Page 79 of Faking it with the Billionaire
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We fall asleep on the sofa, tangled in each other’s arms.
The morning light wakes me, as does my phone buzzing in my pants pocket on the floor. I untangle my body from Em’s.
“Sorry,” I apologize, hating to wake her. We should get dressed and be decent for when Lia comes in or Bristol tramples down the stairs.
I grab my phone and clear my throat, attempting to sound as awake as possible when I read the caller ID. It’s Fitzgerald.
What the hell does he want at this hour?
“Hello?” My voice comes out gruff as I answer the call.
“Don’t tell me I woke you, Greyson.” He doesn’t sound pleased, and I’m not surprised. He’s never in a good mood. The man wears his bad attitude like it’s part of his ensemble. It only comes in black.
“What can I do for you?” I ask. I’m not about to admit that, yes, he woke me. Normally, I’d be up getting a run in before dawn or working weights to get the blood pumping. But last night with Em was enough to make my heart race wildly, and I was catching up on some much-needed sleep.
“I need you in my office in thirty. Can you do that?”
Mitchell isn’t scheduled until later, and I’m not sure I can get him to pick me up in time. I’ll have to grab the keys and drive one of the vehicles in the garage. “Yeah, I can do that.”
I don’t ask what this is about. Honestly, I have no clue. It could be about the contract. I’m hoping that he’s offering me another year at minimum, although I’d prefer it to be a solid three-year deal. I’ve never bothered with an agent. I’m probably the only player who has chosen to forego an agent because the last agent and I didn’t see eye-to-eye.
He was trying to get me a contract for the most money. I just wanted to play hockey with the Ice Dragons. It was as simple as that. He wouldn’t listen to the client, me, so I fired his ass.
I’m quite capable of negotiating the contract on my own. But this is the first time I’ve had to do that. The offer last time came in, and we argued about the deal until I went to Fitzgerald on my own and signed it behind my agent’s back.
That didn’t go over well.
And looking back, that might have been the start of the beef between Fitzgerald and me. I don’t cave under the pressure of authority. I make my own path.
I hang up and grab my boxers from the floor, yanking them on as I grab my clothes and toss Em’s clothes at her as she sits up. The throw blanket from the sofa drapes over her naked body.
“You’re in a rush this morning,” she says, watching me curiously.
“Fitzgerald wants me to meet with him in thirty.”
“Can you get to the arena that quickly? It’s across town.”
I grimace, and I don’t have time to even answer her question as I’m heading upstairs to change clothes.
She yanks open my bedroom door as I pull my jeans on. I’d have opted for a suit if I knew without a doubt that this was a contract meeting, but we also have practice in a couple of hours. And when I get done with practice, I’m going to want something comfortable to wear.
“Should I reach out to Mitchell? Or maybe I should go with you and make sure Fitzgerald isn’t up to something sinister,” Em says.
“You’ll stay here with Bristol.” I grab a black t-shirt and yank it on before sitting at the edge of the bed to pull on my socks. “I’ll take the truck and drive myself to the arena.”
She’s watching me, silent and curious.
“What?” I ask, standing and running a hand through my hair. I pop into the bathroom real quick to brush my teeth and make sure that I look like I didn’t just roll out of bed or off the couch.
“My stomach is in knots,” Em says.
“Why?” I shut off the light in the bathroom, breezing past her.
“It’s probably nothing, but I don’t think it’s normal for him to just call you into his office at six in the morning.” She glances at the clock on my bedside table.
I head out of the bedroom with a brisk pace, down the stairs, and grab my sneakers. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’s part of his usual being a dick routine.”
