Page 73 of Knotted Laces

“I have a meeting to get to,” he says quietly.

I nod. “I won’t keep you.”

“You’ll just keep waiting for one of my hockey players?”

I fight a smile. “I will neither confirm nor?—”

“Deny,” he says on a sigh. “You know, some might consider you troublesome.”

I smother a laugh. “Oh, I think it’s more thansome.”

Now he full-on grins. “Yup, definitely troublesome, Athena Phillips.”

And now it’s my turn for my eyebrows to shoot upward in question as his expression becomes cocky. “I make it my business to know who’s investigating me.”

“Touché.”

I lean back again Cam’s car, cross my arms. “We didn’t find anything, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, that cocky silver fox in charge once more for a flash before I see a streak of protectiveness lace itself into his expression. “Cam’s a good one. Don’t fuck with his head, yeah?”

I inhale sharply, panic like I haven’t experienced for days spiraling through my insides.

But, for some reason, my reaction has Jean-Michel’s face clearing.

“What?” I manage to whisper.

He claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezes lightly. “You’ll do, kid.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused now, though panic is still swirling beneath the bewilderment.

He waves a hand at my face, which is clearly showing the tumult of my emotions, even though that’s extremely bad form as an FBI agent. “Only someone who cares would have that reaction.”

I inhale again. I want to deny it, but we both know it would be a lie. Idocare about Cam, and it’s nowhere near familial.

“Exactly.” He nods approvingly. “So, like I said, you’ll do, kid.” He drops his hand. “Keep caring and we’ll be good.”

That has me pulling my head out of my ass and focusing on what’s important—Cam. “You know,” I tell him. “If you really care about Cam and his head, then I’d get your asshole of a coach in line.”

Thunder begins to coalesce at the edges of his expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said,” I tell him, anger bubbling now as I remember Cam’s demeanor when we talked, his disappointment, the way he’d been sliced to the core by the lack of support when he was already beating himself up. His coach had made everything worse. “Imean, that maybe if your coaching staff was interesting in building players up instead of flogging them when they’re struggling, the Eagles would have made it further than the first round of the playoffs.”

His eyes narrow, and I half expect him to unleash a load of anger on me.

But then he exhales, his face clears, and he nods. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Really?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“If I’ve learned anything in my years in business, it’s to listen when people are talking.” He nods at me. “You’re talking, so I’m listening.”

“Just like that?”

His mouth quirks. “Just like that.”

“Wow.”

“I hear that a lot.”

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