Page 26 of All In

"Rylee?" A foreign voice met her, and she wrinkled her brow.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's Jeremy, Memphis' lawyer. Sorry to confuse you. I'm calling to see if I can messenger over some paperwork to have you look over."

Rylee fingered out some tangles in her ponytail. "I suppose that's fine. I'm kind of in the middle of a tournament. Can it wait until I get home?"

"The messenger is ten minutes away. I know you're at lunch."

Rylee sighed. "Fine. I'll look it over while I eat. What's this about?"

Jeremy chuckled. "Just comes with the territory of dating a rich guy. Gotta make sure you're not a gold digger."

Rylee felt her face heat with anger. But before she could say anything he continued. "Not that I think you are. That was a bad joke. The paperwork is just stuff to get you onto Memphis' financials. It's all very dry, but I'm here to answer any questions you have."

Rylee blew out a breath and tried to stifle her anger. "OK. I'll look at it when I can, but I don't have long for lunch."

Less than ten minutes later, her security was accepting a thick envelope from a messenger while she got settled at a table in the convention center food court.

As she ate her salad, she flipped through the first few pages and tried not to let her eyes glaze over. If these were documents Memphis needed her to sign, she wanted to understand them. after all, the documents he had her sign previously turned out to be more than what she realized, and she'd inadvertently become the owner of a house.

Most of it seemed to be about giving her access to Memphis' bank accounts and issuing her credit cards attached to those accounts.

Not that she wanted his money, but she had a feeling Memphis would insist. The next form was an asset disclosure form. Memphis had already filled in one section of it, and the other was hers to fill out. That would be easy. She owned a car, and that was about it.

Figuring she could deal with that later, she flipped through the rest of the forms as she shoved the salad aside and reached for the package of cookies she'd bought.

Her hand hovered over the plastic wrapped treats as her eyes scanned the document. It was a preliminary draft of a potential prenuptial agreement.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, forgetting the cookies. He hadn't even proposed yet, and he wanted her to sign a damn prenup? Or was this his way of asking her to marry him? If it was, they were going to have words. She might not be mushy and gushy, but she damn well deserved a better proposal than being served a prenup.

She pulled out her phone to call him but stopped when her stomach turned to knots again. Her face grew warm, and she felt shaky for a moment. Then her stomach lurched. Fuck, she was going to throw up. Her eyes darted around the food court, looking for a restroom sign. When she spotted it, she jumped up and made a dash for the door to the women's room.

She barely made it to a stall before the contents of her stomach came up. Apparently, Memphis' hangover cure hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped. When she was sure her stomach was empty, she flushed the toilet and went to the bathroom sink to wash her face. Her hands trembled as she waved them under the automatic soap dispenser, but she managed to finish the task.

Her security detail was waiting just outside the bathroom when she opened the door. One had gathered her bag and paperwork and the other was tapping on his phone screen. A minute later, he held it to his ear.

"Yes, Sir. She's right here."

He handed Rylee the phone.

"Hello," she said hesitantly.

"Ace? Are you OK?"

"You tell me," she said, her voice sullen.

"Your detail said you looked sick. Tell me what's wrong. Is it just the hangover?"

Rylee pressed a hand to her forehead. It was still slightly damp from washing it.

"Probably. I don't know. It was weird. Can we talk later? I got your paperwork. We can discuss it tonight or something. I just want to get through this tournament."

"What paperwork?" Memphis asked.

Rylee scrunched her forehead. "Jeremy sent it. Said it was stuff I needed to fill out to get hooked in to your financials. Not that I need or want your money."

Memphis sounded relieved when he said, "Oh yeah. That. I just asked him to give you access to the banks and get credit in your name plus a few other things. If you need me to explain anything, I can."

So, he wasn't even going to mention the prenup? Rylee had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smarting off. She couldn't go back to the table furious, or she would play reckless poker.

"Sounds good," she said through clenched teeth. "I should get back."

"OK. I love you. Go home and sleep when you're done. We'll talk soon."

"OK," she said, quickly ending the call. The phone lit up with his name on the screen as she handed it back to the bodyguard.

"Just tell him I went back into the tournament if he wants to talk to me," she said before turning to stalk into the competition space and find her next table assignment.

As she stacked her chips and waited for the cards to be dealt, she couldn't help but wonder if it was really such a good idea to go all in with Memphis Foster.

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