Chapter Three
Three
Michelle
I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.
Madison hovers, tension radiating off her as she opens and closes her mouth, trying to think of something to say.
A huge hand covers my shoulder, and I startle, looking up into Tristan Gold’s handsome face. The sign he wrote for me dangles from his other hand, and his eyes are narrowed with genuine concern.
“You did good,” he tells me. The paper flutters in his hand as he gives me a thumbs-up.
One team, one goal, it says.
Four simple words that kept me from digging the grave the reporters so badly wanted me to dig.
“Thank you,” I croak, blinking back tears and motioning to the Sharpie lettering. “I don’t think I could have—” I pause. I couldn’t have done it without him, which was what I was about to say, but seems too…personal.
Everything with Tristan Gold seems too personal.
“Thank you,” I repeat instead, my gaze darting between his eyes. “That was the right thing to say. I don’t know how to repay you.”
He beams down at me, and I want to bask in the sunshine warmth of his attention.
But of course, I can’t. I can’t do anything but play the polite professional when it comes to him. Anything else would be career suicide.
“I know how,” he tells me cheerily.
I’m not sure there has ever been a day he hasn’t sounded like that—like everything in the world’s going his way, and he’s happy just to be along for the ride.
Must be nice.
“You know how what?” I ask, confused.
“How you can repay me,” Tristan says, arching one eyebrow, his grin turning into a smirk.
“It was a figure of speech—”
“Nope,” he says, drawing out the word and then obnoxiously popping the p. A slow grin stretches his lip. “You said you wanted to repay me, and I know what I want.”
He’s going to ask me out again, I just know it.
The man is incorrigible.
Still, a little flutter of excitement starts in my stomach.
“The team and some of the front office staff are going for drinks tonight. Come with us.”
I falter, because that’s not exactly what I imagined. “I have to work.”
The excuse sounds stupid, even to me.
“Your presence there is the only repayment I’ll take,” he says grandly, twirling his hand as he bows. “That’s the price.” He shoots a look at Madison, who wrings her hands. “Maddie is coming,” he says, grinning harder.
“Maddie?” I blink. “That’s the name you go by?”
She nods, biting her lip.
I had no idea she went by Maddie and not Madison.
“See?” Tristan spreads his hands wide. “You need to come with us. You should know these things about people.”
“What I know is that I need to keep this place running,” I say, starting to run my hand down my face in distress before I remember my glasses are in the way.
Tristan raises both eyebrows at me aggressively, then holds up the sign in front of my face.
One team, one goal.
Seeing those words was exactly what I needed back in the press room, and gratitude threatens to overwhelm me again.
“Can’t be part of the team if you never leave your office.” Tristan taps the sign, and I scowl at him.
“I leave my office,” I tell him, suddenly exhausted. I go limp, all the press conference adrenaline leaving me like helium from a popped balloon.
“Yeah, right. I bet you’d sleep there if you could.”
I stiffen, my eyes going wide.
Maddie makes a small sound of discontent.
Traitor. I do my best not to look at her.
“Wait, you’ve actually been sleeping in your office?” Tristan’s voice is a low rasp of disbelief, and he steps closer to me.
Goose bumps skitter across my skin, and I can’t drag my gaze away from where he looms over me.
Tristan Gold is the team’s keeper for good reason.
He’s huge. An absolute monster of a man at six foot six, and built like a Greek god, all muscle and blond hair, which is currently tied back in a man bun.
His hazel eyes survey me with a mix of keen interest and blatant disapproval.
“Where I sleep doesn’t concern you,” I reply, patting myself on the back mentally for saying it without squeaking.
“Maybe it should,” he says, his voice even lower.
My jaw drops, liquid heat churning through my veins—and it doesn’t have anything to do with the copious amount of coffee I’ve been drinking.
Probably.
Tristan blinks, stepping back slightly. “You can’t possibly be getting enough rest.” He narrows his eyes at my now half-empty caffeine supply.
“I’m fine.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
Madison coughs delicately, and neither of us breaks our gaze, like we’re in some stupid staring contest.
“If you’re fine, then prove it. Come out with the team tonight, and show me that I—we—don’t have a reason to worry about you.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, his forehead creasing.
He’s worried about me? A familiar thrill flutters through me.
“Or you can prove those assholes right”—he points to the press room door meaningfully—“and work yourself into burnout and risk taking the team down with you.”
I wince, and something soft flashes through his eyes before he crosses his arms, daring me to disagree.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” he repeats.
“I’ll come tonight,” I grit out.
“And you’ll go home and sleep,” he says. “Or…I’ll have to work late here, too. I have a lot of questions for our director of operations.” A sly smile lights up his handsome face.
Damn it. He’s got me there.
He would do it, too. Annoying me to prove a point sounds right up his alley.
“You should stop obsessing over where I sleep,” I tell him.
“I’ll stop when you’re sleeping where you should be,” he says, with enough bite that I blink in surprise. “Maddie, make sure she shows up. Drag her ass along if you have to.”
“Er,” Madison, no, Maddie, says. “Okay.”
“No one is dragging my ass anywhere but me.” Yeah, that sounded a lot stupider than I meant it to.
Tristan, however, gives me that goofy grin and a thumbs-up and finally backs away from me. “Good,” he says. His gaze drops to my lower half, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” I put my hands on my hips, and he glances back up at my eyes.
“I’m right where I want to be,” he drawls, a challenge in his eyes. He holds out the sign he wrote for me, and I take it automatically, barely noticing it.
“Oh? And where’s that?” I ask. “Because I’m pretty sure you should be working on making saves.”
“That’s exactly what I just did, Oxford.” He turns to leave, throwing open the door. “I saved your ass, and I’ll do it as many times as it takes.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I stare at it for a long moment, too tired to make sense of what he’s just said.
“He’s so cute,” Maddie says on a sigh, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“He’s a menace.” I’m off-balance. Literally, figuratively, and in every way in between.
“He is nice,” Maddie counters, giving me a long, speculative look. She opens her mouth to say something else, and I hold a hand up, cutting her off.
“We want the same thing. That’s all.”
“What?” There’s mild disapproval on her face, and I have no idea what I’ve done to earn that.
I blow out a breath. “For the Aces to do well this season. For this admin nightmare with Mark to blow over.”
“Mm-hmm, right,” she says noncommittally.
“Yeah, that is right,” I tell her, wincing at how bad it sounds, even to me.
“Mark isn’t so bad.” Maddie focuses on me, like she’s trying to read my reaction to that announcement.
“You’re right, he’s not. He’s setting things right.” My throat goes dry as memories of all the things that went wrong with our last owners trickle through my mind like the world’s worst montage. “He’s doing exactly what he should be doing.”
Which is exactly why I can’t let my absurd attraction to Tristan Gold go anywhere—I don’t need even a hint of impropriety about my behavior right now.
“It’ll be better when the season starts again.” I stare at the door to the press room for a long moment. “I have to get to work,” I finally say. “I have a million updates to make to my slide deck for my next call.”
“You have to come tonight,” Maddie tells me, following me back down the hallway, nearly jogging to keep up with me. “If you back out, they’ll make my life hell.”
“What?” That brings me up short. “Who?”
She gives me a desperate, searching look. “Just come, okay?”
“If someone is hazing you or…well, anything, you can tell me.” I press my temple with two fingers, a stress headache blossoming. “You would tell me, right? I have your back.”
I’ll have to have her back, considering her chain of command in PR must be a mess, what with my counterpart there quitting. My stomach roils, and I can’t remember the last thing I had to eat.
Maddie’s already hurrying down the hallway toward her department’s office, though, not paying attention to my question.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she tosses over her shoulder.
Mentally, I add finding out if Maddie’s being harassed to my already overwhelmed to-do list.
We cannot afford another scandal, not after one of our former owners leaked a story about being blackmailed into quitting.
The NDA I forced the former owners to sign is in effect, and the team’s general counsel is combing through discovery for a potential lawsuit, but the damage is done.
As if that wasn’t enough, the promotional hype in the run-up to my friend Abigail’s docudrama on the soccer world’s most notorious scandal has turned a scorching hot spotlight on the entire league, including our team.
We need things to go right this coming season.
We need good news stories.
My stomach does a little flip, and I stare at Maddie’s swishing ponytail as she practically runs away from me.
Maybe I do need to go out with the team and staff tonight, because I think I might have a plan to turn the media tide in our favor.