Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Athena

I've been waylaid by a silver fox.

Or, I suppose, I did the waylaying.

Jean-Michel Dubois might be a successful businessman who owns vineyards around the world and a hockey team—bottles and blades, who would have thought that combination might work?—but I can't deny that there's something that draws my focus to him.

And only him.

It's an actual struggle to remember my surroundings, to not get sucked into the black-hole-like pull that is Jean-Michel.

Maybe it's the French Canadian accent.

Maybe it's the strongly built body that doesn't speak of a man in his late forties.

Maybe it's the hint of salt in his dark brown hair.

Or maybe it's that he's ruthless with those who fuck him or his loved ones or his businesses over, but that he funds his daughter's cat charity—and that includes support staff and veterinaries and vet techs along with reimbursing the volunteers who take care of the innocent animals.

Maybe—

Okay, maybe it's all of that.

Along with the fact that we investigated him so thoroughly I can tell you exactly how many billions this many is worth—down to the penny—and I didn't find a single illegal act.

Immoral? Maybe.

But I happen to approve of Jean-Michel's brand of justice.

Come after his family—you'll face the consequences.

Come after his businesses—you'll end up bankrupt.

But come at him with innovation and competition and hard work, and he'll invest, compete, or cede that line of business, depending on what's the best use of his time.

Gotta respect the standards.

Especially when he built his empire from the ground up.

No rich daddy seed money here.

"You've been investigating me," he says, eyes fixed on mine as I lean back against Cam's car. It's been a couple of days since I've seen my hot hockey hunk—my fault because I needed time in the office—but even though I framed this foray to my team as necessary so I could make contact with Jean-Michel and warn him that he might need to amp up his private security, in reality, I jumped on the chance to ensure our interaction happened here.

Where Cam is.

"Yes, we have been investigating you," I say and have the pleasure of seeing surprise skate across his handsome face.

I don't think he's surprised often.

And that's…well, I decide I get my gold star for the day.

Go me.

"How'd you know?" I ask when he just tucks the shock away and fixes me in place with an intense stare.

I shiver.

This is a man who'd fuck you on a desk so hard that you'd feel him with every step the next day…and then draw you a bubble bath to make that pleasurable discomfort fade.

Hot as hell.

Grumpy as hell.

But I prefer easy smiles and quiet energy.

That sends a blip of alarm pulsing through me, but, just like I've been doing since Mother Nature decided I needed a few days of hot sex and even hotter hockey player, I push it down and focus.

"You think I wouldn't know when someone's poking around in my accounts?" The question is dry, laced with amusement.

I frown.

We're supposed to be untraceable, invisible, silently observing.

That Jean-Michel noticed either tells me that we've fucked up…or more likely, that he's just that good.

I lift a shoulder, allow it to fall in a halfhearted shrug. "Right."

"Why are you here?"

I study him, wonder how much bullshit I can spin while not affecting Cam's position on the team.

Jean-Michel's face tells me not much.

"I can't say."

His face clouds.

So, I hurry to add, "But I can say that if I were a certain owner of varied businesses from wine to sports, an owner who's been looked into and cleared of anything to do with an ongoing investigation, I'd make sure that my security detail was beefed up and?—"

My gaze trails to the side where a man who's definitely not a silver fox—and has none of the allure of one Jean-Michel Dubois—is walking into the arena, briefcase in hand and a severe expression on his face. I watch as he scans a badge at the arena door, yanks it open like he's ready to unleash the fury within him on whoever gets in his way.

Jesus.

That asshole must be a gem to work with.

"—staying on task to protect me and the people I care about," I finish, turning back to Jean-Michel.

He tilts his head to the side. "And is that the only reason you cornered me at my place of business?"

"One of them," I say with another shrug.

He flicks his eyebrows up in question.

"I chose this place specifically over your other businesses."

Those eyebrows shoot higher.

"Because"—I lean back against Cam's car—"I'm dating one of your players."

If there's another flicker of surprise in the other man's eyes, it's just that—a flicker, there and gone in the next instant. Then his gaze slides to the side, and he says, "Jackson."

Not a question.

"I will neither confirm nor deny," I say silkily.

His lips quirk, just the slightest bit, and I feel that like a brush of fingers between my thighs.

Dangerous man.

The door to the arena slams shut and he swivels at the sound, face implacable, but I don't miss that his eyes are troubled.

"I have a meeting to get to," he says quietly.

I nod. "I won't keep you."

"You'll just keep waiting for one of my hockey players?"

I fight a smile. "I will neither confirm nor?—"

"Deny," he says on a sigh. "You know, some might consider you troublesome."

I smother a laugh. "Oh, I think it's more than some ."

Now he full-on grins. "Yup, definitely troublesome, Athena Phillips."

And now it's my turn for my eyebrows to shoot upward in question as his expression becomes cocky. "I make it my business to know who's investigating me."

"Touché."

I lean back again Cam's car, cross my arms. "We didn't find anything, you know."

"Oh, I know," he says, that cocky silver fox in charge once more for a flash before I see a streak of protectiveness lace itself into his expression. "Cam's a good one. Don't fuck with his head, yeah?"

I inhale sharply, panic like I haven't experienced for days spiraling through my insides.

But, for some reason, my reaction has Jean-Michel's face clearing.

"What?" I manage to whisper.

He claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezes lightly. "You'll do, kid."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, confused now, though panic is still swirling beneath the bewilderment.

He waves a hand at my face, which is clearly showing the tumult of my emotions, even though that's extremely bad form as an FBI agent. "Only someone who cares would have that reaction."

I inhale again. I want to deny it, but we both know it would be a lie. I do care about Cam, and it's nowhere near familial.

"Exactly." He nods approvingly. "So, like I said, you'll do, kid." He drops his hand. "Keep caring and we'll be good."

That has me pulling my head out of my ass and focusing on what's important—Cam. "You know," I tell him. "If you really care about Cam and his head, then I'd get your asshole of a coach in line."

Thunder begins to coalesce at the edges of his expression. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said," I tell him, anger bubbling now as I remember Cam's demeanor when we talked, his disappointment, the way he'd been sliced to the core by the lack of support when he was already beating himself up. His coach had made everything worse. "I mean , that maybe if your coaching staff was interesting in building players up instead of flogging them when they're struggling, the Eagles would have made it further than the first round of the playoffs."

His eyes narrow, and I half expect him to unleash a load of anger on me.

But then he exhales, his face clears, and he nods. "I'll take that under advisement."

"Really?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

"If I've learned anything in my years in business, it's to listen when people are talking." He nods at me. "You're talking, so I'm listening."

"Just like that?"

His mouth quirks. "Just like that."

"Wow."

"I hear that a lot."

"Color me surprised that the grumpy billionaire has a sense of humor beneath all that—" I wave my hand at his expression, and right on cue… "— scowl. "

He shakes his head. "Why are all the women in my life determined to torture me?"

Now I smile. "It's probably just your face."

A roll of his eyes before he turns for the rink.

But then he pauses, glances back at me.

"Hey, Phillips?"

"Yeah?"

He unleashes that silver-fox, stroke-me-between-my-legs smile.

"You're not interested in adopting a cat, are you?"