Page 105 of The Play

They followed him all the way to the car, yelling questions, some of them even dragging out some really ugly comments, no doubt in an attempt to get a reaction out of him. But it was surprisingly easy to keep the stone-cold expression plastered across his face. Easy to stay angry.

Richard was there, holding the door, and they all slid into the back seat, and he shut it behind them.

“Shit,” Nicole said.

He wasn’t angry at her, necessarily, but she was the head of Condors’ PR and if there was a rabid mob of reporters in his stadium, she should’ve known about it.

“What the hell was that?” he asked. Still angry, but trying to rein in his temper.

“Not what I expected, that was for sure,” Nicole said wryly. “I knew we issued more press credentials for the game. But I thought they were all just going to crane their necks up at your suite windows, try to get a reaction out of you. Maybe hope I’d lose my mind and put you up at the podium after the game to make a statement. But I didn’t think they’d do that.”

“They were at that level, because of the locker room,” Darcy guessed. Often, after games, Nicole would give access to the locker room to certain press, so they could interview any players who hadn’t gone up to the podium.

“Yes,” Nicole said. “I don’t usually put a restriction on the locker room visitors, because it’s never an issue.”

“You’ll do it now,” Grant said, and Nicole nodded, grimly.

“Next home game, we’ll station security at the elevator, and I’ll make a list of reporters who I know won’t do . . .any of that.” She made a face of distaste. “I didn’t even recognize most of them.”

“I’m not sure they normally cover the sports beat,” Darcy said gently. She glanced over at Grant, and he knew what she was thinking.

What she’d suggested the other day: that he come entirely clean, giving nobody any room for continued speculation.

But he and Deacon had been on exactly one date.

Deacon had slept in his bed for only three nights.

Maybe Grant knew that he wanted him in it for every night after this, but that was a lot to ask of anyone.

They didn’t even know how to be a couple yet. Going public about being a couple now was moving way too fast.

“We continue with no comment,” Nicole said. “But I am going to put out a statement that the sudden and rife speculation on our owner’s private life is intrusive and unwelcome.”

They all knew that wouldn’t do a goddamn thing to calm anything down, but Grant was glad she was trying something.

“That’s a start,” Grant said.

She turned to him, and he didn’t envy her the job she’d be doing for the next few weeks. “I’m sorry about that. Truly sorry. I had no idea, and that’s inexcusable, I know, but I never imagined—”

“None of us did,” Grant said gruffly. He’d waltzed down to the elevator without a worry in the world, only annoyed at all the social media chatter over the game coverage—half of the viewers had seemingly only tuned in to see if Grant was wearing a Deacon Harris jersey and the other half were annoyed they were showing him at all—but he’d never expected this either.

“I’m still sorry,” Nicole said. “And if you want to take action—”

“No,” Grant interrupted her. “No. You’re going to handle it.”

“Yes, I am,” Nicole said flatly. They dropped her off around the corner, where she’d parked for the game, and in the car, he and Darcy headed back to his penthouse.

Grant’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. Not surprised in the least at who it was and what he’d said. What the fuck, Deacon texted. Apparently there was a whole mob of photographers outside the locker room, waiting for you?

Grant sighed.

Darcy glanced over at him. “Deacon worried?”

“How did you guess?” Grant asked.

“Because you both are weirdly obsessed with protecting everyone—and when you don’t, saving them.”

Grant made a face.

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