Page 55 of The Pucking Date
Chad’s eyes flick to me, finally registering the threat. His smile falters for a second before sliding back into place. “O’Reilly,” he says, smiling his signature fake smile. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
I offer a small, sharp nod. “And yet, look at that. The universe has a sense of humor.”
Chad Vanderbilt isn’t some random suit sniffing around. He’s the heir to Vanderbilt Finance, the sleek little empire that manages athlete money, massages egos, and makes a killing branding athletes.
Not me, though.
I don’t trust anyone who smiles that much while playing with other people’s millions.
He sells strategy like it’s silk—smooth, bespoke, impossible to question. But underneath all that gloss, it’s about control. Power wrapped in partnership. Sleaze in a suit.
And right now, he’s looking at Jessica like she’s still a line item in his portfolio.
Last I checked, he left her for someone else. A glossier arm piece. A socialite fiancée with a better pedigree. But the way he’s smoothing his voice when he says her name doesn’t exactly scream “taken.”
His gaze drifts between us—me, her—slow and clinical. Calculating where to cut.
“Just here supporting the league’s rising stars,” he says crisply. “Helping a few of our guys navigate the summit, position for brand synergy, strategic alignment...you know.”
Jessica’s knuckles tighten on her purse. Barely. But I see it.
“Some of us manage fine without a handler,” I drawl, taking a step toward Jessica, making my presence unmistakable.
His smile wobbles. “I’ll see you two around,” he says, and turns. He knows when retreat is in order.
Jessica exhales a slow breath. Not relief, exactly. More like recalibration. We check in side by side, our elbows nearly brushing, not speaking.
Until I glance at her and say, “It’s always some guy hovering, isn’t it?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Pardon me?”
“Just an observation.” I shrug, grabbing my room key. “Your dad. Your brother. Now your ex.”
I glance at her again, letting my smile linger. “Feels like you’ve got a whole rotation of men whose full-time job is to keep me away from you.”
She snorts. “You’re perfectly capable of ignoring boundaries all on your own.”
“Maybe. But I’ve been so good, Red.”
Her gaze flicks to mine, cool, curious. “Is that right?”
“Way too good,” I nod, letting my tone drop. “That ends here.”
She doesn’t answer. Just turns toward the elevator. I grab my black carry-on and trail after her. We step off the elevator together and turn the same direction down the hall.She glances at the number on her keycard, then the door ahead.
Mine’s right next to it.
She pauses. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I hold up my card. “What can I say? The universe loves a good setup.”
She exhales—sharp, annoyed, but not nearly as cold as she wants it to be. “Try not to cause a scandal in the hallway.”
“No promises,” I say, dragging my suitcase past her. “Especially if you keep wearing heels like that.”
She ignores me. Disappears into her room with another eye roll and a flick of that perfect hair.
I tap my keycard, still grinning, still thinking about the curve of her mouth when she’s trying not to smile.
