Chapter 11 #2
“Sutton!” I call out, my voice cutting through the chatter as I approach. She looks up, relief washing over her face when she sees me.
“Campbell!” she exclaims, her smile brightening again.
I step closer, throwing a casual arm around her shoulder, subtly putting distance between her and…
that’s when I see who it is. It’s the guy.
The same one who was talking to me not long ago, ready to sell me snake oil that I’m pretty sure he has hidden in the trunk of his car in the parking lot.
“Everything okay?” I ask, keeping my tone light, but the underlying tension is palpable.
“Yeah, just discussing the latest game.” She glances back at the man beside her, who seems less charming now that I’ve shown up.
“Campbell,” he acknowledges as he dips his head toward Sutton. “I’m hearing a lot about how strong of a leader you are.” He holds his wine glass in the air as a mock toast. “To you, sir, and that team you’re leading.”
“It seems you’ve found a true fan here.” I nod, my eyes locking with his for a moment, my protective instincts back on high alert. “Thank you…wait—I never got your name?”
“Victor,” he says, letting out a hot breath that carries just enough stink to make me wonder if someone needs a mint—fast.
We shake hands, and I feel it before I even see it: Sutton’s energy, tense and prickly beside me.
I can tell she’s working hard not to recoil, her posture subtly stiffening like a cat sensing trouble.
The tiny shudder passing through her tells me everything I need to know—she does not want to be near this man. Not at all.
I force a polite smile, nodding to Victor while keeping my senses alert. Something about the guy sets my teeth on edge. And the way Sutton inches just a fraction away? Yeah. That’s a red flag waving high enough to need its own spotlight.
I break my gaze with him and turn my attention to her. “Well, dinner’s about to start. How about we take our seats?”
“Sounds good,” she replies, and I can feel the gratitude in her voice.
As we head toward the dining area, I glance back over my shoulder, catching the guy’s frustrated expression. I chuckle under my breath, feeling a mix of amusement and satisfaction. Sutton and I might be here for business, but tonight, I’m not just her wingman—I’m her bodyguard, too.
As we settle into our seats, the atmosphere shifts into a more intimate setting. The soft clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversations create a cozy backdrop, and we may be seated at a table of ten, but my focus is solely on Sutton.
“Thanks for the rescue back there,” she says, her voice low but warm, though I can still see the tension in her shoulders. “I didn’t realize how uncomfortable it was until you showed up. That guy has always been a thorn in my side.”
“I did not get a good vibe from him.” I lean back, curiosity piqued. “What’s his deal?”
She takes a breath, her eyes narrowing slightly like just saying his name leaves a bad taste.
“Victor and I go back to college. We both went after the same internship at Sterling Media. I worked my tail off for it—late nights, three rounds of interviews, even pitched a campaign idea that they ended up using. I got the job fair and square. He didn’t. ”
“And he couldn’t handle it,” I supply, already seeing the pattern.
Her laugh is short and humorless. “Not even close. He told anyone who would listen that I’d cheated, or that my family must’ve pulled strings. He couldn’t believe I’d beaten him on my own merit. That was the start of it.”
I tilt my head, scanning the crowd as if I could spot him lurking, just so I know where to aim if I need to. “So he’s been bitter since college.”
She nods, lips pressing together. “And when I stepped in as the face of the Renegades after Jimmy—well, that just added gasoline to his fire. He spread rumors that I only had the job because of my last name, that Daddy’s money bought me the role.
He even tried to stir up doubts with the sponsors.
” Her voice lowers, steady but edged with frustration.
“Never mind the fact that I’d been building relationships in this league for years, long before Jimmy bailed. None of that mattered to him.”
A hot flare of anger kicks in my chest. “So he tried to sink your reputation just to cover up the fact that you outworked him.”
“Exactly. Victor doesn’t just compete—he undermines.
He whispers, plants doubts, makes himself sound like the authority in the room.
” She grimaces. “And the worst part? He stands too close. His hand lingers when he shakes yours, like he owns the space around you. It’s like… an instant permanent nope.”
“Permanent nope?” I laugh. “That a technical term?”
“Very technical. Once the permanent nope kicks in, that’s it. Man could save puppies from a burning building, and I’d still nope him right into next week.”
I grin, catching her gaze. “So I’m hearing you haven’t nope’d me yet.”
She shakes her head slowly, lips curving. “Not even close.”
The words land like a quiet punch to the chest—unexpected, direct, and maybe the best thing I’ve heard all night.
Sitting here, in this crowded room, with this gorgeous woman who is spilling her guts to me has to be the most intimate experience I’ve had in years.
A woman like this, telling me about her insecurities, giving me the tiniest of glimpses into who she is makes me feel seen, and I’m not the kind of guy who would even like to ever admit that out loud.
I’m about to ask Sutton another question, mostly because I simply want to keep her talking, when a server appears beside me and the first course is served—a delicate salad with vibrant colors.
I glance around the table, noting the other guests engaging in small talk, but my focus stays on Sutton.
The tension of her story hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of the food.
I lean in, trying to lighten the mood. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? Charm the socks off the sponsors and then maybe a dramatic exit?”
“Dramatic exit?” She raises an eyebrow, her fork poised above her plate. “I hope not. It’s not game night.”
“Touché. But I’m happy to play the role of the charming sidekick tonight,” I say, lifting my glass for a toast. “To us, and to keeping each other sane.”
“To us,” she echoes, clinking her glass against mine, her laughter ringing out and brightening the room.
As dinner progresses, the conversation drifts easily, laughter threading through the clink of silverware and low hum of the room.
Our table companions are cordial, and the group leans in to chat and be social at opportune moments.
Between bites, I see a chance to get a little one-on-one time with Sutton, a bit of small-talk downtime to re-energize before launching back into work mode, so I lean closer and launch into a story about one of training camp’s greatest hits—our annual prank war.
“So,” I say, voice low like I’m letting her in on a state secret, “rookie year, the vets decided to haze me by filling my car with packing peanuts. And I don’t mean a couple bags.
I mean wall-to-wall, open the door and it looked like a snow globe exploded inside. Took me three hours to dig it all out.”
Sutton laughs, head tipping back just enough to catch the glow of the chandelier, her golden hair catching the light. “Three hours? You didn’t just drive around with it like that? I would’ve rolled the windows down and called it confetti service.”
“Of course you would have, that mind of yours probably works overtime,” I say.
“But mine is simple and likes to focus on pucks and sticks…so, I wasn’t thinking.
Every time I opened the window, the peanuts flew out like I was littering on purpose.
Not the best look when your coach is parked beside you. ”
She shakes her head, her smile tugging wider. “Rookies never win, do they?”
“Not a chance.” I grin, pausing to sip my drink. “But don’t worry, I got even the next year. Let’s just say a certain goalie’s gear didn’t smell quite right after I swapped his shampoo for blue cheese dressing.”
“Was it Dixon?” she asks, her eyes going wide, hands flying to cover her mouth as she dissolves into laughter when I nod. “Campbell! That’s evil. Genius, but evil.”
“Ruthless efficiency. It’s a gift,” I say, deadpan, though I can’t help the twitch of a smile. “Pretty sure Ollie tried to dip a hot wing in Dixon’s hair not long after.”
She’s still giggling when she sets down her fork, leaning toward me conspiratorially.
“Okay, fine. I’ll match you. My first week at Sterling Media, I was trying so hard to look like I belonged.
Power suit, fresh notebook, whole nine yards.
They call me into this big pitch meeting.
I walk in with my fancy coffee and”—she stops for dramatic effect, her eyes sparkling—“trip right over the conference room rug. The entire latte goes flying. Lands directly in the lap of the senior VP of accounts.”
I wince. “Ouch. Did you run, or…?”
“Oh no,” she says, mock-serious. “I did what any self-respecting Southern woman would do. I apologized profusely, tried to mop it up with an armful of napkins, and prayed he’d find it charming.”
“And did he?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She sighs, though the corners of her mouth twitch with amusement. “Let’s just say I didn’t get fired and he still sends me Starbucks gift cards every Christmas. Probably to remind me of my finest moment.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “So you started your career by making a lasting impression. Bold strategy.”
She raises her glass with a mock toast. “Better than being remembered as the girl with the permanent nope.”
“Sounds like you have a knack for making impressions,” I tease, grinning.
Our playful banter continues, but I can sense her tension when we overhear Victor’s name mentioned again, only in passing, by someone at our table.