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Mr. Richards grumbles, “Your call, Bri.”
Good Lord, he called him Bri. I smile wide. Brian hates that almost as much as pistachio ice cream and chick flicks.
Brian makes a long, drawn-out sound that tells me he’s weighing his options. I silently pray to every god out there that he has something—anything—better to do.
Finally, he sighs. “I, uh, actually have another engagement.”
Richards snaps to attention. “Understood. When she returns, remind her that this interview is her top priority.”
Anabelle replies, all earnestness and glee. “Of course, Mr. Richards. The second she returns.”
I stay hidden, holding my breath until I finally hear their footsteps retreating. I release all the air in my lungs and slowly climb out from under the desk.
Cautiously, I peek out, only to be met with the amused, curious stares of my colleagues.
“Thanks,” I mutter, crawling back into my chair, my face burning with embarrassment.
Scoop flashes a wide grin. “No problem, Sydney Sun. How about we work on that shy streak of yours?” He rubs his hands together like he’s about to unlock my chakra. “All right, deep breath in.”
I follow his lead, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs to the brim.
“Long breath out,” he continues, his voice soothing, almost hypnotic.
I exhale slowly, feeling a tiny sliver of tension slip away.
His hand lands on my shoulder, his eyes kind and steady as they meet mine. “Now, ready for that interview?”
My pulse spikes like a shot of adrenaline. “Not even close,” I mutter, still rattled.
He pats my shoulder. “We’ll keep working on it.”
We all settle back into our seats, but I can’t let it go. My gaze snaps to Anabelle. “I’m sorry, did you just say billionaire?”
CHAPTER 18
Brian
The Centurion Group’s private gym is nothing short of luxury wrapped in state-of-the-art design.
Colby steps onto the court, giving the place a once-over. With the polished hardwood floors and sleek, high-end equipment, he smirks. “Damn, look at you—fancy digs and all. When you said hoops, I was picturing cracked pavement and a rim with no net. What’s next, gold-plated basketballs?”
I chuckle, tossing him the ball. “I was thinking stealth,” I tease.
After a quick bro hug, he checks out my prosthetic, eyeing it down to the classic Air Jordan at its base. “You shouldn’t be playing in those.” He points to the shoes. “They should be mounted on display.”
I yank the ball back with a grin. “If I own it, I wear it.” I dribble once, twice, then nail a shot with precision. “Two points.”
He flips his cap backward, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Oh, game on.”
A few rounds in, and it’s clear—if either of us thought we’d take it easy, we were dead wrong. The game is intense, just like old times. Winded and out of breath, we keep pushing, neither of us willing to back down.
He blocks my next shot so effortlessly, it’s almost insulting. With a cocky grin, he spins the ball on his finger like we’re back on base. “Ready to give up,harabeoji?”
“Grandpa?” I pant, barely catching my breath. “I’m only three years ahead of you, man.” I dribble the ball under each leg, flashing a grin. “Catlike reflexes. Sharp as a tack. And yeah, your elder, so now that you mention it, I could use a breather.”
“Hey, your Korean is still intact.”
“After two tours in-country, I try to keep it fresh. I actually managed to watchParasitewithout subtitles.”
