Page 46 of Offside Secrets
My blood runs cold. We’ve been in quiet talks with Alexandria for weeks, carefully negotiating terms that would benefit the Renegades while maintaining our autonomy. The fact that Victor knows about it—and is now positioned to influence it—makes my stomach churn.
“How generous of you to share,” I say carefully, never mind my fingers are flexing to form a fist.
Victor’s smile turns predatory. “I thought you shouldknow that I’ll be advocating for certain adjustments to the proposed terms. More direct oversight, enhanced player evaluation protocols, streamlined roster management.”
“The terms we’ve been discussing are already quite comprehensive,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Both organizations seemed satisfied with the framework.”
“Frameworks can evolve, Sutton. Especially when new stakeholders bring fresh perspectives.” He leans forward slightly. “I’ve been reviewing your current roster, actually. Some interesting talent. That captain of yours—Stockton—could have real potential at the NHL level.”
The mention of Campbell makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with business. “Campbell’s an exceptional player and an even better leader. The Renegades are lucky to have him under contract.”
“For now. But affiliation agreements often include provisions for accelerated call-ups. Especially for players who demonstrate, let’s say, exceptional value.” Victor’s eyes narrow slightly. “Speaking of which, I have something I meant to ask you when I ran into you at the elevators. In Harrisburg, remember?”
I keep staring at him, looking the part on the outside, but on the inside? I’m yelling at my face to not move. “Of course I do. What’s the question?”
“I know how…hands on, I guess we can call it, you can be. So, I do hope you’re maintaining appropriate professional boundaries with your team, Sutton. Affiliation partners expect a certain level of propriety.”
Heat floods my face, part anger, part something that feels dangerously close to panic. “I don’t know what you’re implying?—”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m simply noting that partnerships require a certain level of professionalism. But you know this. The kind of reputation management that your board, I’m sure, takes very seriously.”
The threat is subtle but unmistakable. Victor is going to use our run-in at the hotel as his credit card with me if he can. This slimy, greasy, piece of trash knows something, or thinks he does, and he’s not above using it as leverage.
“Well, this has been illuminating, Victor.” I stand up slowly, using every ounce of Southern belle steel my mother ever drilled into me. “While I appreciate you stopping by to share your news, I do have a team that needs to be run, so if you’ll excuse me…”
I may be gesturing toward the door, but he doesn’t move from his chair. “We should discuss this further. Perhaps over dinner? I’m sure we could find some mutually beneficial arrangements.”
“I’m sure we could,” I say pleasantly. “But I’m busy tonight.”
“Another night, then.”
“Still busy,” I say, gesturing toward the door once more. “I’ll have my legal team review any formal proposals and get back to you through appropriate channels.”
Victor finally stands, smoothing his suit jacket. “Always so formal, Sutton. Some things never change.”
“No,” I agree. “They don’t. But, hey, next time you want to stop by, make an appointment first.”
He pauses at my office door, looking back with that same smug expression. “Oh, and Sutton? I believe there are some scouts planning to attend your next home game, making the trip down from Alexandria. Good luck with that.”
And then he’s gone, leaving behind the lingering and distinct feeling that I’ve just been played.
I sink back into my chair, my headache now pounding with renewed vigor. Victor as a minority owner of the Alexandria team. An affiliation offer that could change everything for the Renegades. NHL scouts coming to evaluate my players—to evaluate Campbell.
And somehow, Victor has slimed his greasy way right into all of it. Which means he knows exactly what’s at stake.
I reach for my phone, then stop. Campbell doesn’t need to know about Victor’s visit, and the fact he suspects something. I also don’t need to worry Campbell with the thought that Victor may have overheard us at the hotel that night. After Victor’s veiled threat about “professional boundaries,” I’m not sure how to tell him any of it without it feeling like a swirling storm picking up speed around us.
I may not want Campbell to go for both professional and, I admit, personal reasons too, but I also am not going to be the person who stands in his way or has a hand in him missing his chance. This is huge. For everyone.
The numbers on my budget spreadsheet blur together as my headache reaches migraine territory. This day just went from difficult to potentially catastrophic.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Elle’s is reminding me that Victor Lawson has a knack of not ever showing up anywhere unless he’s absolutely certain he’s going to win.
But to win something, you have to play the game. I just wish I knew what game he was playing.
The late afternoonair hits me like a wall when I finally escape my office, but it does nothing to clear the fog in my head. My migraine has settled in for the duration, a steady throb behind my eyes that makes the parking lot lights seem too bright even though the sun’s already setting.
I’m fumbling with my car keys when I hear footsteps behind me.
