Page 77 of Shot Taker

The past few days, I’ve thrown myself into working on the mural.

The guys on the court are coming together. It’s less of a literal rendition, the style implying energy and speed and connection.

I haven’t seen Clay since I caught him and Harlan in the hallway. He’s texted me multiple times, but I don’t feel I’m ready to talk.

Focusing on my art is hard when it involves the man I’ve fallen for and am not speaking to, but I try to forget that part.

“I’m still working on the third element,” I tell James. “If there’s a problem with the mural…”

“The problem isn’t how the wall looks—it’s that there’s a leak. You leaked it.”

My brows shoot up as I remember the photo from over a week ago. “I didn’t.”

“We have a big reveal at the gala. Our contract stated that this remained confidential.”

“And I've abided by that,” I assure him. “It could have been anyone. All the players and staff have access to the wall.”

“All of whom have been instructed not to share it and none of whom have motive to do so. I’ve been more than generous renegotiating the terms of our arrangement.”

I’m sure Clay would say fair, but whatever.

“I understand this gala means a lot to you.”

“It’s more than a lot. The Kodiaks were an expansion team no one thought would survive in the league. Since I bought them, I’ve turned them into a contender.”

“I’m sure everyone in the organization wants to make it a success.”

He frowns. “It’s my name on the door.”

“Are you the one scoring the points too?” I joke.

He doesn’t smile.

“Everyone in this building serves at my discretion. When they no longer suit me, they will be removed. I don’t want us to be in that position. Do you understand?”

His words have the effect of a bucket of ice water over my head.

I square my shoulders and look him in the eye.

“Yes. Yes, I think I do.”

I’m starting to get the feeling this gala isn’t even about the team—it’s about him.

* * *

Mari looks up from the stove where she’s cooking. “Pass me the parmesan.”

I hand her the grated cheese, and she tosses a bunch in, then some more.

“I thought dairy caused problems?” I ask, surprised.

“Honestly, I’ve been craving it lately.”

“James was such a prick,” I say, waving my half-full glass of wine.

“Harlan doesn’t much like him either,” she admits.

“I figured. But I expected you to say something like, ‘Money makes the world go 'round, Nova.’”

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