Page 28 of A Game of Deception

The casual mention of Tara sent a spike of anger through me. “My shoulder is fine.”

“That’s not what her assessment says.” He tapped a folder on his desk. “She’s recommending continued physical therapy, now three times a week.”

Of course, she was. More opportunities to get me alone, vulnerable, under her hands. More chances to play whatever game we’d started.

“Is that all?” I asked, already turning to leave.

“Not quite.” Hank’s voice hardened. “I also wanted to remind you of the morality clause in your contract.”

I froze. “Excuse me?”

“Section 12, paragraph 3. Players are expected to maintain professional relationships with all team staff. Any violation of this clause is grounds for immediate termination.”

The implication was clear. Whatever Tara and I were doing, whatever we might do, Hank knew about it. And he was warning me off.

“I’m well aware of my contract,” I said, my voice tight. “Is there anything else?”

Hank studied me for a long moment. “Just one thing. The party tonight at Basement. I expect all my players to represent the organization with dignity and restraint.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

“See that you are.” He turned back to his window, a clear dismissal. “That will be all, Xander.”

I left without another word, the door swinging shut behind me with a soft click.

The chains were tightening.

The penthouse wasquiet when I returned. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the minimalist furniture. I moved to the bar, poured myself two fingers of whisky before collapsing onto the couch.

The day’s events played on a loop in my head. That moment of electric connection with Tara, followed by her cold dismissal. Diego’s threat on the field. Hank’s thinly veiled warning in his office.

I was being played from all sides, caught in a web of manipulation and secrets that stretched back to a night I’d spent the better part of my adult life trying to forget.

The sound of the front door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Leo walked in, his arms full of shopping bags, his face neutral.

“There you are,” he said, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “I was beginning to think you’d moved out.”

The tension between us from our earlier fight hadn’t eased. I took another sip of whisky, letting the burn coat my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally.

Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “For what?”

“For blaming you. For the contract, for not knowing about the Swansons. None of that was your fault.” I set my glass down, meeting his eyes. “This whole thing is a setup, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Leo just stared at me. Then his shoulders slumped, the mask of indifference falling away.

“I should have done more digging,” he said, moving to sit across from me. “The ownership structure was deliberately hidden behind a bunch of shell companies and investment groups. I should have been more thorough.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I said. “Hank wanted me here. He would have found a way.”

“So what now?” Leo asked, eyeing my whisky. “You planning on drinking yourself into oblivion before the party tonight?”

I snorted. “Tempting, but no. I need to be clear-headed for this one.”

“Because...?”

I hesitated, then decided Leo deserved the truth. “Because Tara’s going to be there. And things between us are... complicated.”