Page 58 of The Fake Out

Wren’s eyes widened just slightly, and she lifted her wineglass, though not before I saw one side of her mouth lift in a smirk. Last time I was here, she was talking about Emerson looking at us. My heart pounded again.

“I-I don’t know. I’m not really into the Revs gossip,” I stammered.

“That might change real quick,” Wren sang, her eyes dancing.

“Don’t be so sure.” Avery waved her off. “She’s going back to New York next month, right?”

Nodding, probably too aggressively, I agreed. “I actually just got a text from a guy about possibly subleasing his place starting August first.”

The price was high, but I might be able to swing it. Especially if I got rid of my car. And I’d be in the city, so I wouldn’t need it.

“That’s awesome.” Avery beamed.

Wren’s eyes narrowed. “So nothing about Boston makes you want to stay?”

I shifted on my feet. Who knew why Wren seemed to see through me, but her questions were cutting a bit too close.

“My job is in New York.” I shrugged. Although working mostly remotely didn’t seem to be a problem. Plus, I hated my job. But my résumé still had no hits on it. So I didn’t have a lot of hope of getting out of that hell.

I pointed lamely outside, looking for an excuse to get out of the conversation. “I’m just gonna check on Pop.”

The second I was through the glass door, the June humidity hit me. Being on the water often helped keep the temperature mild, but today’s game was at one, and already, the air was thick and the sun was beating down.

Slipping my sunglasses on, I wandered over to Pop and said hello to Mr. Jacobs before moving to the far side of the area and leaning on the half wall between our box and the one next to it. As much as I wasn’t a baseball fan, I had to admit that the field was gorgeous. The dark green grass, classically raked sand, and bright white lines stood out, creating the perfect stage in front of Boston Harbor. The view from this stadium was unlike any other in the league. Not that I was surprised. The Langfields always insisted on the best.

Nearby, a throat cleared, causing me to straighten.

“Gianna.”

At the sound of my name, I spun, then looked up—way up—to the team’s general manager, Cortney Miller. He was supposedly a nice guy, but he was also the one who had yet to extend Emerson’s contract, so I couldn’t help but wonder if he might be a dumbass.

Before I could get annoyed, he twisted, and a tiny bundle donning a pink pin-striped number 8 Boston Revs jersey appeared.

With a hand to my mouth, I cooed. “Willow.” There was no stopping the response. I’d heard she was adorable, but that was an understatement. She might have been the cutest baby I’d ever seen. Chubby cheeks, tiny bow lips, big blue eyes, and a full head of red hair. “It’s wild that she already has all that hair.”

Cortney smiled. “She’s been full of that fiery ginger, just like her mother since the day she was born.”

“She’s precious,” I assured him, taking a small step closer. I’d heard he was weird about letting people touch her, so I didn’t ask.

“Thanks.” He gave me a nod, causing his man bun to wobble a bit. “My fiancée,” he said, locking me in a stern blue-eyed glare, “is patiently waiting for you to show up at our brownstone. She swears it’s gonna happen.” His lips pulled up slightly at the corner. “I try not to doubt her, because she is normally right, but she desperately wants you to design her logo, and all I want is to make sure she’s happy.”

All thought left me at his comments. She’d told me to just show up, and he was really encouraging it? “Um…” I glanced around, hoping we’d be interrupted and I could avoid continuing this conversation, but my dad was still chatting away, and the girls were still inside. “Okay.”

“So tell me what I need to do to ensure you’ll design her logo,” Cortney said, his tone far too desperate for something so simple.

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. “I mean…I was going to call her. I’m not opposed to doing it,” I assured him. “But it’s been, like, eighteen hours.”

Did she expect me to call last night or first thing this morning? Because I was under the impression that it was a more like a sometime in the next week or so thing.

He blew out a hard breath. “Okay. So she’s right, and you’ll design it for her? Because unknowns stress me out. I just want to control the stuff that makes my family happy.”

My heart melted a little at that. Not only did I understand his stress, but it was endearing as hell. The love he had for Dylan was clear in that one statement.

“I promise I’ll call her this week.” Probably Wednesday. But maybe I’d squeeze her in before to keep him from freaking out too badly.

“Thank you.” He hit me with a genuinely grateful smile. Between that and the way he cared for his family, I was having a really hard time still thinking of him as the idiot who hadn’t bothered to lock Emerson in yet.

The door opened behind him, and a handsome dark-haired man sporting the Revs 00 appeared. Ah. Beckett Langfield. I’d never met him—he hadn’t been at the zoo event because he had a family thing—but I’d seen plenty of photos of the billionaire. His family was Boston royalty.

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