“Try me,” he countered without a trace of humor in his voice. He stood up, held out his hand, and said, “You’re welcome at practice any time, Dax.”
I ignored his hand as I stared at him for a few moments, then turning and yanking open the door, I marched out into the locker room muttering every four-letter word I could think of under my breath.
#
I cooled down on the ride back to the hotel. Geo studied me in the rearview mirror, but didn’t say a word as I sat staring out the window, thinking about what Nick had said. I knew that Payton wasn’t a spy, but Nick’s outburst had made me question my staunch belief in a way that left a small doubt nagging at me.
As we pulled up in front of the hotel, I shook my head to clear the fog and told Geo to be back in time to take us to dinner at seven. He nodded and made a note of it on the schedule, but said nothing more. I was accosted in the lobby by members of the press hoping to get a few quotes in time for their deadline. I didn’t want to stop and answer questions, but I knew that if I didn’t, it would create an acrimonious tension that, right now, I didn’t need on top of everything else.
“Mr. Connor, are you and Ms. Lasky serious?” a reporter asked as several others tried to hold their recording devices close enough to capture my words.
“We are seeing one another, and enjoying each other’s company,” I said smiling warmly. “It’s up to you how
you classify that.”
“Mr. Connor, are you worried about a conflict of interest between the Storm and the Bears now that you and Ms. Lasky are dating?” another reporter probed.
“Not in the least,” I said shaking my head. “Ms. Lasky’s ties to the Bears are familial, not managerial, and besides, she’s a highly ethical person and understands the difference between dating me versus working for me.”
“So, she’s also working for you?”
“No, I didn’t say that,” I said warily. I knew that Payton was learning a lot about the Storm and the general manager’s job, but I didn’t think it was any of the press’ business at this point.
“Mr. Connor!” a voice called from the back of the crowd. “How do you respond to Joanna Halas Lasky’s assertion that you’ve kidnapped and brainwashed her daughter?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I laughed. The rumor mill was now in full production and even though I’d been expecting it, it still struck me as idiotic and implausible that anyone could come up with something so foolish.
“Mrs. Lasky has issued a statement to the press saying that you’ve kidnapped her daughter and brainwashed her,” the reporter repeated. “How do you respond to that?”
“By saying that I’m going to have to check out the source of the information before I comment on it,” I said tersely. “I suggest you do the same.”
“I have, sir,” the reporter replied. “She called me twenty minutes ago and said exactly that.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, I’m going to have to check with Payton and see what’s going on. If there’s anything to report, I’ll let you know in the morning.”
“But Mr. Connor! Mr. Connor!” the pack of reporters began pushing in on me yelling questions over one another as I turned and made my way to the elevator that the concierge was holding for me.
“Don’t let them upstairs. Hire extra security and charge my account, if you have to,” I said before the doors slid shut and the elevator moved upward.
I entered the suite a few minutes later and saw no sign of Payton in the front room. I called her name, but got no answer until I walked into the bedroom and found her crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. She’d drawn her knees up and protectively wrapped her arms around her legs, and from my vantage point, she looked like she wasn’t wearing any clothing. Her long blond hair fell in a curtain around her face shielding her from view. Quietly, I moved across the room and sat down next to her resting my back against the bed.
“Payton, are you okay?” I asked. She said nothing and didn’t move a muscle, so I waited. Minutes felt like hours as I waited, and then just as I was about to ask again, I heard her make a sound.
“No,” she whispered. “No, I’m not okay.”
Unsure of what she needed at this moment, I reached around and tentatively rested my arm across her shoulders. My impulse was to protect and comfort, but since we weren’t actually involved in a relationship, I wasn’t sure if I had the right to do so, and, if I was honest, I was a little scared of being wrong. Despite having the financial upper hand, women like Payton still intimidated me. As I reached around, I realized she was wearing a very small bikini, and as I touched her bare skin, I fought to control my automatic response.
“Oh, Dax,” she said, her voice full of pain as she leaned against me. I gritted my teeth and tried to envision the engine of Pop’s old truck and the steps it took to change the oil in the old clunker. Nothing worked. Payton’s soft, warm body next to mine sparked a response that I couldn’t control.
“What’s going on, lady?” I asked wondering if this was connected the question the reporter had asked me downstairs.
“I talked to my mother,” she said flatly as I protectively wrapped my arm around her and held her tightly. I tried to conjure the image of Finn’s first high school fight. The one that had left both him and me battered and bloody for reasons that didn’t extend beyond the fact that we were white boys from the Back of the Yards. When I dredged up the picture of Finn’s front tooth hanging by a thread as the blood poured from his split lip, I felt my desire begin to subside a little. Payton continued, “She’s incredibly angry with me and she threatened to make me pay for my disloyalty.”
“I don’t see how she can do that,” I said, rubbing her arm as I tried to stop the flow of tears that were soaking the front of my shirt. I slipped my fingers under her chin and lifted it up until she was looking up at me. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red and swollen. I felt sad for her as I said, “Payton, listen to me. We don’t have to do this. I know you were angry with your mother when you agreed to this contract, but if this is going to destroy your family, then maybe we need to cut our losses and let this go.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” she asked, obviously trying to hold back more tears.
“Breaking up? No, I wouldn’t call it that,” I said squeezing her shoulder. “I’m just saying I would understand if this contract no longer seems like a wise choice.”