Page 20 of Love Me Steadfast
“And the money, apparently.” She says it like an accusation.
I wince. It took me years to feel okay about accepting NIL endorsement money as Oregon’s QB.
“Well, good luck,” she adds. Before I can work out a reply, she’s turned the corner and pushes out the back door, the blast of sunlight from outside blinding in this dark space.
I don’t try to stop her. Though I’m not surprised she stormed off, it puts another crack in my fragile hope. But what did I expect? That she’d jump at the chance to fix up the place she blames for so much heartache? That she’d be okay helpingme?
At least she didn’t show up wearing someone else’s ring, or worse—like try to convince me she had feelings for Crosby. That lie died the moment he moved back to Finn River without her. If I find out he hurt her, I’ll fucking break him.
I cling to the hope that Charlotte’s single because she’s still in love with me, but that’s a pipe dream.
When I drop into the black office chair, it gives a loud squeak that might as well be an ice pick to my eardrums. I force in some slow breaths, but the stale air back here only seems to add to the growing pressure squeezing my skull.
What that hell was I thinking, taking this on? I should be spending my time off doing something fun, or at the very least relaxing. Not elbows deep in a problem I don’t even know how to solve. This is Charlotte and Morgan’s world. And though Ray clearly hasn’t been pulling his weight for awhile, he’s steeped in this business. He could have fixed this if he’d wanted to.
I’m clueless. I can’t even listen to music anymore. At least, not the kind that plays at The Limelight.
But there’s no turning back now. Would Charlotte feel compelled to step in and help if I epically failed while she was still in town? Or would it be better to fix all the problems myself—somehow—and draw her back by her curiosity, maybe even admiration?
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see her smile at me again. To hear her laugh. To touch her soft skin and watch those pretty hazel eyes tense with longing.
Seeing her on my doorstep last night was like drinking fire. She’s even prettier than she was back then. That long brown hair that I loved to play with, the strands like sun-warmed silk. Hazel eyes flecked with green and gold. That heart-shaped mouth that haunts my dreams. Her slender hips and long, lean legs.
A knock on the open door is like the crack of a whip.
It’s a woman, her hair pulled back in a twist and her quick brown eyes focused on me. A thin silver hoop hugs her left nostril. “I’m Annaleise Bell, with the Journal,” she says, extending her hand.
I rise and take it. Her handshake is firm, efficient.
“Let’s talk out in the restaurant,” I say. “It’s kind of a mess in here.” Plus there is only one chair, and it’s uncomfortable as hell.
“Sure,” she says, and steps back. We walk down the dim hallway side by side. Though she doesn’t speak, there’s a brisk energy to the way she moves. I brace myself for this interview.
I head for the table I made sure was clean. Thanks to the lull between lunch and dinner and the unflattering sunlight streaking through the dingy windows, the space feels stale and lifeless.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask.
“No, thank you.” She slips a small notebook and pen from her purse before hanging the straps from the back of her chair, then sits.
I choose a chair across from her and wait. After four years as a D1 athlete, talking to the press isn’t new to me, but there’s something about Annaleise’s cool efficiency that has me on edge.
Or maybe it’s because I have somethingto hide.
She flashes me a smile. “Thanks for talking with me today.” After a quick scan of the room, she adds, “This is quite the change.”
I shrug. “The only change is the ownership.”
Her lips purse in thought. “So why buy it if you aren’t going to make it your own?”
“It’s a good investment,” I say evenly. At least this one I’ve rehearsed.
“For a firefighter?”
I laugh. “Why not?”
She tilts her head while studying me. “You don’t exactly have the background for this.”
Neither did Ray. “True.” Does she think I’ll fail? “I like a challenge.”
