“I’m not,” he said, not recognizing his voice. “I’m retiring. The rest is bullshit speculation.”
“Are you fucking this Rachel Morgan?” Brad demanded.
“That’s none of your business,” he said through gritted teeth, feeling the need to defend Rachel, which was laughable because she’d cut out his heart and served it up to her company for her precious promotion. He hadn’t thought her capable of it.
“Itismy business if she’s leading you astray. It’s because of her that you quit Torino, isn’t it?”
He wilted against the chair, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. “No, Brad. I did that for me, believe it or not.”
“You know that she used you to move up the ladder at work, right? Because that’s how it works. If her firm thinks that she’d be able to bring in new clients of your caliber, simply by association, they’re gonna make sure she has everything she needs to reel them in. She must really have skills.”
“Brad,” Jamie said, his voice quivering with anger, “don’t say something you can’t retract.”
“Torino is in an uproar,” Brad continued as if Jamie hadn’t threatened him. “They think you’re playing them. I need to run damage control, but I think I can get a better deal out of them, so there’s that. Tell Pascal and Nilsen to contact their agents too. The Manchester United fan base is ready to revolt.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. Opening his eyes, he went to grab Didier’s football—he needed to expel some of this energy. Instead of bouncing it on his knee, he decided to throw it against the wall. It gave a satisfyingthwack, leaving a divot where it hit. Erik didn’t move, only looking concerned.
Jamie threw it again.
“Thanks for fucking up my day,” Brad growled. “I’ll clean this mess up and call you. Answer the damn phone.”
He caught the ball in his hands and held it. “Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re fired.”
“Ha ha. Funny—”
Jamie ended the call.
He immediately put in a call to his legal team, to make sure they dissolved his relationship with Brad’s agency. The entire time, he pushed his emotions aside, reining in all his anger, retreating back behind the numbness.
It took no effort.
Then he faced Erik and Didier. That was the hardest.
They watched him with worried expressions.
“You read the article, right?” he asked tightly. “You need to call your agents to have them head off the rumors with your club. Apparently Man U fans are going mad.”
“We already did that,” Didier said, coming to take the ball out of his hands. “Pas de problème. It will be fine.”
“What happened?” Erik asked.
“Rachel sold us out for her promotion.” Just saying it made his stomach twist. The pain was fucking awful—much worse than when he found out that Claudia was just using him for his status.
Didier snorted.
He looked at his friend. “Sorry?” he said coolly.
Didier rolled his eyes dramatically. “What are you saying? That Rachel used you to get ahead at work? I thought you have kissed her.”
He scowled. “Of course I’ve kissed her.”
“If she was duplicitous, you would have tasted it,non?” Didier looked at him steadily. “You know the taste from all the other women you’ve ever gone out with.”
He dropped onto the couch, head in his hands. “I do know the taste. That’s why this is so devastating, because I didn’t see it coming.”