Page 59 of Blindside Sinner

“Okay, maybe it’s four.” He chuckles. “But put all them little buggers in a room together and it sounds like twenty.” He laughs again and hands me another croissant.

“Oh no,” I protest. “I can’t.”

“Suit yourself. I can.” He drops it on his plate and tears off a piece of melt-in-your-mouth goodness from one end. “Your turn. I want the backstory. How’d you get this job?”

I take a deep breath and give him the short version. “Vivian found me working in a diner and said I had the right personality to handle what she needed. I now call it ‘the day that will live in infamy.’ Back to you: how did you get roped into saving the world one poker game at a time?”

He grimaces, the closest I’ve ever seen to the perpetually-good-natured Dixon Hayes copping up to something like a bad feeling. “I was married to the wench who started what is now known as the Haymaker Foundation before she slept with her yoga instructor and left me to go live in an ashram in California.”

“Oof. I’m sorry, Dix.”

He laughs and waves me off. “Doesn’t matter, though. We were making each other miserable and she was giving my money away. I think I might’ve paid to build the ashram she ran off to, matter of fact.”

I’m torn between laughing and wincing, but he’s back to bubbly, so I decide not to bog down the good vibes. “Alright, no more digging into the past then. Too messy. So about this fundraiser. What can I do to help?”

He rakes a hand through his semi-long, honey-brown hair. “I need to figure out something I can ask the team to donate. Something more than the usual signed sticks and sweaty jerseys, preferably. I need a big ticket item.”

“You want something bigger? Get all those richies to open their wallets real wide, pretend like they’re down for the noble cause?”

He snaps and fires finger guns at me, grinning from ear to ear. “Bingo! You know, it’s nice to work with somebody who gets it. Beck has always been one of those lucky bastards. I hope he knows it.”

Right then, the back door bursts open and Beck storms through, glaring at us. “What the fuck is going on here?” he spits.

Dix looks at me and sighs. “You know what? I think he knows it.”

29

BECK

What the fuck is going on here?

I’ve already told her to stay away from him.

I’ve already told him to stay the fuck away from her.

Which part of that was hard to understand?

“We’re working on the fundraiser, Beck. Not that it’s any of your business.” Sloan is sassy this morning, but what would normally turn me on is doing little more than pissing me the hell off.

“Everything you do is my business,” I snarl. I turn to Dixon, fingers itching to throttle him. “And why can’t you get your own assistant to do your stupid fundraising shit for you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t have an assistant anymore.”

“So you’re poaching mine?”

“I’m not poaching anything, man.”

“And I’m not being poached!” She shakes her head and I get a whiff of her strawberry shampoo.

And then I breathe it out because I’m not going to be swayed because she smells like a field of fruit. I have a point to make here, and by God, I’m not shutting up until it’s made.

“You work forme, Sloan. And I’ll remind you of it as often as necessary until you get the idea through your head thatI’mthe one calling the shots.I’mthe one footing the bill.I’mthe one who decides what’s what.”

She opens her mouth, amber eyes burning like wildfires. I think this is the moment where she’s going to tell me to go fuck myself.

Instead, she turns and stomps out.

Dix looks at me. I know what’s coming, not that that’s going to stop it. Then, because he’s Dixon Hayes, he lets loose a raucous laugh, loud and long. He keeps laughing until he’s holding his stomach and his eyes are watering like he’s crying hysterically.

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