112. Carte Blanche #2
She lifts her chin and stares until my eyes meet hers. “You are in the driver’s seat, Layton. You set the calendar and the clock. And I have no doubts—hear me, zero—that you’ll be able to do this. So there’s no reason not to force their hand in the meantime.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, gnawing as I roll the tender flesh there. “Keep going with the list. Give me some time to digest.”
“Sure. Your homes?”
“Yes?”
“There’s been an offer on your Florida place.”
My fork is suspended in midair. “My house isn’t on the market.”
“I know. A real estate agent reached out on behalf of a young tech millionaire who saw the spread in a sports magazine write-up. He’s made an offer. It’s a generous offer.”
“But that’s my house.”
“You have more than one, lest I need to remind you.” She rolls her eyes. “You are under no obligation. You didn’t offer and you don’t need to counter. I’m letting you know that it’s out there, and you can choose to act on it.”
I pause for a moment, drinking the ice water and trying to think. “Why is that in your top five? Surely there are more pressing challenges that could be top tier.”
Emberleigh sets her pen down and moves her hands into her lap.
She stares at them for a beat before rolling her shoulders back and laying it out there.
“Because the offer is for twenty-four million dollars, fully furnished. Your career, as we knew it, is on hold. Twenty-four million is more than many make in a lifetime. It’s a significant sum.
But with what you’re accustomed to and your age, it’s a strategic time and a worthy offer.
” She exhales before beginning again. “Do you plan to maintain two homes still? One here and that one in Florida? If you do, I’d be happy to decline the offer and scratch that from the list.”
“I need to consider that. I don’t know about maintaining two and I don’t know if I were to, if that’s the right one. How much time do I have?”
“You’re in the driver’s seat. The offer is standing with no timeline. But I bring it up because it might be a life raft if you choose not to move forward with the Excel proposal. You need a holistic look at the current situation instead of onesie-twosies.”
“I appreciate that.”
By the time we get to the last two, I’m tired. For a man who has conditioned my body for stamina, knowing that thinking tires me out is yet another blow to the ego.
“Can we forego the last two?”
“You negotiated terms with cake. I get my last two and two additional questions.”
“You’re changing the terms.”
“You can handle it. You’re Layton Ranger after all.”
My brother is a lucky man. Emberleigh Carrington is a good woman. An annoying one, but a good one nonetheless.
“Hit me,” I say, immediately regretting the words.
“The team is insisting on a medical evaluation. You’re on IR and thus, payroll. You know what that means. And with the preseason ramping up, they’re getting vocal in their demands. They—”
“Call George. Have him get with my attorneys to draw up paperwork for an injury settlement. He can present that in lieu of IR. If that can’t work because of how my contract is written, he can ask what options are on the table. He has carte blanche to negotiate on my behalf.”
Of all the things we’ve discussed, this one bothers me the most. It’s a mirror held up to my inability to run, to play, to honor my contract. It’s the end of my career, officially and legally, and I’m letting someone else say the words for me like the coward I am.
Emberleigh scribbles furiously on her notepad, flipping pages, not stopping until she runs out of space.
“Before we get to the last couple of things, what would you like me to do with the lower tier requests? You can see why these were the priorities. Do you want a list? Would you prefer that George and I handle the rest?”
“The two of you can handle them. If they’re major or you butt heads, come to me. I’m happy to offload all the minor stuff.”
She checks a line near a hand-written note. And then flips back a page. “Your insurance company needs a statement from you. It’s highly unusual to wait this long. Most claims are void with this kind of delay, but…”
I tilt my head at her. She wasn’t this uncomfortable discussing the end of my career or my financial situation. “What?” I ask quietly, dreading what could have her so concerned.
“The man who hit you is suing.”
I stand abruptly, leaning forward and hissing, “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Stand down.”
“Now.”
Neither of those come from the woman across the table from me.
Pop is at my side, an arm around my chest, forcefully holding me back. Braxton stands straight in front of Emberleigh, arms across his chest, eyes shooting daggers at me. “Don’t you dare, Layton. Or you can take it up with me.”
“Stop.” Emberleigh’s voice is clear and strong, as she pushes Braxton aside with a hand at his hip. “Braxton, move.”
He looks at me and back to her. “He won’t speak to you that way. I won’t stand for it. And he—”
“Enough.” Emberleigh stands, pushing back her chair and moving from behind Braxton to come to my side. Speaking to Pop, she says, “Let him go. Please.” Pop’s hold loosens on my body, but he doesn’t release me.
To me, she says, “He’s an ass, and we’ll find a way to make this go away.
I have calls in to a friend who specializes in this kind of litigation.
But it will go a long way if you’ll go on record about the accident.
You should know by now that he won’t win.
I won’t stand for it.” She looks from me to Pop to Braxton.
“Your family won’t stand for it. But we won’t keep you in the dark either. ”
Her eyes flit to the hand still wrapped across my arm and pecs. “Please, Pop. I’m not in danger.”
Pop looks between me and his soon-to-be daughter-in-law and takes a deep breath before letting go of me. “What are you two talking about?”
“The fuckwad who hit me—the one who did this to me.” I gesture with my hand down my body. “Is suing me for… For. I don’t know. What is he suing me for?”
“Emotional distress and mental anguish.”
I bark a laugh. “Well, that’s rich.” I tap my pocket where I keep a pill or two at all times and clench my fists. “I’ll show him anguish and distress. I’ll— Fuck him.” My comment is to the room.
I turn to Emberleigh and add, “I’m tapped out. Can we continue tomorrow or the next day? And thank you. For so much more than that list.” I nod at her paper. I turn and walk away, leaving the three of them in my wake to discuss whatever the hell they want to yell about.
At the mouth of the hall, I grab a tablet from my pocket and chew it to powder before I hit my room. It’s only when I sit on the bed that I realize my walker is still in the kitchen.