Page 151 of Relationship Goals

He shoots me an apologetic look.

The urge to laugh dies as quick as it came on, and some of the reckless glee I felt turns into guilt. Until I remember what they did to Luke.

Then the guilt magically disappears.

“What’s this part of the contract?” John asks, pointing to a clause on the third page.

“That allows for Luke Wolfe’s immediate release from the roster of protected players.”

“You’ll drive this club right into the ground,” Charles says with a smirk. “Enjoy it while you can, girls, because it won’t last long without us.”

“Oh,” I simper. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Michelle snorts.

The men manage to skim through and sign the papers quickly. I don’t know what all evidence Michelle has on their own corruption, but they seem very willing to leave the club in her hands rather than risk the IFF oversight board nosing around it.

They finally leave, each of them staring daggers at us, dropping the contracts in front of her.

“My attorney has already sent copies to your counsel,” she says cheerfully. “Pleasure doing business with you. Your personal belongings will be packed and mailed to you.”

The door closes, and there’s no shortage of curses from the hallway.

Michelle blows out a long breath, folding her hands behind her head.

“That was incredible. I’m in awe.” My phone begins vibrating against my chest, and I pull it out.

“Hey, Jean,” I answer.

“Why are you sending me a huge video file?”

“For insurance against the former LA Aces owners.”

Jean sighs so noisily the phone practically exhales into my ear. “Christ, Abigail. Do I want to know?”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Wait,” I tell her. “Actuallllly, you might want to hear about what I’m doing Saturday.” I clear my throat. “At the LA Aces game.”

“Please tell me you’re getting back with that soccer player.”

I pout. “Yes. That’s what I was going to tell you. How did you know?”

“Abigail, I’ve known you since you moved to LA as a teenager. That man made you happier than I’ve ever seen you. Also, Richard Grace’s assistant called to tell me already.”

“Awwww—oh.” I let out a surprised laugh. “Okay, then, glad that’s cleared up.”

“Bye, hon. Talk to you later. Don’t make me bail you out of jail.”

“What?” I screech, but she’s already hung up.

“What did she say?” Michelle asks.

“She told me to stay out of jail.”

“Good advice,” Michelle says noncommittally. “We did it.” Her grin is pure mischievous happiness.

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