Page 44 of Mad Rivals
I blow out a breath as the car pulls up to my building. I thank the driver, hand him a twenty instead of tipping in the app, and head upstairs as I try to shake off whatever the hell that was.
What now?
I turn back toward the car. “Are you able to take me somewhere else?” I ask the driver. He looks a bit unsure, andI pull out my wallet and pass him a hundred-dollar bill. “I’ll make it worth your time.”
He shrugs and nods as if to say, “Get in.”
I give him the address, and ten minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of my parents’ house. “Wait here for me. I won’t be more than a half hour, and I’ve got another hundred for you.”
“You got it,” he says, and I walk up to the front door.
It’s late. I realize that. But I just had a very interesting conversation with someone, and I need to know more.
I ring the bell and bang on the front door at the same time, and the door opens a minute later.
“Madden,” my father murmurs, a hint of surprise in his tone. He’s wearing a bathrobe over his expensive silk pajamas, and he looks like someone I don’t even know. “What are you doing here so late?”
“What secrets are you keeping where Van Buren is concerned?”
He presses his lips into a thin line. “It’s complicated, Madden. I played college football with Van Buren. That’s really the end of it.”
“What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. As you know, I had to stop playing because of an off-the-field injury. But I did everything I could to ensure my sons had the opportunities I missed out on because of it.” The way he says the words gives me chills.
I did everything I could. Whatexactlydoes that mean?
“So what happened with Van Buren?” I ask.
I raise my brows pointedly.
“We were friends. Years later we met in a business setting, and I won a bid over him. He was a sore loser, that’s all.” He’s flippant, maybe overly so, and I get the sense that he’s leaving something out of the story.
“What did you do?” I hiss.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything.”
I don’t believe a word out of his lying mouth. He’s too poised, too sure of himself.
“While you’re here, I have some news,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what the fuck he’s going to hit me with next.
“I found an office space in San Diego. We’re expanding past Chicago, Vegas, and New York. You can work there on your days off when you’re in San Diego, and you can run that office.”
My brows dip. “What the fuck makes you think I want that? I’m not going to work there on my days off. I’m in San Diego to play football, not to run your company.”
“Your company, Madden. The Bradley legacy.”
I force myself not to roll my eyes at his terminology.
It doesn’t matter if I’m in San Diego to play football. If Thomas Bradley wills it to be so, so it will be.
“Will you be in town next Saturday?” he asks.
I think through my calendar, and as far as I know, I’ll be here. I think about asking why, but before I do, he says, “We’ve agreed to attend the Chicago Urban Renewal Fundraiser Gala next weekend, and you should be there. There will be great opportunities to network. We’ll also bring Ford,” he says.
At least I’ll have someone to talk to at this event he’s forcing me to attend.
