A broken anything is frowned upon from my father’s perspective.
I set the empty champagne flute on the bar, refusing to confirm his assumption as I scan the crowded room once more and check the time on my watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a speech to make.”
“Henry,” my father warns, “I told you to keep your distance.”
I head toward the stage on the back wall without allowing him to finish his lecture. I know my father means well when it comes to Mia as well as my own financial decisions. I know he only wants what is best for his family. It doesn’t matter how he started his own company and built it from the ground up. He knows all it would have taken was for a single detail to be out of place, and his future would have crumbled, leaving him and his family destitute. The idea of it happening to me is almost more than he can bear.
A small part of me feels guilty for causing him stress by investing in the Lions. The other part doesn’t give a shit. I toed the line for years. Kissing his ass. Bending over backwards to do whatever was asked of me. I joined his fraternity. I mingled with the people he deemed worthy of my time. Of our time. Until one of them wound up being an accomplice to murder. Which is when I learned I had been trusting my father’s instinct instead of my own. It might have delivered him to where he needed to be, but it only fucked with my future. After Troy was arrested, I refused to allow my father’s unrequested guidance to influence my decisions any longer.
I take the stairs onto the platform and step behind the small podium, reaching for the microphone. When I announced the Lions organization would hold a banquet after the draft, Theodore Taylor approached me, asking if I would permit him to steal the spotlight for the evening so he could propose to his longtime girlfriend in front of everyone. I hesitated at first. But Jeffry, the head of public relations for the Lions, made a valid point.
Everyone loves love. An engagement announcement involving our starting left wing would create some positive buzz for the Lions. The kind of buzz we desperately need. I agreed, and now, I need to get the ball rolling.
I scan the crowded tables beneath me, noticing Scarlett has yet to make an appearance. My grip on the microphone tightens as I clear my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you for joining us today. As you all know, we are excited to hit the ground running this season. I want to thank our players and their spouses or significant others for their support. We all know who keeps these men in check, and without you, most of them would still have their heads up their asses.” The crowd laughs, and I wait for everyone to settle. “Since one of them insisted he needed to prove it in front of everyone, let me turn it over to our new starting left wing.”
Theo smirks and pushes his chair away from the table in front of the stage as his girlfriend’s jaw drops. Joining me behind the podium, I hand Theo the microphone and step aside, giving him the spotlight.
“I want to thank everyone for being here,” Theo announces as I stride off the platform. “But especially, I want to thank the Thorne in my side, and no, I’m not talking to you, Colt.”
The crowd laughs.
A splash of red at the back of the room near the open bar catches my attention, causing my hands to fist at my sides. Scarlett’s dress hugs her slim figure as she brings a glass of champagne to her full red lips, waiting for me to approach her. I glance at my Rolex, noting the time. She’s an hour late. To her boyfriend’s event.
Annoyance simmers beneath my skin, but I’m well aware of the cameras scattered throughout the vicinity. I stride toward her as Theo continues his proposal.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Scarlett whispers when I reach her. She kisses my cheek and grins over my shoulder, posing for the camera I have no doubt is pointed our way. Smoothing down the lapel of my suit, she keeps her voice quiet. “You’re mad at me.”
“Where have you been?” I ask as cheering erupts around us. I don’t bother to look at the stage. I can already guess what is happening. Blake probably rushed the platform, or Theo jumped off it, and they are embracing each other, kissing and crying and making the perfect scene for photos. I might be happy for them if I wasn’t so frustrated with the woman in front of me.
“There was an issue with the dress,” she explains.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
She leans in and kisses me softly, pressing her breasts against my chest. The cameras continue snapping photographs around us.
“I promise to make it up to you tonight,” she whispers, her teeth nibbling my ear lobe.
My phone vibrates with another call. I look down at the unknown number.
“Who is it?” she asks.
“No one.”
“You sure?”
I send the call to voicemail and tuck my phone back into my left jacket pocket. “Yes.”
“You don’t normally hand out your personal number.” Her lips purse as she pulls away from me slightly. “Is it a woman?”
“Not sure why it matters.”
“I think it does.”
“Are you jealous, Scarlett?” I ask.
“Of course not.” She flips her long, dark hair over one shoulder and chews on her bottom lip. “But I do think we should leave this party so I can show you how sorry I am for being late.” Her hand slides down my front and brushes along the edge of my cock. She looks up at me through thick fake lashes.
She is jealous.
Good.
Maybe this will serve as a reminder of what she will lose if she isn’t careful.
I grab her wrist, squeezing until a gasp slips past her parted lips, and her dark eyes heat.
“Or maybe we can find a private bathroom,” she suggests. “Whatever you need.”
Whatever I need.
I chuckle darkly and lean forward, anxious to work off my frustration. At Scarlett and her tardiness. At my father and his lack of trust. At Mia and her stubbornness.
“Follow me,” I growl.
6
HENRY
Rubbing my temple, I scan the article for the hundredth time. My blood boils. After Theo’s proposal last night, he invited the team to SeaBird to celebrate. Things got out of hand. I was busy working off some steam with Scarlett, so I’m not entirely sure what transpired inside SeaBird’s four walls, but according to the article and photographs, Colt Thorne and Theodore Taylor are posted front and center.
Some people say bad publicity is still publicity and is, therefore, good publicity.
Clearly, those people have never had to deal with articles like this one.
“We need to get a handle on this. Now,” I spit, tearing my focus from the article and turning to the head of public relations sitting across from me. Jeffry has bags under his eyes, and his brown hair is sticking up in every direction as if he’s been put through hell since waking up this morning.
Good. So have I.
After the shitshow hit the papers, I called Erika and Jeffry––who should have fucking seen this before I did––insisting they meet me at my office at B-Tech Enterprises.
They arrived twenty-seven minutes later, appearing as frustrated as I am.
“The reporters were supposed to be highlighting the engagement,” I snarl, snapping my laptop closed.
“Yes, well, it looks like when Colt pushed the girl, the reporters decided to take a different angle with the story,” Erika murmurs. She scans her own copy of the article, her lips tilting down.