Page 5 of Play Me

CHAPTER

THREE

Gray

There’s no fucking way.

My gaze sweeps over Miss Manners, the hothead from the gas station, sitting across from my new boss.

“Gray, come on in and grab a seat,” Mr. Brewer says as I shut the door behind me.

Astrid’s shock swiftly darkens, staring daggers at me as I sit in the chair next to her.

Mr. Brewer looks between us, picking up on the fact that something is amiss …

and potentially volatile. I’m sure he’s wondering how that’s possible since I just got to Nashville.

It usually takes me at least a week to make enemies.

His gaze settles on me. I shrug in response.

The world’s a shit show, sir. Welcome to mine.

I sit calmly, running my hands down my thighs, and don’t look at Astrid. That’s partially because this isn’t the appropriate venue to fight with her, and I have a feeling that’s what it’ll be. She’s not one to back down, and frankly, neither am I.

My mind tries to process this strange turn of events, but there’s no time. Our boss jumps into the thick of it before I can get my thoughts together.

“I take it you two have met,” he says.

“You could say that.” Astrid shifts in her chair, putting as much space between us as she can. I find that oddly amusing.

“Is she always like this?” I ask, jamming my thumb in her direction.

Astrid flinches, whipping her freckled face to me. Her disdain for me is apparent, and she’s ready to claw at me again. But before she can go for the kill, Mr. Brewer steps in.

“Let me guess,” he says. “The gas station?”

“How did you know that?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, the answer dawns on me. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I was talking to my boss.” I blow out a breath. “You know what? Never mind.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised that this is happening. It’s par for the course. When things start to go right for me, they quickly fall apart. This one disintegrated faster than usual, but hey—at least my life’s consistent.

Mr. Brewer kicks back in his chair and chews on the end of a pen. I can’t tell whether he’s entertained by this or stumped. That makes two of us.

The room grows quiet as the three of us assess the situation. His face stays blank as he watches Astrid and me like he’s trying to read a play on the pitch. Astrid crosses her arms over her chest, making her displeasure with my presence apparent. I fold my hands on my lap and look straight ahead.

Every muscle in my body aches from riding in the truck all night, and my head has pounded like a damn drum since Astrid's little fit this morning. Who the hell acts like that to a random stranger? She’s lucky it was me and not a short-fused asshole.

She’s even luckier that the old lady showed up.

Otherwise, one of us would probably be in orange right about now.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Astrid says, wincing, “but is there any way I can work for Tate instead?”

They share a grin, and I have no clue what it’s about. All I know is Tate, whoever he is, is screwed. Better him than me.

“No, you can’t go to work for my brother,” Mr. Brewer says. “Good try, though.”

Astrid frowns and, for the first time since I met her, we’re on the same page.

“Are you ready to get to work, Gray?” he asks me.

I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. “Absolutely. I’m honored to have the opportunity to play for you and the Royals, sir.”

“That’s great to hear. And you can call me Renn.”

I nod, unsure if I can call him by his first name. It feels wrong. He’s the owner of this club. A legend.

“Do you have any questions or concerns?” Renn asks me.

“No, not really. Aside from this … situation,” I say, gesturing between Astrid and me. Surely, he can tell this isn’t a good fit. “This isn’t what I expected, if you know what I mean.”

Astrid holds up an index finger. “I know what he means. I didn’t expect this either when I tentatively agreed to your proposition.”

“I know you two got off on the wrong foot,” Renn says. “But I’m sure you can figure it out. We have a lot of work to do. Understood?”

Sure, I understand that we need to get to work.

That’s what I’m here for. But I don’t know how he thinks Astrid and I can figure this out.

There’s no being logical with this woman.

I’ve tried . She’s pushed me to the point with her bullshit that I don’t want to try to get along with her. It’s a waste of energy.

Can’t you just give me a college kid in a button-down shirt who’ll go through the motions and stay out of my way?

“You signed a contract stating you’d receive a personal assistant for the duration of your time in Nashville,” he says, lifting a brow.

Astrid stills, holding her breath.

“I know what I signed.” I look at my assistant over my shoulder and wonder for a split second whether she’s going to shout at Renn and me, or if she’s going to get up and leave the room.

Much to my surprise, she remains quiet and seated.

“But nowhere in that contract did it say that I had to work with anyone I found … combative.”

“While I take offense to the adjective, I concur,” Astrid says, breaking her blissful silence. “In my employment contract, it doesn’t say a word about working with assholes.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “I meant that offensively.”

I smirk just to piss her off. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to offend me.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Her green eyes blaze, and the gold flecks scattered about in her irises catch the light. With pretty eyes, big tits, and a juicy ass, Astrid could be a knockout if she weren’t such a shrew.

“Astrid, you don’t have an employment contract,” Renn says, smiling at her. It’s clear he likes her and has some level of respect for the redhead. He’s a better man than me. “But now I’m thinking about making you sign one.”

“Hey, that’s a bargaining chip,” she says. “Let’s negotiate.”

“And your contract, Gray, specifically states that I get to choose your assistant.” Renn looks at me with far less kindness and ignores Astrid’s suggestion. “Call your agent if you want to argue about it.”

I stretch my neck, working it from side to side in a futile attempt to relieve the stress in my shoulders.

This whole situation is unnecessary—I didn’t want an assistant to start with, and the fact that we’re wasting time with it pokes at me. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I want a little peace and quiet after driving almost twenty hours from Denver with my life in boxes. Is that too much to ask?

“You’re both professionals.” Renn pushes away from his desk and stands. “I’m going to grab a drink from the café downstairs.” He looks pointedly at Astrid. “Have this handled when I get back.”

Fuck . We sit like scolded children as he moves past us and exits the room.

“That went well,” I mutter, running a hand down my face.

“You’re like a bad penny,” she grumbles. “You just keep showing up.”

“Some people say it’s a part of my charm.”

She snorts. “Charm is not one of the first thousand words that comes to mind when I think of you.”

“You’re probably not used to it. I would imagine not many charming people choose to spend their time with you.”

Astrid stands abruptly, knocking the clipboard on her lap to the floor. Instead of picking it up, she marches to the windows and stands with her back to me. I’m not sure if giving me a magnificent view of her ass is supposed to be a fuck you or not, but it’s one I can work with.

Hell, maybe it’s a peace offering. God knows I’ve accepted less.

“So how do you suggest we get ourselves out of this?” she asks. “Because I’m not putting up with your bullshit for the next couple of months.”

“ My bullshit? Because if I remember correctly, and I do, you were the one who marched back to my truck like some gas pump princess to scream at me.”

She glares at me over her shoulder. “Scream at you? I did no such thing.”

“What word makes you feel better about it, then? Berate? Yell? Shout?”

“Oh, look at you,” she mocks me. “Such an extensive vocabulary. Let me get you a cookie.”

“Oh, look at you,” I mock her right back. God, I hate this woman . “Deflecting from the point I just made.”

She pivots on her heel to face me with her lips pressed in a thin, tight line.

I’ve never met someone this argumentative, and I’ve met some absolute fuckheads in my life. But never has someone just plucked me out from the crowd and stormed into my space with such determination to pick a fight. Over everything.

What the fuck is her problem?

I rest my elbows on my knees and fold my hands together. “I’m contractually obligated to work with you. So you get to be the hero, which I’m sure you love to be, and bow out of this. Problem solved.”

Astrid bristles, standing taller. I’ve hit a nerve. I can see it in her eyes.

“Contract or not, I was tasked with keeping you in line,” she says. “Renn hand-picked me for this challenge. It’s not any easier for me to extricate myself from this than it is for you.”

I lean back, absorbing her words. Tasked with keeping me in line?

The sentence slices right through me. Suddenly, a lot of shit makes sense.

My heart beats harder as I unpack this situation. It felt a bit off since Renn offered to give me a giant bonus in exchange for accepting an assistant, but I brushed it off as a quirk of an owner. Weirder things have happened.

But that’s not what it is. It’s not a quirk.

Renn Brewer doesn’t think I need an assistant. He thinks I need a fucking babysitter.

Fucking hell.

I run a hand over my head and grit my teeth, trying to bite back the feelings rushing to the surface.

This trade was supposed to be a fresh start.

Renn sold it as a way for me to slide into a program with a great group of guys and build on a solid foundation.

I took it as a solution to a problem and a way to get closer to my roots.

But, in reality, he was placating me. He’d heard the stories and bought into the stupid rumors just like everyone else.

Wow.