44. Tori
“You didn’t say this was the girl you’ve been calling, Gee,” the blue-haired man drawls, and I can feel his leer running up and down my body even though I don’t dare to take my eyes off Gideon.
“She’s an omega,” the woman comments, her voice carrying the same accent as the first speaker. Mid-Atlantic?
Gideon growls, and his eyes dart behind me to glare at his companions before returning his focus to me. I finally gather my wits and straighten my spine, clearing my throat subtly. It’s hard to think when I’m surrounded by the smell of freshly struck matches and burning orange trees, but I’ve never let an alpha intimidate me before, and I’m not about to start now.
“I didn’t realize you would be attending the ball, or bringing friends. We would have made sure—”
“We both know that I don’t like to make a spectacle of my visits, Miss Strauss,” Gideon interjects smoothly, a smirk pulling up one corner of his lips.
“Dinner was great, though you may have a few angry emails coming your way,” the largest man says, chuckling ironically.
The woman giggles, and I turn to give them a curious look. But I jump as something sharp taps on my bare shoulder, whipping around to find the blue-haired man holding out four of the highly decorated place cards. I take them, and my eyes go wide as I realize that the names have been crossed out—four of the decade-long season ticket holders and generous donors to half a dozen player charities—and replaced with handwritten names.
Gideon St. Clair. Hunter Navarro. Delano Argentieri. Isabella Argentieri.
I give the three people at my sides dark glares before returning my attention to Gideon.
“You, of all people, should know what stunts like this can do to a team’s reputation,” I snap, crumpling the papers in my fist before shoving them in my pocket.
Gideon snorts an ironic laugh. “Says the pot to the kettle.”
My blood goes cold, but I do my best not to let my face show it. “Is there something you require, Mr. St. Clair? Or have you come here to just give me a headache?”
The blue-haired man lets out a bark of laughter, and I can feel his heat as he steps closer to me, so close that I can smell the phosphorus rolling off him in waves thick enough to choke.
“You didn’t say she was this feisty, Gid,” he says, leaning down and audibly sniffing my hair.
“Back off, Delano. From what I hear, she’s already got a gaggle of alphas panting after her,” Gideon snipes.
I freeze, heart stopping and restarting painfully. How did he find out? We’ve been so fucking careful, and we’re so close to pulling this off.
“I don’t see any marks on her. Are you sure?” the blue-haired man, Delano, muses, as his hands brush along my throat and shoulders.
His brazen touch snaps me out of my stupor, and I turn on him, shoving his chest with all my strength. Even through his clothes, I perceive the well-defined muscles, not quite as developed as a hockey player, but enough to make him a physical threat. But he’s caught off guard by my sudden movement, and he stumbles backward with wide eyes and a savage grin.
“Did no one ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself? Or did you flunk out of kindergarten before that lesson?” I say sardonically.
The woman, Isabella, laughs again, a high-pitched and irritating noise. “God, I wish I had my phone out. You should see your fucking face,” she manages to say through giggles, pointing a sharply manicured finger at Delano.
Blood boiling, I turn to Gideon. I don’t know if it’s panic or something else that’s making me so reckless, but I don’t care.
“If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out. I have better things to do tonight than stand here and get harassed and assaulted by your cronies,” I say, doing my best to look down my nose at someone half a foot taller than me.
Gideon has the nerve to laugh at me, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’ve always found your candor refreshing, Victoria. But I didn’t peg you to be a rulebreaker, or to be so…liberal with your attention,” he says, words pointed like daggers.
“Egg on your face,” I snark back.
“So you admit to it, then?”
I cross my arms over my chest and rock onto my back foot. “Admit to what? You’ve talked in circles and said nothing.”
My heart is racing a mile a minute, and I can hear the emcee starting his introductions. Any minute now, the boys will be making their entrance, and if I’m still stuck here, shit is going to hit the fan. I don’t dare look away from Gideon, and I even try to control my blinks, just to avoid giving him a microsecond to catch me off guard.
“Then let me be plain. I have it on good authority that you’ve been seeing several of my players in secret for months. Not only is this a flagrant violation of the fraternization clauses of the employment contracts, but—”
“There’s no fraternization clause in the player contract,” I interrupt, the words jumping out of me before I can stop them.
Gideon goes quiet for a moment, studying my face. But I keep my expression blank, almost uninterested. Never mind that my knees have turned to overcooked spaghetti, and I might actually vomit all four courses of my supper onto his very expensive shoes at any given moment. I need to find an exit out of this before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
“I don’t know if you realize, Miss Strauss, but the job I’m actually paid to do is contract law. The Mystic is just a hobby to me,” Gideon says, picking each word with care.
I roll my eyes, unable to stop myself. “Then why do you give a fuck about what your employees get up to in their personal lives?” I ask with my best attempt at a bored sigh.
“As the owner, I have a right to know if my people are going to embarrass themselves or the St. Clair name.”
I scrunch my nose in a sneer of disgust. “You don’t own any of us, you know. We’re people. And there’s nothing in our contracts that says what we can or can’t do when we’re not on company time. And even beyond that, CBA between the league and the players, not to mention federal and state laws on designation rights, would trump your fine print.”
Gideon’s smirk sends a chill down my spine, and all the false bravado I’ve been relying on evaporates. Only years of practice keep me from dropping the disinterested expression from my face and going into a full panic.
“Designation rights? So, you’re finally using that thing between your legs for something interesting?” Gideon asks, an almost appreciative chuckle to his words.
“It’s not any of your business what I do with the thing between my legs,” I fire back, though bile rises in the back of my throat.
“If it’s going to impact my bottom line, then you’ll find it very much is my business.”
“This team is doing better than it has in years, so you should actually be thanking me.”
It’s Hunter’s turn to laugh, a deep, warm sound that almost has me crumpling to the floor. “She’s got you there, Gideon. Her pussy must be magic if it can make this money pit turn a profit,” he says, a strong Latinx accent to his words.
“My pussy is the only one you should be thinking about,” Isabella snarls.
I take my chances and glance over at them, nearly choking on my inhale when I see her draped across Hunter’s chest, his hands somewhere beneath her skirt while they share a passionate kiss. I turn away, a hot flush painting the tops of my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. I’m no prude by any measure, but rounding second base and heading toward third in a room full of people who could see isn’t one of my kinks.
“Your bottom line is safe, Mr. St. Clair. Hell, you might even see some improvement to it come next week. And when it does, I’ll be waiting for a formal, written apology for the way I’ve been treated tonight.” Turning back to Gideon, I try to infuse my words with as much finality as I can.
Gideon cocks an eyebrow, shifting his weight slightly. “What, pray tell, is happening next week, exactly?”
Fuck.
I did not mean to say that.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Well, it’ll be the end of the homestand, and we’ve got a great game against a rival on Ash Wednesday. And we’ll have a tally of how much this event made—”
He lifts his eyebrow a little more, cutting my rambling short. But I’m not going to give him any more than what I’ve already let slip. For this plan to work, no one can know it’s coming. But we haven’t confirmed anything, or sent out any invitations, or even booked the conference room. There’s nothing he can dig up yet, even if he tried.
So I stay silent, refusing to dig my grave any deeper. And after several long, agonizing heartbeats of silence, Gideon grunts. Then he looks up and nods to Hunter and Delano, who move in unison away from the wall, seamlessly disappearing into the crowd of invited guests, leaving Gideon and I effectively alone.
“It is in your best interest to come clean, Miss Strauss, before you do something to ruin your very successful career with the Mystic organization,” Gideon says, voice deadly serious.
“Is that a threat?” I ask, a little breathless.
“I don’t make threats.”
The four simple words have my shoulders slumping for a moment before I catch them and straighten my spine again. If any other alpha—or any other man, for that matter—said that to me, I’d roll my eyes and laugh in his face. But Gideon has more money than God, and a black hole where his moral compass should be.
When I remain silent, Gideon sighs and shakes his head, though not a strand of his perfectly styled hair moves.
“Fine. If you want to play games, then so be it. But just remember, Victoria...”
Gideon looks up at me from under his brow, taking two quick steps forward, sending me stumbling backwards until I hit the wall. He closes the gap until there’s barely an inch between us. I have to strain my neck to see him, my heart pounding in my throat as adrenaline floods my system, sending me into a freeze response. He leans down until his mouth is level with my ear, his breath hot on the side of my face.
“I. Don’t. Lose.”