Page 84 of Faking it with the Billionaire
“It’s your word against mine. I’ll tell them you came on to me and begged to watch me pleasure myself. Some no-nothing girl with a reputation for crying wolf during sex,” he taunts. “I read about your little stunt with Clemens.”
My blood runs cold, and I stiffen.
“I see I’ve struck a nerve,” Fitzgerald says and smiles. His eyes are on me while he continues to pump his cock with his fist. “I can destroy Greyson’s career. The league is interviewing him today, and me. All it takes is for me to tell them he threw a game, and he’d be tossed out for good.”
He grunts, and I glance away, refusing to watch his pathetic act of sexual harassment.
“I have you on camera,” I say, shaking my phone in my hand. “Your word against mine or not, it would still make a hell of a headline. NHL General Manager for the Ice Dragons gets caught with his hand on his dick while discussing threats to a six-year-old girl.”
“I’m not a fucking pervert,” he growls.
“No, you’re just a sexual predator. Because that’s so much better,” I say sarcastically. I snap one more picture. “Enjoy being on the news, because your career is over.”
I head for the door, my back to him, my hand on the door handle.
“Wait!” he shouts at me.
I grimace, really wanting to get the hell out of his office.
“It was my brother.”
“What?” I spin around and grimace when I see that he’s still got his hand around his dick, but it’s grown flaccid. “Put that tiny pickle away.” I gesture toward his dick.
He snarls and shoves it back in his pants. “The threat. It was from my brother, James Fitzgerald.”
TWENTY-ONE
KYLER
I finish speaking againwith the police. The members of the league are arriving at noon to fully discuss the situation.
They’ve been made aware of the threats to my daughter, but that’s all they’ve been informed of. The rest is to be discussed in detail.
Emerson storms out of Fitzgerald’s office.
That’s about right with how shit goes down with him whenever I’m forced to meet with the jackass.
I wasn’t thrilled to leave her alone in the room with him, but he’s mostly harmless.
She slams the door of his office when she leaves, and her cheeks are flaming. I glance her over. Her hands are trembling, and she folds them across her chest.
“Show me to the bathroom,” she says. It comes out more like a demand, and I’m not sure she isn’t going to be sick.
“This way,” I say, hurrying down the hallway, and she’s right at my side. Even with her shorter legs and smaller footsteps, she easily keeps up with me. It’s clear that she’s in a rush.
I escort her to the ladies’ room door, and she hightails it inside. I wait for her, wondering what’s going on. I give her a few minutes of privacy before I knock on the door.
“Em?”
No response.
I knock again and poke my head inside. I haven’t seen any other women go in.
She sniffles and stares at her reflection in front of the mirror.
“What happened?” I ask, sensing hesitation on her part.
Her eyes twitch, and her jaw is tight. She doesn’t answer me, and I’m not sure if her silence is any better. Because now, I can’t stop thinking about what Fitzgerald might have said to her.
