Page 19 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“And what about Braun?” Holt lifts one dark brow, his head tilting with curiosity.
“What about him?”
“Do you still love him?”
My heart leaps into my throat. Did he really just ask me that?
I study the tiny crack between the elevator doors, wishing I could shrink down to nothing and slip out through that tiny space. But there’s no escape. It’s only Holt and me, and the question no one else has had the courage to ask these past six months.
“No,” I finally say, my voice soft but honest. “I’ll always care for him in my own way, but it’s not love. Not anymore. Not even close.”
Holt nods, his full lips barely parting, like he’s about to ask a follow-up question. But before he can say a word, the elevator settles at my floor, the doors easing open to allow for my escape.
“Well, this is me,” I say as I step out, grateful for the abrupt ending to this mini press conference.
My heels click against the white marble tile as I hurry down the hall toward my office, not even pausing to look over my shoulder. I’ve done enough looking back for today, and all it’s earned me is more hurt and confusion than I’ve bargained for.
6
* * *
HOLT
“So, you got it?” Madden asks, grabbing a pair of thirty-pound dumbbells from the weight rack.
“Huh?”
“The contract, dumbass. You got it?”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” I smirk and help myself to a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the training facility.
Madden was the first employee I hired when I started my company. He’s been with me for four years now, and we’ve grown from being mere boss and employee to friends.
Well, mostly workout partners, but occasionally drinking buddies too.
Today, though, our workout facility got an upgrade. Now that we’re on the payroll of the Boston Titans, we have privileges at the same gym the players use. It’s bougie as fuck, and I’m not complaining.
There are clean towels and free bottled water. Locker rooms that don’t smell like fungus and sweaty balls. Sign me the hell up. There’s even a juice bar in the entry with shots of turmeric (for inflammation) and ginger (for immunity, I think). I’m sure it’s all a bunch of shit, but hey, it’s the little things.
“Sweet, because after seeing this gym, it would be really hard to go back to using that shithole in your building’s basement.”
I chuckle. “Tell me about it.”
Madden finishes his bicep curls and moves on to chest presses. “So . . . the lady boss, Eden Wynn. What’s she like?”
I raise one eyebrow at him. “Lady boss? Really, dude?”
He shrugs and drops the thirties at his feet. “Sorry. Disrespectful?”
I lift my chin. “Not if you didn’t mean it to be.”
“I meant no disrespect. It’s actually pretty cool what she’s doing. Making sure the team stays in the family, stepping up like that. Plus, a chick who likes hockey? That’s just fucking cool.”
I watch as he changes out the thirties for forty-fives. He must be working on his back next. “Yeah. She’s cool. We’ve actually got a bit of history.”
“Really?” His voice lifts on the question.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course Madden’s going to want to know more.
“What do you mean by history?”
I pump out fifteen reps, taking my time. I would do more, put off having to answer his question, but my shoulders are screaming at me. They’re still sore from my workout three days ago.
“We met in college. Freshman year, I think. Saw each other off and on after that. Had a couple of classes together.”
“Shit. That’s crazy. At Sutton, right?”
“Yup.” I grab my water bottle and take another long drink.
“She’s hot as hell.”
I clench my teeth. That’s beside the point. “We don’t sleep with clients, Madd. You know that, right?”
My tone is patronizing, but I don’t give a shit. Yes, Eden is gorgeous, but Madden is a known player. I may have to rethink scheduling him to work alongside her. I wonder if calling dibs would work. But Eden is a woman, not the last slice of cake at a birthday party. Or maybe I just won’t take any days off for the next few months . . . that’s always an option.
He grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows. Fucker. “Yeah, yeah. I know that. No sleeping with the clients.”
As the boss, does this rule apply to me too?
It’s a dangerous thought, but Eden’s single. And I’m very single. Shit, painfully so. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve had any company other than my right hand.
But I can’t think about that right now. Can’t let myself wonder what it might be like to be with the grown-up version of Eden I met in her office. The suit-wearing, confident, badass lady boss calling the shots in a multimillion-dollar organization.
Down, boy.
When I look up, Madden is standing there staring at me.
