Page 114 of The Play

“Working on it.” Grant paused. “What are you gonna do?”

He liked Jonathan Kelley—he did. Up until now, he’d been convinced that Deacon had been right, and hiring him had been the correct call. But now . . .if he couldn’t get a hold of this team—if he didn’t have the experience or the force of will to do it—then, he wasn’t going to be the right coach going forward.

Because one thing was always guaranteed in an NFL season—there were going to be distractions and messes and garbage fires, and Grant needed someone who could handle himself and the team around him.

Jonathan chuckled darkly. “You know, before I took this job, someone told me you were the scariest motherfucker he’d ever met. I didn’t believe him. After all—”

“I don’t exactly look it,” Grant said, actually smiling now. Maybe this was the right guy for the job.

“No,” Jonathan agreed. “No, you do not. I saw it a little, earlier this year, the way you ruthlessly trimmed out the rot. But I didn’t really see it, not completely, until just now.”

Grant got it. The coach had come here, to his office, to read Grant the riot act about the distractions he’d created for his team, for getting involved with one of his players, and Grant had neatly turned it back on him.

It was how he’d won boardrooms for years. Won or worn them down until they just didn’t want to fight any longer.

But he didn’t want that for Jonathan. They needed to be on the same page, here.

“You know how Bruce Banner likes to say, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry? That’s me. You don’t want to see me when I’ve been backed into a corner. I don’t like it, and I’m gonna fight like hell, underhanded and every other way I can think of, to get out of the trap.”

That was why he hadn’t dismissed Darcy’s suggestion outright. It was unexpected, and he liked unexpected.

But one thing was holding him back, for better or worse. Because he was terrified it would mean the end of this thing he shared with Deacon, and he could risk a lot, offer to sacrifice even more, but he wasn’t willing to put that on the chopping block. Even if it didn’t ruin it, the chance was too great, the pain too immediate whenever he thought of it.

He’d met too many men in business who’d shoved their personal lives and feelings to the side, ruthlessly ignored everything they felt in order to climb to the top. To a man, they’d ended up rich, and always too bitter to actually enjoy the spoils of their victories.

Grant wasn’t going to be yet another one in that long line.

He refused to accept less than everything, and maybe it was ego talking, but if anyone could grab it all, it was going to be him.

“I believe you, and I wouldn’t ever bet against you,” Jonathan said. He stood. “I’ll talk to the team.”

“Do you want me to do it?” It was another test, even though Grant believed the coach was smart enough to see through it.

And he did, shaking his head. “No, I’ve got it,” he said.

After his conversation with his coach, Grant’s mood improved marginally. He could do this. He had the best staff. He had a sharp brain. He could defeat this.

But then Nicole walked in an hour later, and if Darcy’s face had telegraphed her news, Nic’s expression screamed it.

“What now?” Grant tried to keep his voice calm and level but it had an undeniably testy edge.

“Rex wasn’t getting enough attention with his gambling accusations, so he’s switched gears.” Nicole collapsed onto the chair in front of his desk. She looked as tired as he suddenly felt.

How could he win when the vultures kept swooping out of every shadow, salivating over what they kept assuming was the Condors’ carcass?

“Let me guess,” Grant said sarcastically, “my personal life is his new target.”

“He claimed you preyed on him and several others, even though they weren’t queer.”

“He used a worse word, didn’t he,” Grant said heavily.

Nicole nodded.

“Shit.”

“By this point, he’s hardly credible, so we can contain this,” Nicole claimed. And he had no doubt that she could. Rex had already blown his load with the gambling shit and then had been proven wrong. Not many people would believe any of this. It was just more fucking noise, when they were already in danger of being drowned out by it all.

“Sure, we can. But how am I gonna keep Deacon from killing him?” Grant said with a heavy sigh. Because that was really the problem. And if Deacon said or did a single fucking thing, that was all Rex would need to bleat about it forever.

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