Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
FLIC
IZZY: I’m starting to think I’ll be pregnant forever. How’s New York?
FLIC: Interesting and complicated.
IZZY: I was expecting you to say you were in Grayson’s bed.
FLIC: What???
IZZY: Oh come on. There were literal sparks flying between the two of you at lunch last week.
FLIC: No comment.
IZZY: You’ve probably forgotten what sex is, anyway.
FLIC: I have not forgotten, thank you very much.
IZZY: So that’s a no to being in Grayson’s bed, then.
FLIC: Shut up.
I’m standing in Grayson’s kitchen with a mug of coffee cradled in both hands, watching the morning sun stretch over the city.
Kitchen doesn’t really cover the room around me.
This space is bigger than my entire apartment.
High ceilings, marble counters, warm wood cabinets, a dining table that could seat half the Stormhawks team.
Everything is solid and carefully curated.
And expensive. I know I should feel uncomfortable.
I’ve been telling myself since I stepped onto the jet on that first trip to Buffalo that I don’t belong in Grayson’s world.
It’s still true, but God, I love this kitchen.
Somehow it still feels lived in. There are saucepans hanging from a rack, and when I cooked Ana a simple pasta dish last night, I found plenty of ingredients.
This is a kitchen that’s used for more than making coffee and staring out at the city. Even if it’s pretty good for that, too.
I yawn deeply and take a long sip. It’s strong and bitter and carries the kick I need.
It was late by the time Grayson and I were done talking.
My mind was spinning with everything he’d told me about his life and his reasons for returning to New York.
Even when I tried to sleep, I felt like I was listening for movement from Ana.
If she woke, hungover and regretful, I wanted to be there before she left again.
I’m not sure what help I could’ve been, but I wanted to make sure she was OK, if nothing else.
I meant what I said last night. Not everyone wants to be saved.
And not everyone is ready to accept help.
I hope this time Ana is. She didn’t run last night. There’s that, at least.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn to see Grayson in the doorway, rubbing a hand over his face like he didn’t sleep much either, probably for the same reason as me.
He’s wearing a dark V-neck sweater that clings to his chest and arms in a way that feels wildly unfair.
His hair is mussed, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
He looks wrecked, but also devastatingly good.
Good enough that, for one reckless second, I want to cross the space between us.
Press my body to his. Feel the heat of him under my hands.
Brush my lips to the skin at his neck and breathe in the scent of him that does unspeakable things to my insides.
Instead, I drop my gaze to my mug and take another sip of coffee, because it feels like everything changed in one night.
Even if it stung at first to discover he was married, I understand Grayson much more now.
From the dinner with his father, to Ana, and everything he told me last night.
It’s still staggering to me that a father could go to such lengths to manipulate their children’s lives.
I know with certainty that Grayson is good.
He wants to do the right thing for everyone.
But everything feels suddenly so complicated.
The want I have for this man is simple, but everything around us is a tangled mess.
His life is rooted in New York with his sister and his board seat for Ashborne Holdings and his projects with Grayson Global. He can’t give that up.
My life is just as rooted in Denver with my bar and the Sullivans.
It isn’t just different worlds and drastically different lifestyles.
It’s different time zones. Even if we had a lifetime, I don’t think we could figure it out.
And we have less than two weeks before our deal is up.
After that, we’ll have no reason to see each other anymore.
It’s too messy. And I’m not the kind of person who jumps into anything without seeing exactly where I’m going to land.
“Ana got in the car OK?” I ask, holding his gaze as I pass him a mug.
He nods, fingers wrapping around it like he needs the heat.
“Thank you.” He takes a grateful sip. “It doesn’t mean she’ll get on the plane or check into the treatment center.
But the fact she signed the divorce papers, and knows rehab is the only way she’ll get any more money from me, is hopefully enough incentive. ”
He leans back against the counter, shoulders slumping just a little.
“She did take the jet, though. Which means I can either book us two flights back to Denver this morning. Or…” He hesitates, eyes flicking to mine.
“If you don’t have to get back right away, I thought I could show you something while we’re here.
We could fly home tomorrow. With the time difference, we’d still be back mid-morning. ”
There’s a pleading in his eyes, and yet I hesitate. The Hay Barn is closed today, but I miss Izzy and Mama and Oakwood Ranch. I’d probably have gone out this afternoon under normal circumstances. A little voice whispers in my thoughts that I could still do all that tomorrow. It’s just one more day.
Grayson’s mouth curves into a small, hopeful smile, as though he can see I’m wavering. “I’ll buy you a croissant.”
I snort despite myself. “That’s your big bribe?”
“Hey, it’ll be the best croissant in the city.”
“Fine,” I reply, like I’m giving in when really the thought of staying in this city for another day with this man causes something warm and fizzy to bloom in my chest. My head might know with absolute certainty that this is too complicated to stand a chance, but damn if my body doesn’t ache for Grayson’s touch.
“But only because I don’t think I can fly commercial anymore,” I joke. I point my mug at him. “And the croissant had better be good.”
Grayson smiles wide, eyes crinkling at the side, promising fun. “Let me grab another coffee first. You want another one too?”
“Hell, yes.” I gulp down the contents of my mug and hand it to him.
He flicks on the coffee machine then turns to me. “Can I ask you something?”
I narrow my eyes.
“About the Stormhawks,” he adds.
“OK.”
“If you were the Huberts, if it was your team, what would you do differently?”
The question sparks through me, catching my interest. “Why are you asking?”
“Because you know a hell of a lot more than me. And because whatever the Huberts and management have been doing for the last few years, it hasn’t been working. We need fresh ideas, and I have a feeling you’ve got them.”
I grin. “It’s not going to be pretty.”
“Hit me with it all.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. “The Huberts did a good job of hiding their money problems from the world. Too good, actually. It made it hard for fans to understand the sale. But it got me thinking about the problems,” I say. “The team’s been bleeding money for years, right?”
Grayson nods.
“And actually, that makes sense. They’ve got legacy fans, sure, but game day attendance has been slipping, and that’s where the losses start. Empty seats mean less concession revenue, less merch, and less leverage with sponsors.”
He watches me closely.
“They do good work in the community. We saw that for ourselves, right? But they barely promote it. Fans don’t connect the good the team does with the brand itself.
That’s a missed opportunity. The Stormhawks are still the beating heart of the city, but not enough people realize it.
And that has a knock-on effect with game day attendance. ”
I pause, choosing my words.
“The team are doing their bit right now. We all know the difference a Super Bowl appearance will make to raising their profile. It will make bigger sponsors pay attention. But it could dwindle in one season if the long-term issues aren’t addressed.”
Grayson hands me my mug. “Such as?”
“The Stormhawks fan base is over forty percent women, and not a single major sponsor is speaking directly to them. You’re so focused on those traditional sponsors—the cars and trucks, the sports drinks, the tech firms—but their adverts are all aimed at men.
It might not be glamorous or sexy but ignoring sponsors for women is money left on the table.
You grow the brand by reflecting the people who actually show up.
That’s where the money is. Do you know how much money the beauty and skincare industry has to spend on advertising?
Those are the sponsors you need to reach out to.
“And then there are the assets the Stormhawks have but barely use. The stadium rarely hosts concerts or corporate showcases. Musicians are booking in Boulder when they could, and should, be in Denver, filling up our stadium.
“The training facility is world-class—gym, catering, pools—and it sits empty too much of the time.” My voice hardens.
“Convert one field. Just one. Ice rink. Basketball court. Whatever. Bring in Denver’s other pro teams, offseason programs, events.
Make the facilities work year-round.” I take a long sip of coffee.
“If it was me, that’s where I’d start. This isn’t just a football problem; it’s a business one. ”
Grayson finishes making his coffee. I can see his mind working over what I’ve told him. “Will you come with me to a meeting I’ve got on Tuesday and say all that again?”
I grin. “Really? You want me to tell them?”
Grayson smiles, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes that reminds me of the first time he walked into my bar and asked me for help. “Of course I do.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, but inside, a fire is burning. I’ve loved the Stormhawks for as long as I can remember. To have even a small part in saving them feels like a dream come true.