Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
FLIC
It feels strange to be walking into the Stormhawks stadium. I’ve always loved this place, but for years I’ve barely been in the stands or the skybox, and now I’m heading up to the management offices for an official event.
I glance down at myself as I step into the elevator with Grayson, smoothing a hand over the silk of the white blouse I dug out from the back of my wardrobe this afternoon.
I bought it years ago when I was trying to secure a mortgage to buy The Hay Barn’s building.
As if a nice blouse was going to make anyone overlook the spreadsheets and projections.
I’m still in black jeans, because apparently that’s all I own, and the ankle boots I usually reserve for dates, the leather still stiff from lack of use.
I had to dust them off before leaving my apartment.
“You look perfect,” Grayson says beside me.
I hate that he notices my fidgeting. Almost as much as I hate how aware I am of the rich scent of his aftershave in the enclosed space. I’m suddenly aware of how close Grayson and I are standing, how my heartbeat is oddly picking up.
“I’m not used to business meetings,” I mutter, telling myself that’s the reason for my skipping pulse.
“You’re a local businesswoman, Flic. And a fan. And someone who understands the Stormhawks. You have more right to be in that boardroom than I do.”
“That’s not difficult,” I quip, rolling my eyes and pretending I’m not a little touched by the compliment.
Grayson huffs a laugh as the doors finally open onto a floor of worn carpet and fluorescent lighting. Rows of desks sit behind glass partitions. Computers hum. Phones ring. A few heads turn as we step out together.
Grayson leans close, voice quiet in my ear. “Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. That’s why I’ve brought you.”
He leads the way across the offices, and I can’t help but watch him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders are loose, his expression composed, yet there’s a faint line between his brows and his phone is still gripped tightly in his hand.
“Put your phone away before I throw it out the window,” I mutter as we approach the boardroom, already half full of some of Denver’s most influential business owners, plates piled high from a buffet table.
Grayson slips his phone into his pocket without argument. Behind me, a man chuckles and I turn to find Donald Hubert Junior—Donny—striding toward us. He smiles, and it’s no surprise he seems at home here, even with a new majority owner.
“Hey, Flic. Haven’t seen you since the fans breakfast at the start of the season. How’s it going?”
“Haven’t you heard?” I reply. “I’ve started babysitting billionaires.”
Donny laughs, clapping Grayson on the back hard enough to earn him a scowl. “He needs it, too.”
I glance between them. Grayson towers over Donny, all scowls and impatience, while Donny just grins like it’s the most natural thing in the world to wind him up.
Grayson mentioned in his hotel that they were college roommates, and despite how different they seem on the surface, it’s obvious they’re more than that.
My stride falters for a second as it hits me. Donny and Grayson are friends. Good friends.
The boardroom is a long room that covers the width of the offices, floor-to-ceiling windows on either side.
One wall looks out over Denver’s skyline and a gray winter sky, mountains faint in the distance.
The other overlooks the field itself, the green stretching out in perfect lines beneath the stadium lights.
City on one side. Team on the other. Hard not to feel a little awed by that.
The Stormhawks are the heart of Denver. And this stadium is the heart of the Stormhawks.
Standing here, between both views, I feel the weight of that history.
I’ve loved this team my whole life but seeing it from up here feels different. Bigger.
We step inside and instantly the room falls quiet.
I spot faces I know. David and Marla Jennings from Jennings Logistics.
Frank Clarke from Clarke Auto Group, always smelling faintly of that new car smell.
And Lorna, who owns the Sweet Rise bakery chain, her bright red lipstick as bold as her storefront signage.
Grayson hands me a coffee in a dainty white mug and I’m grateful for something to hold.
There are nods and tight smiles as Donny greets everyone with a grin and a firm handshake.
David and Marla are first to approach us, and I make introductions.
I ask after their kids and then business.
Grayson listens, silent but attentive. As they move on, it’s hard to ignore the tension rippling around us and how every pair of eyes keeps sliding to Grayson.
It occurs to me then that walking into every room as the enemy must be exhausting.
Ten minutes in, Donny murmurs something in Grayson’s ear. Grayson nods once before turning to me.
“I’ve got to say a few words.”
“Good luck,” I reply.
“The fact you think I need luck is worrying.” He flashes me a smile and steps to the front of the room as Donny moves to stand beside me.
“We were roommates in college; did he tell you?” he asks under his breath.
I nod. “He mentioned it.”
“The most infuriating guy I’ve ever met,” Donny replies.
I glance sideways at him. “But you’re close?” I ask, thinking of how easy they were in each other’s company as they walked into this room.
Donny grins. “He’s my best friend. Doesn’t mean he isn’t infuriating though.
He’s the smartest person in every room, but he gets tunnel vision.
Forgets the bigger picture sometimes.” He shrugs lightly.
“Which is why I’m glad you’re by his side for the next few weeks.
If it was just me, the fans would assume I’d been bought. ”
“Haven’t you?” I ask. “You sold our team to a property developer, Donny.”
The grin fades. “I know it looks bad,” he says quietly.
“But come on, Flic. You’re smart enough to see there’s a bigger picture here too.
” He gestures toward the window and the green turf below.
“I grew up living and breathing this team. They mean everything to me and my family. We are the Stormhawks.” His voice roughens slightly.
“And I’ll admit, we’ve made mistakes. Financially, some decisions haven’t paid off.
But it wasn’t easy for us to sell. It broke our hearts.
Completely. My grandfather’s devastated; we all are.
But it was that or bankruptcy, which would have been the end of the team. ”
“It might be anyway,” I reply.
“Do you think, for one moment,” he continues, holding my gaze, “that we would hand over the most important thing in the world to someone unless we were one hundred percent certain of their intentions?”
“The Ashbornes lie all the time,” I counter.
But even as the words leave my mouth, doubt creeps in.
I think again about how Donny and Grayson are friends.
And that maybe the fans were so shocked by the sale that we didn’t stop to think about how much the Huberts love the Stormhawks.
How much it would’ve cost them to sell. Maybe we should’ve trusted them like they asked.
We read their plea to mean they were in on whatever plans Grayson had to tear our team apart. But Donny and Grayson are friends. Which means the Huberts didn’t just sell the Stormhawks to a New York billionaire; they also sold them to someone they know. Someone they trust.
I’ve been so busy being angry with the Huberts that I never stopped to consider what it must have cost them to sell and how careful they would’ve been about choosing the buyer.
And that changes things.
“Ashborne Holdings, yes. Not Grayson,” Donny replies.
I stay quiet, surprised by the rawness in Donny’s voice.
“All I’m saying—all I’m asking—is give him a chance. Grayson doesn’t have many people on his side right now. In fact, it’s just me.” He pauses. “And, I’m hoping, you.”
There’s no time to consider a reply before Grayson clears his throat from the front of the room. “Thank you all for coming.” His voice carries with easy confidence across the room. But I’m close enough to see the way his fingers flex once at his side before he stills them.
For a moment, I consider pulling out my phone and recording his speech. I wonder if he’ll say something that my followers might find comforting to hear. But I dismiss the idea. The fans don’t need a carefully worded speech right now. They need action and proof.
“There’s been a lot of speculation surrounding why I bought the Stormhawks,” Grayson continues.
“A lot of worry. And I understand why. But I can assure you that I didn’t buy this team to dismantle it.
I bought it because I wanted to be part of something that matters.
I saw what this team means to Denver and the Huberts.
I saw the passion. And I wanted to help protect it. ”
His gaze sweeps the room before landing, briefly, on me.
“I was reminded recently that you can’t buy passion and belonging.
You earn it. And I haven’t done that yet.
So, I’m here today to listen. Tell me what you need from the ownership.
Tell me where we’ve fallen short. Tell me what matters most to you as our local sponsors.
Because if this team is going to succeed long term, it won’t be because of one person in this room.
It will be because of all of us. Because we did it together. ”
I sense the room absorb Grayson’s speech as I think about what Donny just said.
And, yeah, maybe I’ve been so focused on the Ashborne name that I haven’t stopped to look at the man standing in front of me.
Maybe I need to start seeing Grayson for who he is and not the reputation that walks into a room five seconds before he does.
There’s a round of applause that feels a fraction more than polite. Grayson inclines his head, says something to the man nearest him, and makes his way back to my side.
“Good speech,” I admit.
He looks taken aback by my compliment before offering a grateful smile. “I thought about opening with ‘I’m more than a hot guy with a private jet.’”
He pauses, eyes sparking with mischief as heat floods my cheeks, and I remember the slip I’d made in our argument on the way home from the Buffalo game. Had I really called him hot? Good one, Flic.
His smile widens. “I decided what you said about giving more of myself if I want something back might land better with this crowd.”
I glance around at the expensive watches, large bellies straining against suit jackets, and the few men in jeans and cowboy boots trying to look unimpressed. I nod. “Good choice.”
My gaze moves back to Grayson, and our eyes meet in a way that has me locked in place.
Something electric seems to pass between us.
The same pull I felt when our fingers brushed over that fifty-dollar bill the night of the playoffs.
It’s the same pull I’ve felt every time I’ve been in the same room with this man.
Except I was too busy being furious to feel like acknowledging it.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s mingle.”
“Any advice?” He scans the room like a man about to face a firing squad.
I consider the cluster of business owners. What they care about. What they want. What they’re afraid of losing.
“Suggest the Stormhawks are exploring game day promotions that target those in the stands, not the fans watching at home. The people in this room don’t need their names flashed across the TV screens and they don’t want to pay the same as the bigger sponsors.”
He considers my words then nods as we step toward the nearest group together.
Later, when the last of the attendees drift out and the room feels less hostile—less like a battlefield and more like groundwork laid—I lean back against the long conference table and exhale.
It wasn’t a roaring success, but it was a softening.
A small shift. Grayson did well. He held his own.
He admitted his weaknesses and his mistakes, and he listened to what the people in this room needed from their team.
Donny’s words circle my thoughts: Grayson doesn’t have many people on his side right now.
I find myself thinking of Mama and Harry and the boys then. And who I’d be if the Sullivans hadn’t opened their home and their hearts to me.
“Can you be free on Thursday for lunch?” I ask Grayson.
“Sure. What are you thinking?”
I flick a glance toward Donny before meeting Grayson’s eyes again. “It’s not what I’m thinking. It’s what we need.”
He raises a brow as his dark eyes fix on mine. There’s an intensity to his gaze that has my stomach flip in a way that’s hard to ignore now my anger isn’t drowning it out.
I smile. “Reinforcements.”