Page 33 of Crazy Thing

The way she’s grinning up at me. Eyes shining. Skin burning.Has it always been this hot between us?

Seriously though, what’s the temperature in here? I’ve never been more desperate to rip a woman out of her bell bottom pantsuit.Is it even legal to be having these thoughts inside a courtroom?

Clearing my throat, I pull away first because I feel myself starting to get hard. If we keep this hug going any longer, I might drag Ziggy back to those judge chambers to have a deliberation of our own.

“Oh, uh…” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck.

“Erm, I should…” She waggles her head.

I point toward my lawyer and she points toward the back of the courtroom.

“Yeah,” I say awkwardly as I try to get my shit together.

“Oh yeah. Me, too.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“So, I’m going to go talk to my Rainbow. I mean, my aunt.My aunt Rainbow. Okay, bye.” Ziggy flutters off toward the crowd. I watch her make a beeline across the room. And Iknow exactly what it means that she refuses to even glance back at me. I’ve flustered her.

Now,thatfeels like a victory.

“Darius?”

I tear my eyes off of Ziggy long enough to notice my lawyer approaching me. I reach out to give him a firm handshake. “Nice work, Frank.”

Instead of joining in the celebration, he wears a grave expression. “Things worked in our favor today, Darius. But you know this injunction is only a temporary restraining order. The sale will only be blocked temporarily. We need to find a permanent solution, and it won’t be easy.”

I sigh at the reminder.More work. Always more work.

Back in business mode, the sounds of celebration are only a background buzz at this point. My eyes swing over to where Edison is scowling at me from under his funny mustache as he leaves the room with his lawyer, and I know this fight is only getting started.

My attention moves back to the old man. “I pay you the big bucks to solve the problems, not to sit here and complain that it’s hard. Now fix this, Frank!”

16

DARIUS

“That’s too high, and you goddamn know it. He’s injury prone, and he doesn’t even get along with your coach,” I bite, practically shouting into my phone as I lean back in my office chair.

My priority for today is working on closing a deal for the Sin Valley Saints. It’s the hockey team that I co-own with a group of fellow billionaires. But even in this co-ownership arrangement, it seems that most of the day-to-day business matters fall to me.

Usually, these types of deals are negotiated by a hockey team’s general manager. But I’m trying to set the Saints up for success. So I’m determined to negotiate a fair trade with this hard-ass on the other line.

Ronan plays for this team. Securing him the captain position is the main reason I even got involved to begin with. Heaven knows I had to jump through a million and one hoops to get around the league’s conflict of interest rules just to hold a stake in this venture. That’s why this particular business holds a high rank on my priority list.

I’m working on acquiring a new player, a left winger whoshould be a great asset to the Saints. That is, if he can manage to stay healthy. It’s always a risk.

The Dallas Mountaineers didn’t accept our initial offer—let’s be honest, it was a low ball offer to scope them out—and as expected, they’ve now countered. But this trade offer is way too fucking high. I won’t pay that. I couldn’t, even if I thought it was a fair deal. Because at that rate, it wouldn’t fit within our team’s cap space.

They’ve got to lower it. Otherwise, no deal.

The man makes a bunch of weak arguments in response and I laugh in his face. What a joke! This guy is not even a higher-up in the Mountaineers organization, just some chump from their back office.

“Oh, come on. He wants off your team, and we’re your best option,” I snap at him. “Go talk to your general manager, meet us at the figure I named, and then you’ll have yourself a deal.”

The man tries again. “He’s an all-star play—”

I interrupt him mercilessly. “All star or not, the price has got to come down. Look at his stats. He’s barely been putting up his usual numbers lately. In the last three games, he’s spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice. He’s not worth what you're blabbering on about,” I bark, stretching the truth a bit and ignoring the knock on my door. “I’m already offering you a fair priceanda second round draft pick next season. We’re not paying a single penny more.”

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