Page 23 of Sealing the Deal

I wish I could ask someone to swing by and check in, but I don’t exactly have a long list of people to call. There’s Izzy and Dylan. Sure, they’d drop everything in a heartbeat. But Izzy is less than two months away from giving birth, and the last thing I want is to steal Dylan away from her, Mad, and the ranch because I’m anxious. Harper’s no good either. She’s already in Buffalo with Mama, prepping to watch the game from the skybox with me and Grayson. The same with Serena.

Which leaves… Mia, I realize, relief sweeping through me. Mia was a few years below me and Jake in high school, and in the same homeroom as Chase, Serena, and Harper. She’s to Harper what Izzy is to me, but between Harper marrying Jake and Izzy marrying Dylan, the three of us—plus Serena—have become a foursome. Cocktails at our favorite restaurant—Bill’s—once a month have become a tiny tradition I look forward to.

I pull out my phone, hating that I’m asking, but knowing I won’t stop worrying if I don’t.

FLIC: Hey Mia, can I ask a favor?

MIA: Of course! Anything. Heard about your deal with the billionaire. Are we burying his body already?

FLIC: Not quite yet, but I’m on his private jet on the way to Buffalo and I’ve left The Hay Barn in the hands of a bartender I used to work with. I’m feeling a bit worried.

MIA: Say no more. I was going to force Edward to watch the game with me at home, but we’ll go to the bar instead.

FLIC: Thank you so much. I’m sure I’m worrying over nothing.

MIA: Hey, it’s your baby. I get it.

I slide my phone back into my pocket, relaxing a little. Mia’s the VP of her family’s media company, Arquette Media. I don’t know her fiancé, Edward, that well, but Mia handles crisis with the calm of a seasoned general. I’d trust her with pretty much anything. Including burying a body. I smile despite myself, right as my gaze involuntarily drifts to Grayson.

He looks up at that exact moment. His dark eyes meet mine, the tension in his brow easing for half a second as he offers me the briefest, softest smile. Then his phone rings again, the frown returns, and he turns back to his work.

A moment later, Nicholas returns, setting down a silver tray on the mahogany coffee table in front of me. Of course, he’s managed to fix me a caramel latte in a tall glass cup that looks like it belongs in a Starbucks commercial. Beside it is a tiny bag of cookies tied with a red ribbon.

“These cookies look so fancy I’m guessing they each have their own college fund.”

Nicholas laughs. “They’re baked fresh before every flight. Let me know if you want more.”

“Dangerous offer,” I mutter, already opening the bag, “but thank you.”

“Call me if you need anything else,” Nicholas says before disappearing behind a door just as Grayson drops into the seat opposite me, running a hand through his hair.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “I’m midway through a project in New York. If I don’t keep a careful watch on how things are going, they don’t get done how I want them.”

“So, you’re a control freak,” I say, with mock sweetness to my tone.

“I care about my projects. If that makes me a control freak, I’ll take it.” His gaze flicks to me. “Whereas you are obviously feeling super relaxed about leaving The Hay Barn in someone else’s hands, right?”

My mouth drops open. “How did you⁠—”

He smirks. Damn him!

My cheeks flush. “I’m perfectly calm.”

“Sure you are.” He tilts his head, eyes steady on mine. “Talk me through what to expect today?”

“You can expect a tough game,” I reply, feeling on safer ground with the topic of football. “It’s knockout now. One loss and we’re out. No do-overs. Today means everything.”

He leans forward, focusing on me as I continue.

“Our offense is solid with Chase as quarterback and Jake as tight end. They play instinctively, probably because they grew up playing together. Our defense is where we’re vulnerable,” I continue. “The Warbears have a strong offense, too. And too many touchdowns slipped through our defensive line this season. If we want to make it to the divisional round next week, we need to keep things tight.”

Grayson’s mouth tugs into that infuriating smile. “You’re pretty terrifying when you talk football.”

“It’s called passion. I care about my team and my city and my family, that’s all.” The words I don’t speak land hard. And you don’t.

In the silence that follows, I almost feel bad. Even I can admit that Grayson was really listening when I talked. He wasn’t distracted or checking emails or looking back to where his laptops are waiting for him.

Grayson’s gaze shifts to the TV. “Watching anything good?”