Chapter 2
“What the fuck?!” Gabby shouts from the living room of the Atlanta hotel suite we’re staying in for the All-Star Game and celebrations.
Miller and Preston had press to do before the Home Run Derby later today, so the girls and I hung back in the room to relax this morning.
We haven’t had a chill morning with just the three of us in a while.
“What?” Ivory and I abandon our coffee cups and run into the room to see what has Gabby so worked up.
She points to the TV as she answers her phone.
The announcers of the sportscast are talking about a player getting arrested.
It takes me a minute to realize it’s Chase Bennett’s mugshot in the top corner of the screen.
He’s the newest rookie who was called up to the Troubadours when their veteran shortstop was injured last month.
The team Preston and Miller also play for, and Gabby works for.
Fuck. This isn’t good.
Grabbing my phone, I type “Chase Bennett” into the search bar on the internet browser. Article after article pops up, talking about Chase stealing a horse while out with his teammates on Broadway last night. Not just any horse. No, that motherfucker went all out and stole a police horse.
Men. Such childish beings, especially when drunk.
Gabby pulls her phone away from her ear and I can just make out the sound of Mark’s voice cussing her out over not being in Nashville.
Mark is the general counsel for the Troubadours and Gabby’s boss.
God, I hate him. If I could chop his balls off and feed them to him, I would.
Unfortunately, the legal system seems to think that’s a crime.
In my personal opinion, it would be a public service.
Closing out of the browser, I pull up my texts and scroll to the one person I swore I would never text again but somehow can’t stop recently.
Even the name of his contact card doesn’t dissuade me anymore.
I’ve done my best to stay away from Grant Davenport, the owner of the Music City Troubadours, since seeing him again for the first time at Preston and Ivory’s wedding last November.
It’s harder to do lately with me attending more games in Nashville and events for the team, like last week when I saw him at the Miller Foundation Gala looking sinfully delicious in a tailored tuxedo.
ME
We need the plane.
Don’t Text the Devil
For what?
ME
Do you live under a rock? Your rookie got arrested.
Don’t Text the Devil
I’m aware of that. I’m in the office right now with my staff discussing it.
Why do you need the plane? You don’t work for me.
ME
Because Gabby needs to get back.
Don’t Text the Devil
She’s off. I thought you all were planning to go to the Home Run Derby and the All-Star Game?
ME
Keeping tabs on me?
My finger taps send before I can stop it.
I can’t help myself when it comes to Grant.
It’s not a matter of keeping tabs on me as much as it is him being connected to my friend group in a way he never was before.
It’s unsettling. They still have no idea Grant and I have a history, let alone a romantic one.
He knew we were going to Atlanta because Preston and Miller made the All-Star Team and Daddy Mike is coaching the National League team this year.
Of course, Ivory, Gabby, and I went to support them all because we’ve formed our own little family unit after Ivory and Preston met in Belize on the ill-timed but clearly fated vacation I sent her on.
Miller and Preston are attached at the hip and our girl gang hit it off with them immediately.
Now, we travel together and have family dinners at Ivory and Preston’s house whenever possible.
Don’t Text the Devil
Always, wife.
ME
Don’t call me that.
Don’t Text the Devil
It’s what you are.
Knowing he was going to deliver those words did nothing to tamp down the butterflies that erupt at the reminder.
I hate it. I don’t want to want my husband.
The problem is, I never stopped wanting him.
We didn’t fall apart because we fell out of love with each other.
It just happened. The real world crept in and the high of young love couldn’t compete.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Gabby’s voice pulls me back to the room around me, and I look up momentarily to see her watching the video of Chase on the TV.
“It’s everywhere,” I say, going back to my texts.
ME
Grant, not now. Focus. Please send the plane so Gabby doesn’t have to find a commercial flight or rent a car to drive back from Atlanta.
Don’t Text the Devil
We have it handled. She really doesn’t need to come back for this.
ME
Well your general counsel just berated her on the phone for not being there.
Don’t Text the Devil
for fuck’s sake
ME
I told you he was a problem.
Last week at our annual family cookout for the All-Star Team announcements, Gabby finally confessed to some of the struggles she’s been facing with Mark and Ricardo in the office.
Being the good friend I am, also known as someone who will not allow their friends to be treated like a steaming pile of shit, I broke my own rule and texted Grant to tell him he needed to look into those two imbeciles.
Ivory speaks up from behind the couch. “I cannot believe this. Dad says he’s one of the most dedicated on the team.
That he showed out in the minors but really pulled his act together this year and was determined to toe the line now that he’s with the Troubadours.
He hasn’t gotten in trouble since they called him up last month. ”
“Well, when the cat’s away…” I trail off when another text comes in.
Don’t Text the Devil
I told you so? really?
ME
Don’t Text the Devil
The plane will be there. Tell Gabrielle I apologize she’s going to miss the game.
ME
You can tell her yourself, but first, she’s going to prove how valuable she is.
I look up from my phone at the exhaustion in Gabby’s voice when she says, “I’ve got to get back.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if to ward off an incoming headache. “They’ve called an emergency meeting to go over the charges and how to do damage control.”
“Want me to come with you?” I offer, already anticipating her answer, and look down to see Grant’s text. I own a boutique agency specializing in celebrity and athlete management and public relations, so I know my way around a scandal.
Don’t Text the Devil
Are you coming back too?
ME
Why? Miss me?
What is wrong with me? Stop goading him.
“I hate to have you miss the rest of the celebrations.” Gabby looks at me with pleading eyes.
“But I could help,” I finish for her, and she nods. “I’ll have my assistant coordinate the flight. You go pack. Ives, can you call the guys?”
I don’t tell her I’ve already arranged the flight home, but not with my assistant.
Sooner or later this secret is going to blow up in my face.
I’ve wanted to tell them several times since the wedding in St. John last November, but every time I open my mouth to confess, I can’t get the words out.
I go back to my texts, pretending I’m texting my assistant and not their team owner—my husband—as the boys come back into the room talking about Chase’s arrest.
Don’t Text the Devil
You know I do.
ME
Yes, I’m coming back.
Don’t Text the Devil
We could use your help. I don’t think Mary and her team are equipped to handle a crisis of this magnitude.
ME
You don’t even have to ask. Gabby already did.
Don’t Text the Devil
Pain in my ass.
ME
And don’t you forget it.
Don’t Text the Devil
I haven’t forgotten anything about you.
Before I can dissect how I feel about that declaration, another text comes in.
Don’t Text the Devil
Pilot is heading to the airport now. By the time you get to the airstrip in Atlanta, you shouldn’t have to wait too long.
ME
Thank you.
Don’t Text the Devil
See you soon.
Dropping my phone, I tune into the conversation as Miller motions to the screen as if the video is still playing and says, “Exactly! That horse is probably thrilled at the getaway. Did you see how happy it looked?”
“This is going to be really bad for the team, but you have to admit it is fucking hilarious,” I agree with him. Hopefully we’ll be able to mitigate the damage in the press and with the league.
Gabby slips out of the room and into the bedroom.
Gone is my carefree best friend and in her place is the analytical problem solver who tries not to let her boss’s words drag her down.
She’s a damn good lawyer and I hate that she’s had to fight so hard for her place.
After this is over, Grant better see how much of an asset she is and how big a waste of space Mark is.
Mark’s rarely ever in the office so the fact he’s managed to hold onto his job as the general counsel is beyond me.
I follow Gabby into the bedroom, watching as she throws her things in the suitcase and rushes back and forth to the bathroom while asking for my opinion on the situation. Time to lighten the mood and get her out of her head.
“I seriously doubt he went out last night and said to himself, ‘I’m going to steal a horse from the police and get arrested so the team can punish me.’”
“He better not be that stupid.” She groans, and then as if she finally sees the humor in it, she laughs. “Who steals a horse right from under the police?”
“Right, ballsy. You have to have serious BDE for that. Tell me—” I bat my eyelashes at her and lean in close, “—does he have the big dick to back it up in his pants, counselor?” Gabby’s face turns as red as the soles of my favorite heels at the taunt of her one-night stand with Chase Bennett after Preston and Ivory’s wedding.
When she met a hot stranger in the bar that night and stayed back with him after Miller and I left, I was damn proud of her.
The glow when she returned the next morning told me everything I needed to know about the rookie’s ability to utilize the tools in his tool belt.
Gabby palms my face and pushes it away, then she grabs her suitcase off the bed and moves to the door. Just before she opens it, she turns back to me and says, “Yes he does.”
Her smug grin makes me cackle, and I follow her out into the main area of the suite so we can say our goodbyes and head to the airport.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask Gabby in the elevator on the way up to the conference room in the Troubadours front office to distract myself from the pounding heart in my chest.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s hope they go for it.” She’s been on the phone the entire flight, talking to the district attorney and other people to arrange a plea deal for Chase. From what she’s told me, it’s a win for everyone involved.
“They’d be stupid not to.” I inject as much confidence into my voice as I can. Despite my nerves at seeing and interacting with Grant, I have no doubt in my best friend’s ability to sway the room and do her job.
We drop our bags in Gabby’s office and walk down the hallway to the meeting room. As we go, I try to control my breathing and school my face reminding myself I’m in control. I command the room. I’m a boss bitch.
All that goes out the window when we enter the room and Grant turns toward the door.
His eyes meet mine and the golden flecks in them act as a spark jumpstarting my heart again.
My breath stutters and my feet falter momentarily.
It’s been less than a year since he backed me against a wall and gave me his full attention, but I’d already forgotten what it felt like.
“Nice of you to join us, Gabe,” Ricardo’s voice slices through the air. The audacity of this fucking guy.
I open my mouth to correct his vile treatment of Gabby, but Grant beats me to it. “Gabrielle was in Atlanta with our all stars.”
Gabby speaks up next, engaging in a verbal tussle with Ricardo as we take our seats on one side of the conference table.
Chase and his representatives sit on the opposite side while Grant and Mark sit at the respective heads of the table.
Ricardo, the pompous ass of a scout, is beside Mark and on Mark’s other side is Ben, the team’s general manager who looks like he swallowed something unsavory.
Yeah, your buddies are a bunch of pricks, Ben. Take care of that.
“Only vital personnel can remain in this room. That goes for your team as well, Mary. You can stay, but the assistants leave.” Gabby speaks to the director of communications. Mary nods to her staff and they file out of the room, shutting the door behind them.
I sit down on Gabby’s left, ignoring Ricardo’s arguments until I hear my name in the spat.
“Taylor stays.” The finality in Grant’s tone has my eyes whipping back to his.
His brows are creased and there’s a tick in his jaw that wasn’t present before.
I don’t miss the way his eyes cut to mine, and both the command in his voice and the pride of what it means for him to insist I stay in this meeting have my pulse thrumming faster.
A thousand emotions flit through me mixed with the questions on what it could mean, but the one that surges to the surface is desire.