we were—”
“We don’t know each other,” I say sharply, the words coming faster than I intended. “Whatever happened five years ago doesn’t qualify as anything remotely close to something that would impact this investigation.”
His eyes flash at that with a mix of amusement threading through the irritation. “Especially considering how it ended,” he says.
Heat creeps up my cheeks.
“At least I know when you’re in above your head, you’ll just pretend to be asleep.” He lifts his brows. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for that this time around.”
My eyes widen and shoulders hitch. He knew? A little part of me dies of embarrassment. I don’t have the time to worry about this, and this sure as shit isn’t the place to either.
Deflect, Dublin, until you can fully process this conversation.
I swallow and force a strained smile. “You’re well within your rights to request a different investigator though, if that’s what you’d want.”
A smile flickers on his lips.
Yes, I’m getting this conversation back on track.
“And if I were to do that—request someone else—would I get one?”
I pause for half a beat, my heart still racing. “I can’t promise that, as GIA is very busy these days, but I can put in your request,” I say. “They’ll want to know your basis for your request.”
One corner of his lips turns up. “Potential bias.”
“I can promise you that no one will be more thorough than I am.”
I’ve never been compromised in an investigation or even close to it. It doesn’t sit right with me. And truth be told, Marcus probably wouldn’t have thought twice if I’d told him up front that I’d met Cole years ago.
But since I never said anything, I can’t exactly say it now without looking bad.
And I think Cole knows that.
He tilts his head to the side. “I’m sure you are, but if I push for a new investigator? What will that say about you?”
“I’m known for fighting to find the truth, thoroughly and without bias. I can’t promise you what side of the decision you’ll end up on until I’m done with my investigation, but—”
“I can. I know exactly what side I’ll be on.”
I offer a tight smile. He’s not the first athlete to say that to me. And he wouldn’t be the first to lie about it either.
The best thing I can do right now is get to work and show him that’s my focus.
Plus, I might escape before he realizes my hands are trembling.
“If we’re done here,” I say gathering my things, “I need to get going to my first round of interviews.”
“Interviews?”
“Staff. Players. Trying to track down who made the bets.” I shrug. “That’s how I start getting answers.”
“I—uh—yeah.” He blows out a sigh and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Okay. I need to get to the training room.”
“Unless you don’t want me on the case,” I say, my brain still catching up.
He sits there for a beat, without an immediate answer. No, yes? No, no? And that unsettles me more than anything else in this entire situation.
I don’t do well with gray areas and loose ends. With anything that doesn’t resolve cleanly and decisively.
I turn toward the door anyway, refusing to linger in uncertainty, refusing to give him another second to study me or pick apart what he’s already seen.
The strap of my tote catches awkwardly against the chair as I pivot.
“Shit,” I say as the bag slips from my shoulder and crashes to the floor, contents scattering across the carpet. Lip gloss. A protein bar. My gym schedule. A folded utility bill I need to pay. Keys. At least my tampons didn’t escape. So fucking embarrassing.
Heat floods my face as I crouch instantly, gathering everything before he can see too much of my life spread out at his feet.
But Cole is already moving. “Here.” His large hand closes around the items that slid closest to him before I can reach them.
“I’ve got it,” I say too quickly.
“Clearly.”
I shoot him an irritated look as he hands over papers without comment. “Thanks,” I mutter, shoving everything back into the tote with far less organization than I usually require and head for the door.
“Dublin.” His voice stops me just as I reach for the handle.
I pause, spine stiffening, but I don’t turn around right away. This conversation has gone nothing like I thought it would, and I’m a person who thrives on certainty.
“Yes?” I ask, keeping my tone as even as possible.
“Something you might want.”
I glance back over my shoulder just in time to see him lift the manila folder from the table—the one filled with his data, his reports, information that could do real damage in the wrong hands.
The folder I almost walked out without—left sitting there like I didn’t plan on building my entire case around it.
Shit.
I shift my expression to nonchalant as I step back in the room and reach for it.
“Thanks,” I say yet again.
He doesn’t let go of it right away, holding it there between us for a beat too long, almost as if it’s a bargaining chip.
“Not sure I want you on my case,” he says lightly but there’s an edge that cuts beneath it. “Not if this is an example of your attention to detail.”
The comment lands exactly where he wants it to.
Because this isn’t about the folder—not really. It’s about the crack I just showed. About the moment I lost focus. About the fact he saw it.
I tighten my grip on the folder and pull it from his hand.
“It took you three days to remember who I was,” I fire back before I can stop myself. The words are laden with snark and hurt. “And you’re questioning my attention to detail?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I want them back. Damn it.
His brows lift slightly but it’s enough to tell me I just confirmed everything for him. I wondered. I wanted him to remember. And that I’m mad he didn’t.
Maybe even worse, maybe I do harbor some kind of resentment toward him over that night. Unfounded, but true.
I just handed him more of myself than I ever intended to.
“Three days?” he repeats, quieter like he’s turning the comment over in his head. “That’s what you think?”
I don’t answer because anything I say now will only make it worse. Besides, I’ve already said too much.
I step back, putting space between us again, forcing control back into my posture.
“Like I said,” I say, managing to control my voice again. “If you want someone else on the case, you’re well within your rights to request it.”
“Jury’s still out on that one,” he says as our eyes meet and hold too long.
He’s going to play this to his advantage, isn’t he?
He’s going to wait until I make a determination and if it’s against him, he’ll say I was out to get him due to our past.
Is that the plan or is he messing with your head? Rattling you?
Get out of here, Dublin.
I nod once more, more to myself than to him, and this time when I turn for the door, I don’t stop. I walk away without looking back, my grip tightening on the folder as the door clicks shut behind me.
The second I’m past the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, I exhale. I’m furious at him. At the situation. But mostly at myself—for the slip, for the reaction, for letting him see if only for half a second that he got under my skin.
Did that just hand him all the cards?
Or worse? Did I just show him exactly how to play me?
The thought sits heavy in my chest as I force my feet to keep going.
Because if I did, this just got a hell of a lot more complicated.