Page 91 of Fake Shot

“I was so tempted to write a check and have Our House be the new sponsor,” he says, and I laugh out loud.

“Jules would have been so pissed, but it would have been total poetic justice.”

“Yeah, but in addition to pissing my sister off, it would have been a fuck you that made no sense financially for me. So it’ll go to the next corporation on the waiting list for a sponsorship opportunity.”

The elevator dings as we arrive on the thirty-third floor, and Jameson mutters, “Let me do the talking,” right before the doors open.

I follow him as he approaches reception, and the young guy sitting there looks from Jameson to me, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “Oh my god,” he says, clearly a little starstruck. “You’re Colt.”

“This is my client,Mathieu Coltier.” Jameson emphasizes my full name as if to point out that this guy and I aren’t on a nickname basis, even though no one but my family, and occasionally the hockey sportscasters, has called me Mathieu in fifteen years. “We’re here to see Jerome Waters.”

The guy pulls at the knot of his tie as he glances toward his computer screen. “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes,” Jameson says, “and we know the way.”

He starts walking past the reception desk quickly, and I assume I’m supposed to follow.

“You can’t just barge into his office,” the guy calls out from behind us.

“Watch me.” Jameson doesn’t turn his head back toward the guy, but his words carry across the mostly empty office. Apparently, things wrap up right at five here.

“Does he know we’re coming?” I ask Jameson quietly as I follow him. He somehow seems to know exactly where he’s going.

“Derek got a meeting on his schedule, but no, he doesn’t know it’s us.”

I don’t bother asking how Derek managed this, because the guy’s clearly a magician.

When we get to the large double wooden doors with Jerome Waters engraved across them, Jameson doesn’t bother knocking, he just pulls them both open and we stroll through. Jerome is at his desk and glances up with adistinctly annoyed look across his face. Then his eyes narrow in on me.

“You.” He spits out the word like I disgust him, which is fine, because the feeling is very mutual. Then he looks back and forth between Jameson and me, and I can’t tell if he recognizes my best friend or not. Jules mentioned that Jerome was a huge Rebels fan and season ticket holder, but it’s been over a decade at this point since Jameson played, so maybe he doesn’t remember him.

“I’m Jameson Flynn,” he says, holding out his hand to Jerome, who dubiously extends his own hand before Jameson crushes it in his grip. “I’m a former Rebels player, Colt’s agent, Jules Flynn’s big brother, and close friend of just about everyone on the Rebels’ management team. So on behalf of my family and the entire Rebels organization, I’d like to give you this.”

Jameson reaches into a pocket on the inside of his suit coat and hands over a folded piece of paper. The groove between Jerome’s eyebrows deepens as he unfolds the check. “Why are you giving me a check from the Boston Rebels?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Jameson’s voice drips with sarcasm and reminds me what a shrewd businessman he is. I never saw this side of him when we played together, but he has just the right disposition for negotiation and he doesn’t mind doing something underhanded every once in a while, if it’s really necessary. “This is a pro-rated refund on your sponsorship for the team. Your signage has already been removed from the rink, your logo is no longer on the website, and you’ll never be listed as a team sponsor again.”

“What? You can’t do that,” Jerome says, sounding an awfullot like a man who’s never been challenged...or at least, never defeated.

“Funny, I already did. You fucked with the wrong family, Waters. Next time you decide to lay your hand on a woman, I hope she cuts off your fingers like my sister should have done.”

“Nothing even happened.” His gaze flies to me. “You made a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” The word rips from my throat like a roar. “You put your hands on the woman I love, and you think that’snothing? You’re lucky that all we did was rescind your sponsorship. Piss me off again, and we’ll come after your business next.”

He scoffs. “Like there’s anything you could do to my business.”

“Would you like to try me?” I ask. “Because that’s exactly what will happen if you don’t stop running your mouth.”

I have no idea what I’m even saying. I wouldn’t know the first thing about going after his business, but the man who’s been my best friend for most of my life and is standing right next to me looking at me like I’m amusing him, will know exactly what to do.

“You can leave now,” Jerome says. He’s backing down but trying to do it without losing any authority—as if he has any in this situation.

“Gladly,” I say. “And by the way, we didn’t touch your season tickets. I wanted to make sure that you’re still able to enjoy watching me win.”

With that, we turn and leave. We don’t speak until we’re in the elevator and the doors have closed.

“So you love her?” Jameson asks the question withoutlooking at me. He’s eerily calm, which has me a little worried.

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