Page 92 of Puck Struck
James laughs, the sound grating against my ears like fingernails on a blackboard. "Straight to business. I like that." He turns to me, leaning in close enough that I can smell his cologne. I force myself not to jerk away at the noxious scent. "Did you tell him everything, Connor? About us? About what you used to do for money?"
"He knows,” I bite out.
"Does he? Does he know about the video I have of you servicing three men at once? Or the one where you're crying and begging someone to stop, but you keep going because you need the money so badly?"
Shame ignites inside of me like a flame tossed onto a trail of gasoline, but I keep my voice calm. "He knows about my past."
"Your past." James's eyes glitter with something ugly. "Is that what you call it? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks more like your true nature. Once a whore, always a whore."
Logan moves so fast I almost miss it. One second he's sitting across from me, the next he's behind James, one hand gripping the back of his chair hard enough to make the wood creak.
"Watch your fucking mouth," Logan growls, his head practically against James’s ear, his voice low enough that only our table can hear.
"Oh, how protective of you," James says, staring up at Logan. "It's almost sweet. Tell me, Logan, does he still do that thing with his tongue when he?—"
"Enough." I cut him off before Logan does something that'll get us thrown out of here before we can get our evidence. "You wanted to meet. Here we are."
James settles back against his chair, arms folded over his chest. He somehow manages to look relaxed despite the fact that there’s a massive, muscled mountain of a man looming over him. "I hope you’re here because you’ve made the very wise decision to come home with me, Connor. Back to New York, where you belong."
"Forget it. Not happening.”
"Are you sure about that?" James pulls out his phone and swipes through screens until he comes to a video file. "I have hours of footage. Photos. Documentation of every single transaction, every client, every degrading thing you did for money." He tilts the screen so I can see the ammunition he has against me. The photo he flashes is a thumbnail image of me, younger, thinner, with the kind of deadness in my eyes that still haunts me in nightmares. "One click sends all of this to every major sports network, every hockey blog, every social media platform I can find."
My mouth goes so dry I can't swallow past the piles of imaginary sand just shoveled into it. "You're fucking insane."
"No, I'm practical. A strategist. Your reputation, your career, your pretty new boyfriend's reputation? All gone. Just like that." He snaps his fingers. "Unless you hand over the two hundred and fifty thousand and come with me. Tonight."
"And if I don't?"
"Then tomorrow morning, the hockey world wakes up to see exactly what kind of person their rising star really is. Connor Novak, professional prostitute turned professional athlete. Catchy headline, don't you think?"
Logan's hand tightens on James’s chair back. I reach for hisarm and shake my head. I need to handle this. He can’t feel like he needs to save me, too.
"You're forgetting something," I say to James. "I'm not Connor anymore. And I'm not that scared kid who had nowhere else to go."
"Or, really?” James’s voice drops to that intimate tone that used to make my skin crawl. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look pretty fucking scared.” He turns to glare up at Logan. “Both of you do."
"What happened to your business in Chicago?" Logan asks. "The one that was so important you had to delay this little reunion?"
Something flickers in James's eyes. Surprise, or maybe irritation that Logan had the nerve to dig into his business plans. "It fell through. Things happen," he says in a clipped tone.
"Things like background checks?" Logan says. "Credit checks? The kind that might reveal restraining orders, human resource complaints, reasons why a formerly successful businessman is suddenly blackmailing twenty-something-year-old hockey players?"
James' smile falls, his eyes turning murderous. "I don't know what the hell you're implying?—"
"I'm not implying shit. I'm stating facts." Logan lets go of James’s chair and moves around the table to sit back down. But his body's still coiled tight, ready to pounce if James says the wrong thing, which is damn likely. "See, we did a little digging of our own. Turns out you weren't as discreet about your 'business relationship' with Connor as you thought."
My heart skids to a stop. Logan and I never discussed any of this. What the hell is he doing?
"You're bluffing," James says, but the confidence in his voice wears thin.
"Am I? Tell me, how many companies have you been firedfrom in the past three years? How many deals have fallen through when potential partners learned about your indiscretions?" Logan's voice is somehow calm and even, like he's discussing the fucking weather. "It’s amazing what you can find when you know what to look for."
A deep red flush creeps up the sides of James’s neck, flooding his face. So much for his perfect composure. That bullshit façade is about to crack open. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, but I do. The thing about blackmail is that it only works if the person being blackmailed has more to lose than the person doing the blackmailing." Logan smiles. "So let me ask you this. What happens when your current employer finds out about your hobbies? When they see evidence of your stalking, harassment, and blackmail?"
My jaw drops and I stare at Logan. How does he know all of this?
