The Game by Vi Keeland by Vi Keeland

Tiffany lifted her fingernails for an inspection. “That is the lease price. It’s a three-year lease, so they put the total of all the payments.”

“You want to spend more than ten-thousand dollars a month on a car? You live in Manhattan and take a car service to work. How often will you even drive it?”

“Just sign the damn thing. No one asked for your opinion.”

“Is this what you always spend on a car lease?”

“My last one might’ve been a little less.”

“How much less?”

She shrugged. “I’m not an accountant. I don’t get involved in the details. Are you going to sign it or what?”

I wasn’t sure how to handle this. If I didn’t let it through, she was going to make my life a living hell whenever she could. But if I allowed it, would I be opening the door for her to do whatever she wanted? I looked her in the eyes. “Can I take the weekend to think about it? Twenty-five percent of the team is owned by investors, and we have a duty to them to not pad expenses since we share the bottom line.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“If I am, then I’m obviously not alone if both Tom and the GM wouldn’t sign off on it.”

Tiffany huffed and stormed out of my office, slamming the door like an exclamation mark at the end of her rant. I sat down, staring at the invoice, still in disbelief. The stated value of the car was one-point-two-million dollars. How much did insurance cost on that type of vehicle? More than my annual rent, I was sure.

I was still looking over the invoice when someone knocked on my door. At least I knew it wasn’t Tiffany again because she would never give me the courtesy of not barging in.

“Come in!” I yelled.

Christian opened the door. He wore a backward baseball hat, gray sweatpants, and a T-shirt that stretched tightly across the muscles of his chest—the same muscles I’d been unable to stop thinking about since our hug goodbye on Sunday. And he had a football palmed in one hand.

I smiled. “Hey. What are you doing up here? Delivering a pizza?”

“Just thought I’d say hello.” He shut the door behind him and walked to the center of the room. Stopping, he rubbed his thumb to his bottom lip as he looked between the window and me. “Were you looking down at the field a little while ago?”

“No,” my voice rose a few octaves. “Why do you ask? Did you see someone? I thought the window was one-way glass and people couldn’t see in from the other side.”

“It is.” He shrugged. “But I thought I felt you.”

I laughed nervously. “You thought you felt me watching you?”

He looked into my eyes. “So you weren’t watching?”

Shit. I was a terrible liar, and he was the most observant man I’d ever met. He’d be able to read it on my face. So I pulled my chair in and buried my nose in the invoice Tiffany had left behind. “Nope. Was in a meeting with my sister. She wants to expense a car lease that costs more than most people’s first homes.”

Christian didn’t take his eyes off me. When I chanced a glance up, it looked like he was still trying to read my face. I smiled. “How was your first week back at practice?”

His eyes sparkled, and I got the feeling he knew exactly what I’d just done. Though if he did, he let me off the hook this time. He leaned against the back of the chair on the opposite side of my desk. “It was good. My knee feels better than ever. How was your week? Did you continue on in the planners?”

I nodded. “I did. I read a few more. But I stopped when I got to an entry about him visiting my mother’s grave. It brought up emotions I hadn’t felt in a while, so I decided to take a break. Whatever is in there isn’t going to change things, and I’d rather be in the right frame of mind when I continue.”

Christian frowned. “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked in with you earlier, but I wanted to give you some space.”

“It’s okay. I could’ve told Miller if I needed to talk to someone. I’m actually not sure why I haven’t filled him in on the planners yet. It’s not like me to fail to report all gossip back to him. But I went to visit my mom’s grave the other day, and that helped.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Christian thumbed toward my door. “I have to run to a five o’clock physical therapy appointment downstairs. They might have cleared me to return to practice, but they’re making me stick with these laser light therapy sessions to keep inflammation to a minimum and increase the blood flow.”

“Oh, I didn’t know about that. I might need to tweak my algorithm if you still need treatment. It’s coming out with an aggressive completion percentage.”

Christian flashed one dimple. “Only tweak it to increase it, boss lady.”

“I hope you’re right. We need a win this weekend.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

“Are you hanging around a while? Want to grab something to eat after my therapy?”

“I actually have plans.”

Christian nodded. “Bozo?”

I wasn’t surprised he remembered. “Julian, yes.”

“Going anywhere good?”

“An Italian place down on Bleeker that I’ve never been to.”