Page 80 of The Fake Out

“The world now, there are free eggs.” She shook her head. “All over, free eggs.” Angling closer, she stuck a finger in the air. “But you must remember, even the best men need a good shove in the right direction. Including my son.” With a firm nod, she patted my thigh. Then she pivoted, changing the subject altogether. “Tell me about your family.”

“Uh…” The way she jumped from topic to topic left my head spinning.

She waved me off. “I’ve met them, of course. But I want to see them through your eyes.”

I looked out over the field, finding Emerson again. He was laughing with Mason, craning his neck like he was searching the stadium for something. Maybe he was looking for his family, but his gaze didn’t stop on anything, including us. And I couldn’t wave, because I wasn’t supposed to be here. Because Chris would be too much about it. I looked back at Mama Knight, who was watching me, wearing a patient smile.

“My brother is annoying.”

She chuckled. “Aren’t they all?”

And from the there, the conversation was much easier. It wasn’t until halfway through the second inning when Andre stopped by to drop a water off for his mother that the questions stopped.

“Emerson will be up this inning, Mama.”

She patted my leg. “Thank you for humoring me. You are as lovely as my son promised.”

With a smile, she stood and followed her other son into the open-air seats.

Zara dropped into Mama Knight’s seat beside me before I could even get up. “The mother stamp of approval. That’s a big hurdle.”

“Oh, uh, no.” I flushed.

Apparently, Emerson had talked to his mom about me, but I didn’t know what he’d told Zara. And since her husband played for the Revs, I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea.

Flicking at a piece of fuzz on my jeans, I lowered my gaze. “It’s really not a thing.”

“Trust me, it’s a thing. I’ve been married almost ten years, and I still don’t have it.” Zara shook her head.

“Really?” How could anyone with half a brain not approve of her? She and Asher were the sports world’s favorite couple. They were all over magazines and TV, always smiling and put-together.

“In my mother-in-law’s opinion, no one will ever be good enough for her angel boy.” She frowned. “But most certainly not some English girl. And she has no trouble reminding me of that. Heaven forbid her grandchildren don’t love apple pie and baseball.”

From the bite in her tone, it was obvious there was a real issue there, but I didn’t know her well enough to pry, so I just forced a smile.

“But,” she said, splaying her hands on her thighs, “I came over to talk about you.”

“Me?”

With a nod, she launched into details about what Emerson had told her when he first reached out about Jake.

“Leopards never change their spots, and since Emerson wanted to keep you out of this completely, I went back to his last two employers and starting asking questions. Pretty quickly, a pattern emerged.” She scowled.

“Emerson mentioned that you found some people who were upset with him.”

“This goes way beyond upset. These weren’t just coworkers who didn’t like him. No, he stole their designs, used them in his portfolio. Literally stepped on people to get ahead. Harassed them, forced them to quit. I’ve been in touch with a few people at Socials Weekly and Into Design.”

Both magazines were huge in the graphic design field. Even now, when people were forgoing magazines for websites, Doucette Designs still subscribed to both.

“They’re both interested in researching how often credit is stolen, especially from new designers.” She smirked and sat back in her seat. “Turns out Jake’s a great illustration of such issues. They are reaching out for quotes in the next couple of days. Give it a couple of weeks, and the guy will be out of a job.”

The pressure in my chest made it hard to breathe as I absorbed the implications of what she’d said. “I don’t even know what to say.”

A cheer echoed around us, interrupting my thoughts and pulling my attention to the field. Emerson was rounding first and headed to second. He pulled to a stop after stepping on the bag and smirked at the guy next to him.

“I’ll let you watch Emerson. But I just wanted to say thanks for letting me do this.” She smiled at me as she pushed to her feet.

“Don’t thank me,” I assured her, standing up too. “I feel like I owe you.”

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