Page 46 of Never Dance with the Devils (Never Say Never #6)

MADDOX

“ F uck, I’m starving,” Riggs groans, patting his flat stomach. It’s been four hours since his last meal, but experience says that’s about an hour too long for him to go without food. The man’s got a metabolism like a fighter jet going full afterburner.

“This place is worth it,” I assure him, reading over the steakhouse’s menu and weighing my options between the filet mignon and wagyu ribeye.

Deciding on the ribeye, I set my menu down and look around the restaurant.

It’s all dark wood and warm light, black tablecloths and white plates.

Thankfully, there are only two forks—one for salad and one for dinner—so Riggs can probably figure that out.

But what catches my attention the most is the empty chair between him and me.

Setting his own menu down, Riggs follows my line of sight and mumbles, “I wish Kayla were here.”

Putting my hand on my chest in faux offense, I ask, “Am I suddenly not good enough to eat a meal with?”

“Fuck you,” he answers, trying to fight a smile. “You know what I mean. You’re dino nuggies with barbecue sauce, not… this place.”

“I get it,” I reply, relaxing. “I wish she were here too. But seeing each other every night is a luxury we won’t always have, which is why we have to make the most of it when we can.”

The season opener is still months away, but like most sports, hockey has off season minicamps like the one we had today, where they check us over for rehab progress and make sure nobody’s gone to hell in the time off.

Riggs and I are good, but we stayed late to catch up with teammates we haven’t seen in weeks, though we kept quiet about our developing relationship with Kayla.

Kayla has a business dinner tonight too, which means we won’t see her until tomorrow.

“Have you heard from Kyle?” he asks.

I would’ve bet my favorite stick that Kyle’s impromptu visit would’ve ended with blood from either him or Riggs, especially considering Riggs’s anger toward Kayla’s brothers, Kyle specifically.

Hell, I wouldn’t have even been surprised to find them both dead, or at least unconscious, without me to break it up.

Surprisingly, they came out not as friends exactly, but at least friendly.

Kyle also showed up to Kayla’s office and made amends, with a real and heartfelt apology that helped matters significantly.

I heard about that from Kayla directly, which I appreciated.

“He called. Said he was sorry for fucking things up and hopes we can get past this. Maybe watch a game together sometime.” I shake my head, remembering the conversation.

“He also oh-so-casually threw in that if I could tell Kayla we’re cool now, it’d really help him out because she’s ‘on his ass like stink on shit’.

” I make air quotes to show that was Kyle’s phrasing.

“Apparently, she told him he owed all of us an apology.”

“You gonna help him get back in Kayla’s good graces?”

Smirking, I say, “Haven’t decided yet.”

“That makes Team Kayla… us, Cameron, Kyle, and maybe Cole?”

I nod, agreeing with his scorekeeping. “Not perfect, but progress.”

“Still hate Chance,” he declares, as if he’s waiting for me to argue that we should give that brother time to come around.

Instead, I’m quick to answer, “Me too.”

He grunts in appreciation right as the waitress comes up. Shifting topics, we order our meals and begin discussing this afternoon’s sports medicine check-ins.

It’s not until we’re halfway through our steaks and deep in discussion about the season that our attention is drawn by the hostess leading a group to the table beside us. I glance up, surprised to see Kayla and two guys in business suits. She freezes, her eyes widening as she sees me, then Riggs.

I’m on the verge of greeting her… until I see the tiniest shake of her head. Not right now.

I drag my eyes from Kayla to Riggs. His jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed and locked on Kayla. He saw the head shake too and didn’t like it any more than I did.

Fuck.

As she sits down with the other guys, I realize this must be her business dinner. What are the chances that, of all the restaurants in town, we’d end up at the same place, sitting at neighboring tables ?

“Hey now! Maddox Brooks! Fancy seeing you here,” the younger of the two guys says, leaning toward our table with a veneered grin and way too much familiarity.

He looks like the kind of guy who thinks his Ivy League education and tailored suit mean he’s better than everyone else.

“You gonna have a better season this year?”

He laughs like the Devils not winning the Cup last year is somehow amusing, and also, a personal failure on my part.

Gritting my teeth, I give him a chin lift of acknowledgement and make a show of returning my attention to my steak. The meal continues, seemingly normal, but I feel Kayla’s eyes on me the whole time. At no point does she make a move to introduce us or even acknowledge us.

Riggs drops his fork to his plate with a small clatter, clearly not happy about the situation either. “Let’s get out of here.”

I stare him down, silently telling him, we are not leaving . I am not retreating because some asshole said some rude shit about the Devils, nor because Kayla is keeping her business and our pleasure separate.

He doesn’t like it, but after a long two seconds, he picks up his glass, taking a long, slow swallow of his beer.

We eat in silence from that point on, our forks and knives the only sound at our table.

Not because we’re angry, though irritated would be fairly accurate, but because we’re listening to Kayla’s conversation.

“I don’t know much about hockey. I prefer to keep things more business-oriented ,” she tells Mr. Ivy League, her tone formal and professional as she emphasizes the last bit, like she’s explaining to us why she’s acting like she doesn’t know us.

Understood. Do your boss thing.

“Brent played in high school. Was quite the athlete, but had to give it up and buckle down in college. Being fraternity president was more important than brawls on the ice. But there was a time, right, Son?” The older guy guffaws.

Putting pieces together, I realize Mr. Ivy League is Brent, the guy Kayla called a slimy, chauvinistic asshole.

That makes the old guy his father, David Jessup.

Kayla told us a little about this deal, though actually comprehending it is way outside my realm of experience.

The gist as I understand is, it’s a company with something Kayla wants.

“Fraternity president? That’s quite the highlight on your resume, isn’t it? I think one of my interns was president of his fraternity too. Alpha-Alpha, something or other,” Kayla says, effectively dismissing the not-humble brag as something even her intern can accomplish.

Brent bristles but hides it behind what he probably thinks is a polite smile.

“Yes, college was a while ago. I’ve been banging out contracts for years now.

” His attempt at sounding cutthroat is weak at best, laughable at worst. The only thing this guy bangs out is scotch, given he sat down with one from the bar.

“Not that you’d know anything about that.

You’re one of the younger Harringtons, right?

You must be what… twenty-five at most?” Any internet search would tell this guy that she’s twenty-nine and has done more in her short life that he ever will, personally and professionally.

Kayla levels him with a glare. “Old enough to know when someone’s being condescending. ”

Brent has the good sense to at least seem apologetic.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, holding his hands in surrender with a jovial chuckle.

“Just that you’re doing surprisingly well for yourself.

Locking in a relationship with a company like Jessup Enterprises looks good for you.

” If he pats himself on the back any harder, he’ll probably choke.

“Especially considering how young you are. It’s a compliment. ”

“Do we need to do this again?” Kayla says frostily. “You didn’t mean it kindly, and commentary on my age is inappropriate and unwelcome.”

“No need to be so touchy,” he teases, his smile shark-like as he looks to his father for backup.

If Brent scents blood in the water, he’s right, but it’s his own.

Not Kayla’s, that’s for sure. She’s staring him down like she wants to smush him beneath her toe like a bug but is calculating the cost of a professional shoe cleaning to remove his guts from her sole.

Yet, he stupidly goes in for more. “Most women appreciate being told they’re beautiful…

” His eyes drip over Kayla, making me want to poke them so far into his skull that they pop out his mouth.

“And intelligent…” He is not looking at her brain. “And successful. Right, Dad?”

He nudges his father with his elbow though his lascivious gaze stays locked on Kayla. “Uh, I don’t—” David stammers uncertainly. He seems to understand this is entirely unprofessional and most definitely ill-advised considering the woman across from them. “Brent, maybe we should?—”

Kayla doesn’t give the older Jessup a chance to smooth over his son’s egregious fuckup and interrupts him to emphatically state, “Most women don’t need a man to tell them things that they already know. Especially about themselves.”

“Touché,” he scoffs, “I forget that you’re one of those high-maintenance, high-value, evolved women who don’t appreciate flattery.” With every sneered word, he watches her closely, hungry for her to have some sort of emotional outburst, probably hoping his cruelty will make her dissolve into tears.