Page 55 of Go Deep

“All of my political contacts are prepared to pull their money if I walk away. I’ve already set up a new portfolio management company, and the advisors all have proven records. And the best part is that my contacts will all follow me because they know the power I have and what I can get them beyond big returns.”

My blood boils and my fist itches, clenched at my side. “Do you think my father will like hearing that?”

“Your father needs my power and my connections. He’ll support whatever I choose to do.”

Of course he fucking will.

“Rethink your buyout offer or you’ll be shutting down instead. Without football, where the hell will that leave you?” He flashes a nasty smirk and claps me on the shoulder again. “Enjoy the game.”

My lungs tighten like they’re being wrapped tight by thick chains. I can’t drag in a deep breath. My pulse is out of control, jackhammering the sides of my throat. Heat creeps into myface, and all I want to do is pick up one of the chairs near me and hurl it against the tempered glass overlooking the field.

Without football, where the hell will that leave you?

No football, no company, no livelihood at all.

Gabe picks that second to stalk into the booth. He walks straight to our table and doesn’t even give the room a quick look. One of the sound check guys sets him up with a mic while I watch from my secluded corner.

I’m fucked, totally and completely.

There’s no breaking away from this façade I’ve created.

I slowly walk toward the table. Gabe finally looks up and my heart wrenches. His eyes aren’t angry or sad anymore. Now they’re empty and soulless. Completely void of emotion.

And that’s so much fucking worse.

After my mic check is done, I sink into the leather chair and stare out at the field. Gabe drops into his seat, a whiff of his spicy scent making me clutch the pen in my hand.

I remember breathing in that scent the other night, how it clouded my mind and made me do something I want so badly to regret but can’t find even an ounce of it in my soul. Now it’s a taunting reminder of what I let slip through my fingers, what I had for a fleeting moment and then lost because keeping it means giving up everything else.

Luckily, we’re not being televised because Gabe can’t even look at me. He’s stoic in his announcements after we make our introductions and doesn’t really invite me into any of the commentary.

I keep one eye on the field and one on him. He’s turned slightly away from me, his back stiff in his blue suit. It’s not navy or royal, but something in between. The color pops against his tan skin and bright eyes. But for as good as he looks in it, I want more than anything to strip him out of it.

His jaw tenses, almost as if he can sense my stare.

The fans below, all decked out in red and white, jump around like crazy because the Wisconsin Panthers, touted as the number one team in the league, are falling short, clearing the path for the Ohio State Titans.

Focusing on the game is near impossible with Gabe so close. He may be pissed off at me, hell, he might hate me. But I can’t deny the impact his presence has on me — my head, my body, and dammit, my heart.

My skin prickles with goosebumps, the deep baritone of his voice making my body hum. When he finally turns his head with an expectant look on his face, his lips twist into a grimace.

I know that’s my cue to speak up.

“Let’s take a look at that replay. What a shot. That linebacker came up to make a tackle on the play, but the running back completely bulldozed him, leaving Martin down on the ground.”

I don’t even know where the words come from, but they put me in the game. Gabe’s stare heats my insides, making my skin pebble with sweat in the air-conditioned booth.

“Heading into this game, the Panthers were the prohibitive favorite, but their defense is suffering.” Gabe narrows his eyes, waiting for my response.

I can still feel his fingers tugging the back of my hair, his cock hard against mine, his breath hot against my face, his lips demanding everything I have to give…

“That’s right. And that’s why we play the game, folks. That’s football. Any given Sunday.”

Fuck, I want to yank off this fucking earpiece and lunge for him, but everything in me says to back the hell off. My career — hell, my life — is hanging by a thread, and Bob has thescissors. He will shred what’s left of it if I give him any more of a reason to.

And as much as it pains me to admit, I can’t let him destroy my father’s one dream. Because that will be next on his punch list of things to do to ruin lives. So I push my feelings to the back burner and turn my attention to the game because the threats to my livelihood are tugged too tight around my neck to ignore them.

“Ellis back to pass. He looks left, he’s got no receivers. He scrambles out of the pocket, sees Jones. Let’s it fly. It’s a high one and it’s too far. Way over his head. Out of bounds.”

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