Page 33 of Sealing the Deal

“How on earth did Grayson find you? And what did he offer you?” I ask, because Sonia is not only skilled behind the bar, and a biker, but she’s also genuine. And I can’t imagine how her path would’ve crossed with Grayson if not as part of a deal.

“It’s one of those friend-of-a-friend situations,” she replies with a warm smile that has me more than a little intrigued. “Grayson built affordable housing in upstate New York two years ago and literally changed my sister’s life. She was living in an awful, rented apartment with her family, and it was really dragging her down. Grayson personally led the project, creating these gorgeous affordable apartments. They were small but they had so much light. My sister was convinced she wouldn’t be able to afford one, but Grayson had a whole team of people turn up at her door to help her and her husband with a budget and work out what they could really afford. And then that’s what they paid. Sorry,” she says, dabbing at her eyes. “It’s just, when someone you love goes from being deeply unhappy to feeling like they’ve won the lottery, it really means something.

“Anyway, Grayson stayed in touch with a lot of the residents afterward. My sister mentioned me to him once, told him I used to run a biker bar out by Barr Lake. Yesterday, he called her and she called me and I was asked if I’d be interested in helping you out here.” She smiles again. “I jumped at the chance to return the kindness. But don’t worry, he’s paying me, too.”

Of course he’s already paying Sonia. Of course he’s one step ahead, knowing I’ll be impressed, that I’m going to say yes. And yet, the emotion swimming in Sonia’s eyes and her story about her sister makes me wonder again just who Grayson Ashborne really is.

Thirty minutes later, Grayson looks up from his laptop. The small smile at my expression is hopeful. “The deal’s back on? You’ll come with me to the event today?”

I nod. “Yes. But if we’re doing this, you start being honest with me.”

“I have been.” The smile fades. “But you don’t want to believe it. You have to start trusting me, Flic.”

“We start trusting each other,” I correct, sharper than I mean to be. “Because half answers and strategic omissions aren’t honesty. You say you bought the Stormhawks because they were in financial trouble and you wanted to feel part of something that matters, fine, but it’s not that simple. You can’t buy love or loyalty or the passion you’re looking for. You have to give yourself to it. You have to commit. To believe. To fight for it. That’s when it starts to matter. Not when you sign your name on a contract.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment. “That’s fair.”

“And you listen this time,” I add.

There’s no hesitation in his reply. “I will.” He closes his laptop. “I’ll pick you up at three.” He turns for the door, then pauses. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” I say, already reaching for my notebook to figure out a schedule for Sonia. But my eyes linger on the door swinging shut behind him before I open the Red Zone and scroll through hundreds of comments about Grayson. The protests might have stopped for now, but that doesn’t mean fans are any less angry.

The task ahead still feels too big. If this deal is going to work—if the Stormhawks are going to survive—something has to give. Maybe the fans won’t trust him unless I do first. And maybe there’s more to Grayson than I first thought. But he’s still the man who tricked his way into my bar then bought it out from under me.

I don’t let people past my walls easily. And lowering them for Grayson Ashborne feels like an impossible play right now.

FOURTEEN

FLIC

It feels strange to be walking into the Stormhawks stadium. I’ve always loved this place, but for years I’ve barely been in the stands or the skybox, and now I’m heading up to the management offices for an official event.

I glance down at myself as I step into the elevator with Grayson, smoothing a hand over the silk of the white blouse I dug out from the back of my wardrobe this afternoon. I bought it years ago when I was trying to secure a mortgage to buy The Hay Barn’s building. As if a nice blouse was going to make anyone overlook the spreadsheets and projections. I’m still in black jeans, because apparently that’s all I own, and the ankle boots I usually reserve for dates, the leather still stiff from lack of use. I had to dust them off before leaving my apartment.

“You look perfect,” Grayson says beside me.

I hate that he notices my fidgeting. Almost as much as I hate how aware I am of the rich scent of his aftershave in the enclosed space. I’m suddenly aware of how close Grayson and I are standing, how my heartbeat is oddly picking up.

“I’m not used to business meetings,” I mutter, telling myself that’s the reason for my skipping pulse.

“You’re a local businesswoman, Flic. And a fan. And someone who understands the Stormhawks. You have more right to be in that boardroom than I do.”

“That’s not difficult,” I quip, rolling my eyes and pretending I’m not a little touched by the compliment.

Grayson huffs a laugh as the doors finally open onto a floor of worn carpet and fluorescent lighting. Rows of desks sit behind glass partitions. Computers hum. Phones ring. A few heads turn as we step out together.

Grayson leans close, voice quiet in my ear. “Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. That’s why I’ve brought you.”

He leads the way across the offices, and I can’t help but watch him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders are loose, his expression composed, yet there’s a faint line between his brows and his phone is still gripped tightly in his hand.

“Put your phone away before I throw it out the window,” I mutter as we approach the boardroom, already half full of some of Denver’s most influential business owners, plates piled high from a buffet table.

Grayson slips his phone into his pocket without argument. Behind me, a man chuckles and I turn to find Donald Hubert Junior—Donny—striding toward us. He smiles, and it’s no surprise he seems at home here, even with a new majority owner.

“Hey, Flic. Haven’t seen you since the fans breakfast at the start of the season. How’s it going?”

“Haven’t you heard?” I reply. “I’ve started babysitting billionaires.”