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)
I reach out a hand and she shakes it, the grip surprisingly firm as Julian says, “This is Daisy Turner. She works in PR for the team.”
Carolina inclines her head with an aloof smile, but before I can say anything else, Julian’s expression shifts, settling into that laser-focused seriousness I’ve come to recognize. He turns fully toward me, his voice dropping into a quieter and far less forgiving tone.
“Daisy,” he says, “you understand the importance of tonight, I assume.”
“I do,” I reply, trying to sound grounded, even though blood rushes to my head.
He nods. “Then let me make something very clear… we cannot have a repeat of last year.”
A prickle runs down my spine. “I heard about that,” I admit.
“This event,” he continues, “brings together every stakeholder in the Vipers organization—our players, sponsors, VIP ticket holders, league executives. I invite them into my home, my sanctuary, and I expect the evening to reflect the integrity of this franchise.” He pauses, his gaze heightened with authority. “I will not tolerate any behavior that compromises that, particularly tonight under this roof.”
“I understand,” I say, my palms warming. “I’ll make sure everything stays under control.”
Langley’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “Make sure he stays under control.”
My throat dries and Julian offers a clipped smile—a dismissal wrapped in civility—and turns back to Carolina.
And just like that, the success of the entire evening shifts squarely onto my shoulders and the reality of the task presses in. I move through the crowd, dodging servers with trays of champagne that never stops flowing, the giggling clusters of donors leaning a little too heavily on their drinks, the tables full of competition and adrenaline. The air feels charged, and all I can picture is Grizz in the middle of this, fueled by emotion, by instinct, by anything that might set him off.
I move through the room faster. The whole space feels electric, on the verge of erupting, and I can’t shake the sense that I’m running out of time.
That my entire job depends on me finding Grizz before disaster strikes.
Where is he?
I scan the bar.
Nothing.
I look at the blackjack tables.
Not there.
The corners of the salon, the alcoves near the windows—
No sign.
My worry presses harder with every step.
What if he’s already had too much to drink?
What if someone said the wrong thing?
But then, I see him.
And for a moment, I stop breathing.
He’s standing near an alcove carved into the far wall, the amber light pooling around him. His tux jacket is slung over a chair beside him; his sleeves are rolled up, exposing strong forearms that look capable of both gentleness and absolute havoc, and I know this from personal experience.
But that isn’t what freezes me in place.
It’s the little boy in his arms.
A tiny kid in a miniature tuxedo, cheeks flushed pink with excitement, bow tie crooked, clutching a toy race car in one hand while the other clings easily to Grizz’s shirt. The boy giggles at whatever Grizz says, and Grizz laughs too. I can’t hear it, but I can see the mutual joy in their faces.
He props the child higher on his hip with ease, one broad hand braced across the boy’s back, instinctive and protective. He listens attentively as the boy’s parents speak, and then he inclines his head just enough so the kid can show him his toy car.
It is effortlessly tender and completely disarming.
And nothing like the man I’ve spent the last month bracing myself against.
I wasn’t prepared to feel this type of emotion tonight.
The parents thank him, the kid gives him a triumphant high-five, and the little family drifts toward the dessert spread. Grizz stays where he is for a moment, adjusting his cuffs, relaxing his shoulders, and I realize I haven’t moved, haven’t blinked since I’m not fully recovered from what I just saw.
He senses me before I reach him. His head lifts, eyes meeting mine across the floor.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and rumbling. His eyes roam over me, taking in the low cut, black evening gown I chose for tonight.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The energy between us is… careful. It’s polite, a show for everyone else, because not but a few hours ago, he was wringing out a brutal orgasm from my body and making me see stars.
“You look… different,” Grizz says finally, eyes sweeping over my dress before he catches himself.
“Good different or bad different?”
His mouth twitches. “Different different.”
I flush, and he quickly softens. “Good different,” he adds quickly, as if he wasn’t sure I needed the extra reassurance but wanted to offer it anyway. “Sexy different.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and force myself to breathe normally. “Well… you clean up nicely too.”
He smirks. “I usually do.”
I clear my throat, remembering why I came over. “Actually, can I borrow you for a second? I need a quick photo of you with Tanner, Coen, and Barrett for a press piece we’re doing tomorrow.”