Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Renn

“There you are,” Bill Galecki says, offering me his hand as I enter his office. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Here we go … I shake his hand. “Yes. Thanks.”

He smiles smugly as he tucks his tie to his chest and sits in his oversized, pompous leather chair. I take my seat across from him. It’s a decidedly smaller, harder, more uncomfortable furniture selection that I would bet my left nut is intentional.

Galecki likes to keep his opposition on edge. And right now, I’m the opponent.

I clear my throat and take in the awards and articles hanging on the wall behind the Royals general manager. It’s impressive and would be intimidating if I was open to that kind of thing.

I’m not. And Galecki knows it.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he says, his features hardening. “We’ve had quite a week in public relations.”

“Well, marriages are big news. People like to see other people happy.”

He strokes his chin. “Is that what this is, though?”

“Sir, with all due respect, my personal life is none of anyone’s business.”

“Oh, Brewer …” He chuckles, sitting up and planting his arms on his desk. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

My insides tremble with anticipation of this conversation going downhill. I had mediocre hopes when I pulled into the facility this morning. They’ve downgraded as the day has gone on.

Surprise from the medical staff when I showed up for my physical. An offhanded comment from a teammate when I stopped for a coffee at the fuel bar in the cafeteria. The cool response from Galecki’s secretary when I arrived for our meeting.

I wouldn’t be as on edge if I had a plan and knew how to handle what was coming my way. But I don’t. I know there are limits to what I will accept … and I pray we don’t touch them.

I pray my instincts are wrong.

“There have been several articles over the past few days questioning the seriousness of our franchise,” he says. “Many people are second-guessing our decision to sign you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You should be. It’s your fault.”

I flinch. “Because I got married? Give me a fucking break.”

“Because a middle-of-the-night wedding to a woman no one knew you were even seeing—in Las Vegas, of all places—looks a little suspect. And with your history, a lot of people are wondering if this is where Renn Brewer goes off the deep end. Again.”

Stay calm . I force myself to breathe. “What can I say? I’m sorry clairvoyants are moonlighting as journalists.”

“May I remind you that you signed a clause guaranteeing this franchise your cooperation in protecting our image?”

I stare at him, willing myself to stay quiet.

“Don’t think that concerns haven’t been raised that you married a woman who caused waves in this industry a few years ago,” he says.

Nope . “We can talk about me all day long. But my wife is off-limits.”

“If only it were that easy.”

“ Make it that easy .”

He holds my gaze. “Let’s also note, for the sake of it, that not only did you marry a problematic—”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Woman in Vegas, but that woman was also your teammate’s sister. Don’t you see the problem with that? Do you not expect tension in the locker room?”

I stare him down. “Not any more than is in this room right now.”

He looks away.

He stands, slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair. He pours a drink from a sideboard beneath the window that overlooks Nashville. “Would you like one? Water? Gin and tonic?”

“I’m good.”

“Here’s the thing, Renn. It’s my job as the GM of this organization to ensure we are best positioned to make money. A part of that equation is securing the best players.” He looks at me over the rim of his glass. “And another part is maintaining a good image.”

He takes a long slug of whatever he’s drinking like he’s giving me time to squirm.

It’s not the words he’s saying. None of this is news to me. It’s the tone he’s using that’s grating my nerves.

I expected him to try to use this as leverage. Honestly, I didn’t care that much. Getting fucked by businesses is routine for me; I bring my own lube.

But what surprises me, what crawls under my skin and makes me uncomfortable, is the angle he’s taking. And if it’s the path I think he’s going down, there will be fireworks.

I sit back. “I thought we were cutting to the chase.”

He sets the glass down with a thud. “Okay. Let’s cut to the chase. We would like to incorporate you and your wife into a marketing campaign for—”

“ What ?” I hold up a hand. He did not just go there . “Back up. What did you just say?”

“Marketing has a series of commercials they’ll be rolling out this fall, angled at bringing more families into the stadium. We’re trying to expand our fan base, and we feel that if you and Miss Evans—”

“ Mrs. Brewer .”

He smirks. “My mistake. If you and Mrs. Brewer would take part, we could launch a promo with the two of you leading into the series. The optics would be great. She’s very marketable, and everyone loves a rags-to-riches story. Additionally, we could shut down a lot of this chatter and twist the narrative to fit our needs.”

I think my eyes might bulge out of my head. He has to be kidding .

“Nothing major,” he says, sitting again. “Just something to show—”

“No.”

He lifts a brow.

“This is absolutely not happening.”

“I’d like you to reconsider.”

I run my palms down my pants. “I really don’t give a fuck.”

My brain imagines what Blakely would say if I even suggested such a thing—not that I would ever bring it up. There’s no way I’m exploiting what we have for anything, least of all the Royals.

The last thing she wants is her name in print. The whole reason she married me was to stop that from happening. And now Galecki wants to intentionally put her name into the world? To put her up for discussion—us up for evaluation?

No way.

“I’m not saying I know a thing about marketing,” I say. “But if your issue with my marriage is people talking, why would you want to give them something to talk about? Why draw attention to it? Doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“This is bad for business the way it stands. It can be good for business with some … slight modifications.”

“Not my problem.”

“Oh, but it is your problem . Your contract says it’s your problem.”

My blood boils. “My contract says that I won’t cause you problems. It doesn’t say I have to jump through whatever hoop you put before me to make you a little extra cash.”

“Let me be blunt. We own you .”

“ No one owns me .”

He licks his lips. “You’ll do it, or we’ll sue you for breach of contract.”

My teeth grind together as I stare at Galecki and his self-satisfied grin. Fuck you .

“Do it,” I say. “Sue me for refusing to have my wife exploited. That’s going to look real good in the papers.”

His laugh is haughty. “This is where we are.Either you sign on to this marketing campaign, or we sign legal proceedings. And before you run your mouth without doing your due diligence—go home. Think about it. There’s not another team on any continent capable of winning the championship that would be willing to take you on after this.”

“You say that like you think I give a fuck.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

“You’re wrong. You do not have the right to talk about my wife.” I stand. “I’m leaving because, if I don’t, I’m going to remind you of who you are when you’re not behind that desk.”

He flinches. “Are you threatening me?”

I wink at him and head to the door before making a mess of this situation.

“We’ll need an answer in the next few days.”

“Fuck you, Galecki.”

The door slams behind me.

***

“Make yourself at home,” Bianca says, setting down her pen as I barge into her office. “I take it something’s wrong.”

“You know what?”

“Well, I know many things, but none are probably what you’ll say. We don’t really operate on the same wavelength most of the time.”

I narrow my eyes as I sit across from her. “Fuck the Royals.”

She brushes a lock of her long dark hair out of her face. “I was right. That wasn’t what I would say. But, then again, it’s not surprising. I’m always right.”

“Bianca ...”

“Sorry. Continue. Explain to me why we hate the Royals.”

Her grin eases some of my anger.

“Look, I love you, Renny, but I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Start talking.”

“Get this. I just got an ultimatum. I can either let the team pimp out my marriage in a marketing campaign, or they’ll sue me for breach.”

She settles back in her chair, surprised. “Wow. I didn’t see that coming. What did you say?”

I don’t know what I said.

It took the whole ride to the Brewer offices to stop my heart from pumping so much blood through my veins that I thought the top of my head would blow off.

Who the fuck does Galecki think he is?

“ We own you.”

No one owns me, motherfucker. And no one owns Blakely Brewer.

“I’m not an attorney,” Bianca says, “but I would say that would be hard to prove in court.”

“I think that’s what I said. Sort of.” I groan. “Do you know what pisses me off the most about it?”

“What’s that?”

“That they are so damn money-centered that they would take the sliver of an opening that maybe my marriage was a mistake and try to exploit it—try to exploit Blakely. She has nothing to do with them and there they are, not giving a damn about that. She’s just a chess piece to move toward checkmate.”

Bianca smiles.

“What?” I look at her. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not in the mood, Bianca.”

“Fine. I think you went to Australia and fell in love. That’s what I think. I think that marriage probably was an accident, but it happened to be with a girl you’ve held out for, hoping you’d get a chance with for years.”

I gulp. “Why would you think that?”

“Come on, Renny. I was at your birthday party eight, nine years ago. And I watched you chase that woman around like a puppy.”

My lips twitch. “I did no such thing.”

“And then there was the time you had me help you send her flowers for Valentine’s Day. That’s the only time that’s happened. Have you ever sent another woman flowers?”

I chuckle.

“Oh, what about the time you wanted me to friend request her on Social because she changed her account to private? And you wanted to know if she was with some guy … I can’t remember his name.” She laughs. “You called me from Australia to ask how to give her a ring. Come on, brother. Everyone else might not see it, but I do.”

I blow out a breath and use Bianca’s smile to steady myself.

A slideshow of every interaction I’ve had with Blakely rolls through my mind—every holiday, party, and barbecue at Brock’s. The texts we’ve exchanged through the years. The way I wanted to throttle Edward DiNozzo.

I’d go alone if I knew Blakely would be at an event. I’d wrangle my way into sitting beside her at dinner or hanging out with her—or close to her—so I could hear her voice. I’ve canceled dates because an opportunity to spend time with her arose even though it was in a group. Because I just wanted to be with her.

“It happened to be with a girl you’ve held out for, hoping you’d get a chance with for years.”

Is that true? Is Bianca right? Have I waited for a chance to be with Blakely for the past ten years?

“Renn …”

The room shrinks, my body heating as I think about my wife.

Everything in my world is now framed around her.

When I think about having the afternoon free, I want to make a beeline home to her. The idea that she’s home—that my home is her home—feels like the greatest victory in the world. I’ve spent all morning planning our next trip to Australia because she loved it so much and checking the tabloids to see if there’s anything I need to have Frances shut down.

But … there wasn’t. Not like I expected there to be. Sure, there are a few things here and there, most of them from the checkout-line magazines with a picture of us next to an image of a historical figure living in South America.

This life with Blakely could work. I want it to work. It feels like a knife slicing through my stomach when I think about it ending.

But what would she want? Would she want … me ?

“What do I want? I want to be focused on myself. I want to grow, to be excited about appliances and understand how life insurance works. I want to find a nice man, get married, and have a family. Basically, the opposite of what we have going on and the longer we draw that out, the longer I’m just treading water—and I need to move forward. I need it, Renn. I promised myself that I would do it.”

I pass a swallow down my throat.

This doesn’t have to be her treading water. This can be us moving forward. I want to stay married to Blakely. I’m the man she needs … or I can become him.

“Yeah, Bianca. I love her.”

“I know.” She smiles. “So what does this mean for the Royals contract?”

“It means I tell them to fuck off and lawyer up, I guess.”

“And we are telling our wife we love her, right?”

“ Our wife ?” I chuckle. “Yes, but I want to make it special. Maybe I’ll wait until after dinner at Mom’s tomorrow night. Get a few things in place. I don’t know if she’ll feel the same way. I need to wine and dine her to be sure.”

Bianca snorts, gathering her things on her desk. “You’re adorable when you’re goofy.”

“I knew Renn was here when I heard you say goofy.” Gannon walks in and stands by Bianca’s desk. “How was Australia?”

“Good.”

“Good.” He turns to our sister. “Change of plans. You meet with McCallister. I’m heading to the conference room with Dad. He’s signing the Arrows deal.”

“He is?” I ask.

Gannon looks at me. “Bobby Downing came on board and pulled some strings. He helped Dad get it expedited.”

I sigh. Even though I think Dad’s a dick, I’m still glad he closed his deal.

“Anyway, don’t forget to come in strong with the numbers from the last quarter,” Gannon says to Bianca. “Text me when you’re out.”

“Will do.”

“Later, goofy,” Gannon says.

“Bye, fucker.”

“Renn, I gotta go,” Bianca says. “Call me tonight if you want. I’ll be home around eight.”

“Thanks for letting me barge in here.”

“Anytime. Let yourself out.”

She pats me on the shoulder as she leaves.

I exhale a shaky breath and look at the tray ceiling. There’s so much to do, so much to work out … and all I want to do is go home to my wife.

Grinning, I get to my feet and leave.