Page 133 of The Play

“And you think that’s going to lead into talking about when we met.”

“It seems the obvious transition,” Grant said.

“Alright.”

“I’ll send these notes to Nicole. Let her arrange it. She’ll find someone she trusts. Though . . .” Grant pondered this. “I kinda want to go a different direction.”

“What do you mean?” Deacon felt like he should ask, not just give Grant his blanket approval—even though that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“There’s a reporter, who actually tipped me off right before the email leaked—she’d gotten a copy of it. She’s covered me a lot, on the business side of things.”

The waiter appeared then. Took their orders and promised to bring Grant’s wine and Deacon’s beer quickly, along with the appetizers they’d ordered.

“You don’t want to give this to a sports reporter?” Deacon asked after he’d left.

“Aren’t they the ones who’ve sensationalized this whole goddamn thing?” Grant questioned, and Deacon couldn’t disagree.

“They’re gonna be pissed. Not just them, but the NFL too.”

“Oh, I’m planning on it.” And there was that man again, the man Deacon adored. That brilliant, twisty mind in the gorgeous package. No wonder Deacon had been unable to resist him, then or now.

“I thought you were tired of dealing with your NFL contact. I forget her name . . .”

“Cheryl,” Grant said, making a face. “I’m still working on that problem. I think I’ve got it mostly sorted out. I’m sure she’ll hit the roof when we do this interview and it comes out.”

Deacon couldn’t help but feel a spike of worry. “Are you sure you want to do it, even if they . . .hate it?” He didn’t want to compromise the man he loved, even if the man he loved was ready to compromise himself.

“They can hate it all they want to. We haven’t done anything wrong. We haven’t made anyone look bad. The interview will clear that up.”

Deacon was not convinced.

“If Cheryl does come charging at me, this time I’ll be ready for her. And she’ll regret doing it.”

It was hard not to be confident when Grant was clearly so sure of himself.

“You’re not going to tell me what you have planned, are you?”

“Let’s just say,” Grant pointed out softly, but with a fierce look in his green eyes, “that the other owners don’t really like it that her office is a sieve. With every piece of info she leaks to the press—and I know it’s her, and am this close to proving it, too—I win one more over to my side. Does the commissioner run the NFL? Sure, he does. But we owners have plenty of power, too. And he’s not going to want to override the majority of us.”

“That’s what you’re doing then,” Deacon said, mostly in awe. Grant was attempting to outmaneuver the commissioner of the NFL.

“Just trying to remove someone from their job who has an axe to grind,” Grant said, shrugging. Like it was no big deal.

It was a very big deal.

And Deacon believed that, if anyone could do it, it would be Grant.

“I would do this even if I didn’t have almost all my pieces in place to remove her,” Grant added. “I think it’s the right thing to do. I think we’re strong enough to weather this. I know I love you enough to fight, and fight hard. And I believe, completely, you’re on the same page. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“I don’t either,” Deacon agreed. “And honestly, I don’t care who does the interview. If you think this reporter friend of yours is the right call, then that’s the direction we’ll go.”

“I just think Marlene would at least treat it semi-seriously, with our history. She wouldn’t sensationalize it more.”

“You’re brilliant. You know what you’re doing. Just don’t micro-manage Nicole,” Deacon teased. “Let her do her job.”

Grant finished typing on his phone and then slid it back into his pocket. “I intend to. She can figure it out.”

“When will we do it?” Now that the plans were in motion, Deacon realized he was more ready than ever to just get it over with. Hoping, of course, that it would actually work.

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