Page 20 of A Game of Deception

Fucking perfect.

One battle at a time, I told myself. Handle Hank first. Dinner drama later.

I found my way through the building to the executive section, where Hank’s corner office commanded a view of the training grounds. His secretary—a woman who reminded me of my old tax audit—flicked her hand toward the door without speaking.

Hank stood at the window, back turned like the rich snob he’d always been. He didn’t bother turning around when I walked in.

“Close the door, Xander.”

I shut it and stood like an idiot, not daring to sit uninvited.

“Impressive session out there,” he said to the window. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Thank you, sir.” The word “sir” came out of my mouth before I could stopit.

He finally turned, fixing me with those X-ray eyes. Time had worked him over—silver hair replaced the brown, his face more creased and worn. But those eyes? Still cut right through you.

“I wanted to see how you’re settling in.” He pointed to a chair. “Please, sit.”

I perched on the edge. “I’m settling in fine.”

“Good, good.” Hank lowered himself into his throne behind an enormous desk. “And the accommodations? The penthouse is to your liking?”

“It’s very nice.”

“I’m glad.” He examined briefly. “You know, when I brought you to Miami, there were those who questioned my judgment. Your reputation precedes you, after all.”

I kept my mouth shut, waiting for whatever trap he’d laid.

“But I told them, ‘I know Xander McCrae. I know what he’s capable of, both the good and the bad’.” He leaned forward, eyes on mine. “I believe in second chances, Xander. Even for those who may not deserve them.”

“I appreciate the opportunity,” I said carefully.

“I’m sure you do.” His smile remained cold. “One thing I’ve always admired about you, Xander, is your resilience. Most people wouldn’t have recovered from the trauma that night. The guilt alone would have destroyed them.”

My fingernails dug into my palms. “Is there something specific you wanted to discuss, Mr. Swanson?”

“Just making conversation.” He reclined in his chair. “And call me Hank. We’re practically family, after all.”

The jab cut deep. I fought to keep my face blank while my insides twisted.

“Now, about tonight’s dinner,” Hank continued. “It’s a tradition with new signings—a chance for the team to bond off the pitch. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Of course.”

“Good.” He checked his watch. “That’s all for now. I’ve kept you long enough. I’m sure you want to rest before tonight.”

I stood up, taking the hint. “I appreciate your time.”

At the door, Hank called out: “Oh, and Xander? I’ve asked Tara to keep a close eye on your physical condition. Your medical history shows some concerning patterns with alcohol. We wouldn’t want any... accidents.”

I stopped dead, hand on the doorknob.

“No,” I said without looking back. “We wouldn’t.”

La Mar was “pretentious as fuck”just as I expected—all modern edges, giant windows flaunting magnificent sweeping views, and a private room where the Pirates could pretend to like each other over fancy cutlery.

I showed up at seven on the dot. No way I’d give Hank ammunition by being late. Most of the team was already there, playing nice with drinks. I grabbed a soda water with lime at the bar. After last night’s binge and today’s hangover, alcohol was the last thing I craved.