Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Oh, adored it,” I say dryly. “Practically threw me a parade.”
Elias chuckles, but I’m not laughing.
“I can manage narratives. I can rebuild reputations. I can even take a hit, metaphorically speaking,” I say, leaning forward. “But managing Grizz McAvoy? That’s hostage negotiation–level stuff.”
Elias considers this. “You think you can’t handle him?”
“I don’t know if anyone can. And I’m not sure I want to spend the next six months cleaning up after someone who thinks a fistfight is foreplay.”
He watches me, then says, “You said the same thing about Giancarlo once.”
“Giancarlo didn’t throw punches in skates,” I say. “He just did it with NDAs and offshore factories.”
“Still an asshole,” Elias counters. “Just wore better shoes.”
I sit back, rubbing my temple. “I need this job, Elias. I know that. I’m not naive. But if your uncle’s real plan is to have me muzzle a man like Grizz—”
“It’s not about muzzling him,” Elias interrupts gently. “He just needs focus. Discipline. You’re not there to change who he is.”
I glance out the window, watching a cab streak down the street, headlights diffusing through the window into a faint rainbow. “You believe I can do this?”
Elias doesn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t have made the call if I didn’t.”
His voice is sincere, firm. He has faith in me.
“I didn’t think I’d end up here,” I say. “Not in sports. Not with… someone like Grizz as a project.”
Elias leans back, nodding. He gets it. “No one ends up anywhere on purpose. Julian doesn’t hire people who are trying to be seen. He hires the ones who already survived something.”
I think about Grizz and how he looked at me like I was a joke. The coiled violence that lives in his posture. He doesn’t want help. He wants to be right, even when it burns everything down.
“I’ve spent my whole career calling out men like Grizz,” I say. “Now I’m supposed to fix him? Make him palatable enough for sponsors and kids with jerseys and the league’s press department?”
“No,” Elias says. “You’re supposed to keep him from blowing the whole damn team off the map.”
I look at him. “You make it sound easy.”
“It won’t be. He’ll test you and the team will watch you.” His eyes soften. “But you’re up for it, I know you are. You’ve got steel under all that truth-telling. You know how to stand in a room full of men, each convinced he’s the smartest one in it and ultimately get them to listen to you.”
The restaurant has gotten louder.
“I don’t know if I can manage him,” I say. “But I can manage the chaos around him.”
Elias smiles. “Same thing.”
And maybe it is. Maybe that’s all Langley really wants—someone to play defense against the collapse.
I finish my drink and set the glass down. “All right,” I say. “You’re right. I can survive this.”
Elias raises his glass. “You won’t just survive it, Daisy Turner. You’ll succeed in ways Julian won’t even expect. You always do.”
I don’t believe him. Not fully. But I believe that he believes in me.
And for right now, that’s enough.
Chapter 5
Daisy
The Vipers facility sits in the heart of midtown Manhattan, all glass and steel and aggressive architecture. Sleek edges and asymmetrical angles define the building, a design meant to project power. I pull up to the main entrance in an Uber, clutching a coffee that’s already gone cold.
Above the entrance hangs the iconic Vipers logo, sculpted from polished chrome.
The security guard at the front desk barely glances up when I flash my temporary credentials.
“Hello,” I say. “I’m here to see Grizz McAvoy.”
“You sure, miss?”
I smile and nod. “Positive. I’m supposed to meet him in one of the conference rooms. I was told it was reserved for an hour for me and him.”
“He’s in the gym,” says the guard, his attention now firmly back on his crossword.
“Gym?”
“Fourth floor. Follow the signs,” he says, pointing toward the hallways to his left.
I take the elevator up, watching the floor numbers tick by while my stomach does the same thing it used to do before walking into a hostile interview. The difference is this time I’m not here to expose anyone. I’m here to save them from themselves.
The hallway on the fourth floor stretches endlessly in both directions, lined with motivational posters featuring players I don’t recognize and quotes about winning and perseverance.
I follow the signs, my heels clicking against the floor with each step.
The gym doors are glass, and I see him before I even push through. Grizz is alone in a space that feels like it could house multiple large aircraft. The facility is pristine with rows of gleaming squat racks, mirrors that stretch floor to ceiling, and enough square footage to make a Manhattan real estate agent weep. Langley clearly spared no expense. Really, this is a temple to peak performance.
Grizz is at the middle squat rack, the bar loaded with heavy plates on each side. His back is to me, shoulders straining under a compression shirt that’s seen better days. Even from here, I can see the methodical precision in his movements. Down, pause, up. Each rep controlled. The muscles in his shoulders ripple beneath his sweat-soaked shirt, every fiber of strength clearly defined, powerful, and distractingly evident. Sweat beads along his neck, trailing down to disappear into the dark fabric stretched taut across his back. His powerful thighs flex beneath athletic shorts with each deep squat and despite my best efforts, my pulse quickens.