Page 70 of The Fake Out

My body tingled and rage pulsed through every cell of my being. The urge to get on a plane and fly to New York to beat the life out of the man who’d made Gianna sad was intense. Almost as intense as the need to wrap her up in my arms and hold her until she forgot all about the stupid shit the guy said. But I was halfway across the fucking country. And the last thing she needed was for me to go off on a rant. So I focused on her needs. And the first one was a new fucking job.

For years, Chris had nothing but shitty things to say about the douches design firm. Then I witnessed the way every person from the firm behaved at the zoo event. Jake was an ass, of course, and so was his fiancée, but not one person Gianna worked with had congratulated her. Hell, they didn’t even speak to her. If, for some reason, this place was the firm of her dreams, then that had to change. If she felt like it was the place where she could make a name for herself, then I’d figure out how to decimate Jake while supporting her dream.

“Why do you work for the douches?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound relaxed.

“It’s Doucette, and for the obvious reasons,” she snarked, hitting me with that glare that I understood hid her vulnerability. “Money.”

That was such a sassy Gi answer. Though the attitude didn’t last. It only took a moment for her walls to melt slightly. Chin lowered, she focused on something below the screen and sighed.

“Health insurance. Income stability.” She shrugged. “Since I’ve been in Boston, I’ve sent my résumé out to dozens of firms, but I haven’t gotten a single hit. Even if I get more jobs like Little Fingers, I’d need to bring in at least two projects a month to pay the bills.”

That was understandable. “You need to prove to yourself that you can survive on those jobs before you can quit.”

One of my worst qualities was that I harped on things. I became single-mindedly focused to an annoying degree. Sometimes it wasn’t all bad. It’s how I’d gotten so good at baseball so quickly. It became my obsession. Now, though, I had a new obsession, one with big brown eyes and gorgeous curves and a place in my heart I never thought anyone would fill. But she also had a boss who needed to be socially castrated and a talent that she downplayed and dismissed at every turn. And I intended to fix all these things.

“Isn’t that what people do before they quit their jobs? Find a new one?” She cocked a brow. That simple response was so very unreactive, so very un-Damiano, that it threw me off. Though maybe it shouldn’t have. She wasn’t as hotheaded as everyone made her seem.

“Smart, rational people.” I cracked my knuckles and took a breath. “Let’s look at your résumé when I get back and see how we can make it pop. You deserve a job you love.” I forced a smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Not everyone gets a job they love.”

That might be true, but no one deserved the way Jake Caderson was treating Gianna.

“Eh, fine. But we’re gonna make it happen for you. Don’t you know I’m like Micky Mouse? I make all the dreams come true,” I assured her with a tease.

Finally, she cracked the smallest smile. It definitely had a you’re such a dumbass vibe to it, but it was genuine.

“Well, thanks for…” She pressed her lips together and ducked her head again. “For not freaking out. I needed to feel better. And somehow, you did that.”

“I would paint myself blue, hop around like a monkey, or stand on my head if it made your day better.”

“I could paint you blue,” she teased.

My blood heated at the thought of her brush on my skin. “Don’t make promises you don’t want me to hold you to.”

She smirked. “Who says I don’t want you to hold me to them?”

All I could do in response was groan. I was too lost in the fantasy.

“Go play your game, Emerson.” She smiled. “Text me after.”

I nodded. Of course I’d text her. She didn’t have to ask. Eventually, she’d figure that out.

As soon as she ended the call, my smile fell and my body heated again. And not in the way it had when she mentioned painting my body. No, the rage I’d put aside for her still existed in my core, and it flared back to life. I didn’t know how to deal with it. Anger and punishment weren’t my norm. And I couldn’t hide down in the tunnels much longer, or someone would find me.

I’d wanted to hear about Gi’s meeting with Dylan, but with my locker right next to Chris’s, I couldn’t FaceTime her there. So I’d wandered out and down the hall far enough that it was unlikely anybody would stumble upon me. But eventually, someone would notice I was missing from pregame shit and come looking.

I moved back toward the locker room, tucking my phone into my uniform pocket. Pushing through the door, I scanned my teammates until I found the one I needed.

I moved straight to the dark-haired man who was tapping away on his own phone.

“What’s up, Bambi?” Asher Price tipped his head up and cocked a brow at me from the folding chair where he sat.

“Zara is a professional fixer, right?” I asked. Supposedly, Asher’s wife used to work with athletes, actors, and singers, setting the record straight after bad publicity and stuff like that.

“She backed off once we had kids,” he said, frowning, “but she’s playing with the idea of working more often.”

That’s exactly what I’d heard. “So if I needed a truth set free, she might help me?”

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