Page 23 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole (The Billionaire’s Bidding #2)

SOPHIE

O nce again, I’ve slept with Elliot and managed to leave things between us fuzzy. Olivia is losing her mind, and was practically frothing at the mouth with confusion when I told her that it happened again, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

It’s been a few days since we’ve seen each other. I’d thought that Elliot might come back into the practice facility, make up an excuse to see me, but he’s been surprisingly absent after months of constant oversight.

Our next playoff game is in two days, and we have a lot of work to do to get ready for it. I’m out on the practice field, coaching Zara Santos through the way I want her to shift midfield, when Molly appears, looking at me apologetically and breathing hard, holding her phone up.

“Sorry,” she wheezes. “It’s Olivia. She said it was important?—”

“Take five!” I call, stepping toward Molly and taking the phone, my heart racing.

Olivia knows I don’t take my phone down on the field with me. She knows I don’t like to interrupt practice with it, that I like to set a good example for the players.

She would only call me if something was really wrong.

“Hello?” I answer, breathless, worried it might be something about Mom or Dad. I just saw them Sunday, and everything seemed fine. My mind gets ahead of itself, thinking about all the things that could possibly be wrong.

“Soph,” Olivia says, sounding out of breath, too, like she had to run to the phone to call. “Hey, sorry, this is not like an emergency , but?—”

“What is going on, Ol?”

“Well, you know how I’m at that journalism conference?”

“Yes.”

“And there are all different types of journalists here — like, political, music, everything, including some sports people?—”

“I think you’re burying the lede, Ol. And freaking me out.”

“Sorry.” She takes a breath, and I can picture her steadying herself. “Sophie, I was just chatting with this sports journalist who said she got this big scoop from a contact at this law firm.”

“Okay?”

“…it sounds like Elliot is going to sell the Bolts.”

I stand completely still, blinking against the sunlight, trying to compute what she’s just said to me. Elliot is going to sell the team.

No — he wouldn’t do that. He knows how much this team means to me, knows how bad it could be if it fell into the wrong hands.

And we’ve just started working together on things. Why would he sell the team when we’re getting along? Collaborating? After we’ve just secured a sponsorship with the Haworth Institute?

“Sophie, are you there?”

“Yeah, I just… That can’t be true.”

“She couldn’t reveal her source, but said it was a contact who knew someone at the law firm, not actually an attorney. They said an offer was made on the team, and Elliot is negotiating for price.”

“He’s negotiating the price,” I repeat, dumbly, because I’m not sure what else to do.

“Apparently, they’re supposed to meet about it today .”

Across the field, the players are enjoying their water, chatting, laughing with one another. This is the first time we’ve made it to the playoffs in a while. There’s a lot for them to celebrate, to feel good about.

“Sophie?”

“Do you… would it be possible for you to tell me where?”

“Where… the meeting is?”

I hesitate, knowing this is bordering on crazy, but not caring. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause, then Olivia says, “Let me see what I can do.”

When I hang up and hand the phone back to Molly, who was standing a respectful distance away, she worries her hands together, brow wrinkling. “Everything okay? Your parents?—”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say, shaking my head, already stalking toward the sidelines to grab my bag.

“Wait, where are you—” Molly starts, but I just shake my head, pointing at my assistant coach as I walk past.

“Sanchez!” She turns around, eyes widening when she sees me. I can’t imagine what the expression on my face is right now, but it can’t be good. “Finish up practice for me, okay?”

“Sure, Coach.” She says, eyes tracking me. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Then I’m off the field, through the parking lot, and sliding into the driver’s seat of my car.

Slowing for a moment, I think about the possibility that this isn’t true. That Olivia’s friend’s source is unreliable. That Elliot might not be in a meeting right now to sell the team.

Methodically, I take my phone from my bag, unlock it, find Elliot’s contact.

The last thing I have from him is a string of us arguing about if there’s a good sushi place in Dallas, him prompting me to take him somewhere nice.

The last message is from me.

Fine, but you’re paying.

For some reason, the sight of it send heat through my face. Why did I say that, even as a joke?

Ignoring the feeling, I tap the button to call him, waiting as it rings, then goes to voicemail.

Frustration rising in me, I hang up and call Skylar instead.

“Hey, Sophie,” she says, answering on the first ring and sounding nervous. “Elliot is just about to go into a meeting. He can call you back.”

“Put him on the phone, please.” I try to keep the emotion from my voice. “It’s important.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie?—”

“ Skylar .”

“I can’t. But?—”

I hang up on her, hands shaking.

I’ve just started my car when there’s a ding on my phone, an address in downtown Dallas, and a message from Olivia, who clearly understands just how pissed off I am right now.

Just be careful, Soph.

Parking in downtown Dallas is just about as difficult and expensive as you’d imagine, but, for the first time in my life, I don’t even look at the parking fee as I swing into one of the huge, high-rise parking garages a block down from the place I need to go.

Then I’m climbing out, jamming my thumb into the key fob and not really caring if it locks at all, walking down the street until I see the tall, modern-looking building that matches the address Olivia sent me.

I push into the lobby, finding the elevator and breezing right past the receptionist, who doesn’t even notice my presence until the elevator dings and I step inside, quickly reviewing my options and hitting the button for the highest floor — I have a gut feeling that’s where this meeting will be.

The receptionist stands up so quickly her chair clatters to the ground behind her, the wheel still spinning in the air as the elevator doors close.

“Miss—” she says, breathless and walking toward me. “Wait?—”

But the doors clamp together, and I’m headed up. I try to take a deep breath, try to calm myself down, to be able to think clearly, instead of letting the rage in my veins take over, but I can’t.

Instead, I’m thinking of all the time we’ve spent together since I met him for the first time in that hallway.

He and I in that hotel room in Miami, the city glittering just outside the massive windows.

Sharing the drinks and the meal. Him admitting to me that he’d bought the team to get back at his rival, like I’d ever thought he bought the team from a love of soccer.

The strange, almost warm sense of camaraderie I felt when he told me that.

I didn’t understand his world of money, but I did understand a rivalry. The feeling that in a world full of opponents, there’s one that gets under your skin. One that you hate losing to more than all the others.

I think about Elliot and me sitting on the floor, eating strawberries. The way he touched me, talked to me, running his fingers over my body like I was something precious to him. Listening to everything I said like each word was something special.

Watching him eat chili in my car. The look on his face in the airplane. That first game, when I’d caught the paint swiped over his cheek.

That stupid, naive idea that he had actually started to care about the team. That anything could be about something other than money for a spoiled-rotten asshole like Elliot Altman.

When the elevator door dings and lets me out, I haven’t managed to calm down — in fact, I’m much, much angrier than I was when I got in. Angry at the fact that I let Elliot into my life, and this meeting is just him laughing in my face.

It’s one thing to sell the team. I guess that’s his right if he doesn’t want to be the owner anymore.

But it’s another thing to do it behind my back.

To blindside me again, even after we agreed that we’d be working together from now on. Especially after that night in Miami, and again in my office. After the way he looked at me, touched me, held me.

The way I thought he wanted me too. Even if both of us were fumbling with the right way to say it.

Luckily, the elevator is a straight shot down the hallway from a massive boardroom. It’s all glass, even facing the hallway, and when I step forward, I catch the cuff of a suit I’d recognize anywhere.

It’s the same one he was wearing the day that we met. I charge down the hallway, not pausing when I push open the door to the room, immediately silencing the conversation taking place.

Elliot sits at the head of the table, bracketed by his assistant and another man I assume must be a lawyer.

“Sophie?” Elliot asks, starting to stand.

“Excuse me?” a woman at the other end of the table says, glancing between me and Elliot. “This is a closed meeting.”

“You’re selling the team ?”

Elliot shakes his head, his gaze darting between me and the other people at the table. Using his professional voice, he says, “Coach Kendall, I’d be more than happy to discuss this with you after the meeting?—”

“Oh,” I laugh, shaking my head and backing toward the door, just as the receptionist appears, apologizing and trying to usher me back down to the lobby

Ignoring everything else, I find Elliot’s gaze, hold it, and say, “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Altman. You and I don’t have a reason to talk, ever again.”