Page 41 of Delicate Storm

“Much. What were you asking?”

“The team? You said that was a mess too.” I don’t know why I’m so interested in the goings-on of his business, except that it feels nice to be included in thisveryadult conversation. Not that I don’t have business conversations—I ran my own charity back in New York—but this is different because it’s Dad’s business.

Business that Mom always referred to as a boys’ club. She said that one of the reasons they drifted apart was because he never talked about his work, making her feel like she wouldn’t understand. And now that he’s talking to me, I’m wondering if maybe he just didn’t want to talk to her at all. She can be very opinionated on matters that don’t necessarily concern her.

Dad groans again, but this time it’s not the mmm-this-tastes-good groan he had with his coffee, it’s more of a I-wish-I-didn’t-have-to-deal-with-this-shit groan. The shit being the team.

“I knew what I was getting into. I’d crunched the numbers. Done my due diligence. But I never factored in the previous fuck-face ensuring the team never made a dime from that damn TV show. He—”

“I know this is serious, Dad. But you left yourself wide open for this one… If he’s the previous fuck-face, does that make you the current one?”

Dad chuckles and his entire body physically relaxes. “Thanks, Kid. I needed that. And you bet your ass it does. And now this fuck-face”—he points to himself—"has to make some serious changes around the team. And they’re not going to like it.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. That can’t be easy.”

“It’s not. But it’s easier with you by my side.”

“And why exactly am I here? You’re not making those changes today, are you?”

“Not yet.” He laughs. “You’re here so I can show you off. And show off the guys. They’re a great team. It’s not their fault everything is chaotic behind the scenes.”

“So, you’re using me to humanize yourself before you screw them all over.”

“What?” Dad’s face drops, his expression showing he’s positively offended. “Is that really—”

“No, Dad. I don’t really think that. Though, it’s not a bad idea. It would make it harder for the players to side with whoever is working against you.”

“Wow. You are ruthless. Remind me never to cross you—” He cuts himself off and chuckles. “Wait. You cutting me out of your life makes so much more sense now.”

“Yep. Mom was the smart one. She cried. A lot.”

“While I hid my pain and remained strong.”

“Exactly.”

“Damn. Have you ever thought about running D’Angelo Construction? I’m going to need someone to take over when I retire and—”

“No, thank you,” I rush out. “But I appreciate the offer.”

A huge glass structure comes into view and beyond that, the concrete walls of the stadium. My chest tightens as we turn into a side street and pull up to the underground parking garage. I have no reason to be nervous. All I’m doing is saying hi to the team before retreating to a suite to watch them practice. Or if I’m being real, I’ll be retreating to the suite to play on my phone or read a book.Why would anyone be interested in watching a football team practice?

“We’re here,” Dad announces when the car comes to a stop near glass doors. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say honestly, but hit him with a smile because he’s excited about this. “Let’s go.”

Iget it. I freaking get it.

I’ve been watching the team practice for all of ten minutes and I’m a convert. Give me all the football practices and the games because damn, these guys can move.

After we’d arrived at the stadium, Dad escorted me to a boardroom before disappearing for a few minutes. When he came back, there was a change in plans. The meet and greet would take place after their practice. Meaning I couldn’t escape early if I wanted to.

I was disappointed at first, but now… I could sit here all day.

My phone rings while I’m watching, and I have to search through my bag to find it. I haven’t needed it once since I got up to the suite. I check the screen to find it’s my old friend Cassie, the only friend that isn’t pissed at me for moving away from New York City because she’s living in Paris herself.

“Hey babe.”

“Paigey, girl. How are you?” she yells above the background noise and I wince. “I’m at the club; hang on, I’ll close the door.” I laugh as a loud bang echoes through my ear like she dropped the phone, and then seconds later the chaos softens and she’s back on the line.

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