Page 32 of Sealing the Deal

The amused smile playing on Grayson’s lips makes me want to throw something at him. “And,” he continues, ignoring my outburst, “Sonia is available to cover The Hay Barn while you’re busy keeping me from getting booed out of stadiums. If our deal is still something you’re interested in, of course.”

I raise my brows as Sonia pulls out her phone and points to one of the booths. “I’m going to make a call while you two chat.”

“Is there anyone you don’t have on your payroll?” I hiss when Sonia is out of earshot.

The smile drops from Grayson’s face. “I need help, Flic. And I’ve gone about it the wrong way from the start.”

That gets my attention.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve come up against opposition because of my last name. I thought I could handle it the way I usually do. By moving fast, buying out the problem, and making it impossible for anyone to argue with the results.” He exhales. “But this isn’t a building; it’s an NFL team and an entire city where the loyalty runs deep.”

Grayson rubs a hand over the back of his neck. For the first time, I look beyond the smug billionaire and see a man who looks bone-tired and a little frustrated. I don’t want to buy it. But my gut says he’s telling the truth.

A moment later, he continues with a wince: “You were right to keep asking about why I bought the team.”

My eyes narrow. Vindication flares hot in my chest. I knew there was more to what Grayson was giving me.

“I meant what I said about wanting to belong. But there was another reason.” He hesitates. “I bought the Stormhawks because they needed me to.”

“What?” I shake my head. “Why would they need a new owner?”

“Because they’ve been in financial trouble for a long time. Ticket sales are inconsistent. Sponsorship revenue has dipped year on year. The Huberts have done a damn good job hiding the extent of their problems from Denver, but the reality is they’ve been patching holes for too long.”

“No,” I say automatically. The Stormhawks are Denver. They’re packed stadiums and sold-out jerseys and Sundays that stop the whole city.

But even as the denial leaves my mouth, something shifts. Rumors at the start of the season about budget cuts. And a conversation I overheard in the bar about backroom staff leaving and not being replaced.

We couldn’t understand why the Huberts would sell the team they loved. The team they built from nothing. My stomach twists. It wasn’t through choice. It was necessity. They sold because they had to. And even though a part of me doesn’t want to believe it, the pieces start sliding into place. Rumors. Budget cuts. Staff disappearing.

None of it made sense before. Now it does. Or at least some of it does. Because I can’t shake the feeling that Grayson might be giving me more, but he’s not giving me everything. The Huberts had to sell. That makes sense. But there would’ve been other offers, surely? Other people or companies they could’ve gone to. Why sell it to Grayson? That’s the part he hasn’t explained.

His gaze meets mine. “I didn’t buy this team to gut it. I bought it because someone had to. I want it to succeed, not just this season, but the next and the next.”

Those dark eyes bore into mine, and I find myself wondering if I got this man wrong. The thought sits there for a second before I shove it away.

Grayson continues: “The Stormhawks’ biggest sponsor is shopping around. I’ve got three weeks to prove I’m not here to strip this team for parts. Three weeks to gain the loyalty of the fans and change the narrative.” He steps closer. “I can’t do that without someone the fans trust. Someone who understands this team from the outside in.” His voice lowers. “Hand on heart, Flic—I will do better. I’ll listen. I’ll show up. I know I don’t have any right to ask, but I need help and you’re the best and only person who can do it.”

I blow out a slow breath, my thoughts still spinning from everything Grayson just said. The idea that the Stormhawks were in trouble—that the Huberts sold because they had to—has knocked something loose inside me. But that doesn’t change the facts. “I really appreciate the offer, and I’m sure Sonia is brilliant, but after last weekend, I can’t leave The Hay Barn in anyone else’s hands. This is my bar. It’s where I belong.”

Grayson’s reply is typical. Does nothing deter this man? “I get it. The Hay Barn is important to you. I respect that. So how about this… spend thirty minutes with Sonia. If you’re not blown away by her brilliance, no problem. I’ll walk out and go find an actual T-Rex to eat me and make the fans happy.”

A surprised laugh escapes and I swear Grayson seems to brighten.

“But if you are happy, you could accompany me to an event this afternoon.” He pauses, then adds, “Nothing to do with fans, but important to get right. We’ve got a room full of our small local sponsors and an opportunity to smooth some ruffled feathers. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that these companies have loyal customers, and so their support is important. I could use a wingman.”

I snort. “Wingman? Babysitter, more like.”

Grayson’s phone rings, and I watch him glance at the screen, instantly back in business mode, but after half a second he silences the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.

“It can wait,” he says simply.

And maybe it’s that small gesture, but I find myself agreeing to give Sonia thirty minutes. Grayson takes a booth in the corner, opening his laptop, the frown returning to his face as he types.

Sonia stands, stepping to join me. I wonder how much of our argument she overheard. I shove the thought aside and focus on showing her around the bar. She asks all the right questions, and within minutes she’s rattling off inventory numbers and even points out a way to rotate stock I’d never thought of.

“You run a tight ship,” she says. “Most bars your size are total chaos back here.”

I try not to glow under the praise, but it’s impossible not to feel a tiny bit proud as well as impressed.