Page 70 of The Pucking Date
I glare past him, watching Jessica disappear into the crowd.
“I want to smash that bastard’s face.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Wes mutters, dropping his voice. His gaze flicks between me and the hallway Jessica disappeared down. “Didn’t realize Vanderbilt was still circling. Isn’t he engaged to that Alst heiress?”
I don’t answer, heat crawling up my neck.
Wes studies me, head tilted. “So…you finally stopped pining and made a move?”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to draw blood.
“Jesus, O’Reilly,” he mutters. “You look ready to burn the room down. Remind me never to get between you and a girl.” He steers us toward the booths. “Come on, you canbrood over your whiskey later. Right now, you’ve got a brand to protect.”
I let him drag me away. I move through the rest of the day like a mannequin in a custom suit, smiling, posing, half an inch from boiling over.
I’m nursing a sparkling water and trying not to stare at Jessica when I spot Marcus weaving through the crowd. The look on his face—focused, urgent—means either very good news or very bad news.
“Finn,” he says, appearing at my elbow with his phone already in hand. “Got a minute? Something big just came in.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to pull me out of this circus.” I sigh.
He chuckles, reaching for his phone. “You’ll thank me for this one.”
My eyes flick to Jessica, who is now deep in conversation with an Under Armour rep, before turning to him.
“Call came in from LA an hour ago. They’re offering six years, front-loaded, signing bonus, all the perks. First-line winger spot’s yours.”
I keep my expression neutral, even as something twists in my gut.
“Big market, big paycheck, long-term security,” he adds. “This is the kind of deal you lock in before thirty. After that, you’re chasing short-term contracts and hoping your knees hold.”
“How serious?” I ask, voice low.
“High eight figures over six,” Marcus says, slick and confident. “Plus bonuses. And I’ve already got a West Coast sponsor sniffing around—fitness, lifestyle, the full California package. They want a face. You’re it.”
I drag a hand down my jaw, exhaling slow.
This is the kind of deal you get once in your career. The kind that makes you set for life. Legacy. Security. Everything I’ve worked for.
Marcus watches me a beat, then adds, “Turning down that Defenders extension back in January might’ve been the smartest move of your career. This is your payoff.”
It’s everything I should want—security, fame, a future that doesn’t depend on anyone else’s decisions. But all I can think about is the woman across the room, the one who’s pretending I’m just another player in a suit. LA means leaving her behind. And I’m not sure I can do that, even for eight figures.
“And the Defenders?” I ask, clipped.
Marcus’s grin fades. “Still waiting. Rothschild’s being careful. Wants a few more sponsorships locked in before he puts anything on paper.”
So that’s the holdup. Money. Optics. Politics.
Marcus leans in, voice smoothing over again. “Look, Finn, I know you’ve got ties here. But LA’s clean. Big payday, star spotlight, no strings. You’d be crazy not to consider it.”
I nod, eyes still locked on Jessica.
“Appreciate it. But I’m not ready to jump.”
He lifts a brow. “You waiting on New York to match?”
“I have a feeling they will.”
