Page 82 of Faking it with the Billionaire
I hurry downstairs, and Mitchell is ushering Bristol into the hallway. He’s holding her pancakes and a bottle of water while she puts on her sneakers.
“Ready, ma’am?” Mitchell asks as I take the stairs two at a time.
I’m not thrilled with being called ma’am, but I don’t argue. I’m not an old lady. “Yes.” I just need to put my shoes on as well. I sling my purse over my shoulder and grab my shoes, slipping them on and stretching them as we hurry to the car.
Once we’re in the backseat, I text Lia to let her know we had a change of plans and to meet at the ice arena. Maybe she can pick Bristol up from the stadium and spend the day with her exploring the city.
Traffic is heavy and slow on the way to the arena. It gives Bristol time to finish her pancakes, although she repeatedly complains about how they taste better with syrup and when Nanny Lia makes them.
We pull up at the back entrance of the stadium, the private entrance, and when we go to enter, there’s a security guard and a police officer who glances us over. “We’re here for Kyler Greyson.”
The security guard glances at his sheet. “Names.”
“I’m Emerson Ryan, and this is Bristol Greyson, his daughter.”
“I need to see identification for you, Ms. Ryan,” the officer says.
Mitchell is waiting in the car. He hasn’t pulled away yet, making sure that we get inside before he leaves.
I dig into my purse, grab my wallet, and show my driver’s license to the police officer. “Relation to Mr. Greyson?” he asks.
“They’re with me,” Kyler says, coming up from behind the officer.
“Just doing our due diligence.” The officer steps aside, letting us into the building.
“What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice low. He picks up Bristol, carrying her in his arms, protectively holding her as we walk alongside one another down the hallway.
“Bristol, sweetie, I want you to keep Uncle Jasper company. Can you do that?” Kyler asks as we approach the locker room.
“Of course, Daddy.” He carries her into the locker room, and I stand at the entrance of the door. The guys are sitting around chatting, but none of them are undressing or changing into gameday attire.
Confident that Bristol is cared for, he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway. “What’s going on?” I ask, relieved to have him alone for a minute.
“Fitzgerald found another note.”
The air is sucked from my lungs. I had suspected there might be another threat. What other reason would there have been for him to ask me to bring the first note? But it hadn’t crossed my mind that someone else might have found it first.
“What did he say?”
“Not much. He’s gotten the league involved and the police.”
I curse under my breath. “What does this mean for your career?”
“When they find out I threw one of my prior games to protect my kid, it will cost me everything.”
“And you told them this isn’t the first threat that you’ve received?” A small part of me wishes that he’d lied for his own sake.
“I told them everything, Em. About how I hired a bodyguard to protect my daughter. The league, the police, Fitzgerald, they will want to speak with you.”
There isn’t much new information that I can give them. I sit down with Fitzgerald in his office first. He’s available and ready to shoot questions at me like I’m the goalie, firing shot after shot at me.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Fitzgerald asks.
Kyler is outside in the hallway, speaking again with the police, showing them the note that I brought.
It’s just me and Fitzgerald in his office. So far, he’s been less disgusting and horrible than I thought, considering the way Greyson speaks about the man.
“I’m also part of a team who does private investigations. I trained at Quantico. Calling the police would have put Bristol in more jeopardy. That wasn’t what Kyler wanted, sir.”
