Page 44 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

And there’s Sophie — blond hair glowing in the sunlight, her orange Dallas hat bright. I watch her as she moves confidentlyacross the field, talking to each player, patting Lena Athens on the back.

Then, suddenly, a shade passes over me, blocking out the sun for a moment.

I look up to ask if someone needs to get through, only to find Clark Eddings staring down at me. As always, he looks startlingly British and infuriatingly annoying — his black hair thick with gel, his jaw round and almost baby-like.

“Altman,” he says, those round vowels grating against my ears as he scans me up and down. “You’re looking… chummy.”

“And you’re looking constipated, as usual,” I fire back, unable to stop the grin from spreading over my face when Rhett and Steven start to laugh behind me. A line stolen from Sophie, and a great line to use against Eddings.

“Whoa,” Rhett says. “Suit-on-suit crime.”

Clark rolls his eyes, grimaces, and climbs the risers, finding a spot somewhere behind us. To my surprise, I forget completely about him, getting engrossed in the game, watching as Rhett, Steven and Skylar laugh and cheer, following the action. We boo at yellow cards and gasp at shots on our goal, stand for the big moments.

Somehow, Dallas gets a one-point lead and holds onto it.

Then, in the final minutes of the game, Ava McNabb launches her body across the goal, making a fantastic save in the nick of time, keeping the game from going into overtime.

We’re cheering, dancing, chanting, and when Clark Eddings finds me again after the game, I realize I don’t care.

When I bought the team, I could only think about the look on his face when my team beat his, but now I find that the victory stands on its own. In fact, him being here doesn’t make it sweeter — it’s just a great game with the addition of a guy I don’t really like that much.

“Well,” Eddings starts, but I find I don’t have the energy to banter with him. Especially if I’m going to the after-party.

I surprise him by reaching forward, clasping his hand, and saying, “Good game, man!”before turning and walking with Skylar down onto the field, to congratulate Sophie for her win.

My alarm goes off the next morning and I push out of bed, walk to the bathroom, filled with a renewed purpose. No more of this back-and-forth. No more talk about mistakes, or what we should and shouldn’t do.

It’s been two days since the night in Sophie’s office, and I know what I want. Yesterday was so busy with the game that I couldn’t find a moment alone with her, but now, with a week before the next one, I can talk to her.

The bathroom is quiet, nothing but the sound of the water hitting the tile when I turn on the shower. It steams up immediately, filling the room with the scent of my body wash.

I think about my plan. I’m going to drive to the practice facilities, walk into Sophie’s office, tell her that I want her.

I think about Sophie while I go through the motions, brushing my teeth, running product through my hair. When I select mysuit, I think about her eyes traveling over my body, taking it in on the plane back from Miami.

I can always tell when she’s looking at me, admiring me.

Her voice plays through my head,You’re deceptively strong.

I’m in the car, battling the Dallas traffic to get to the practice facilities, when my phone rings. I press the button to answer and my father’s voice comes through the speakers.

“Still in Dallas, Elliot?”

He asks it the way another parent might say,Are you still planning on dropping out of Harvard?

“Did you see the game last night, Dad?” I ask, glancing at my rear-view mirror and sliding into an empty spot. Either traffic around here has loosened up a bit, or I’m getting better at managing it.

“Uh, no,” he says, and I can see the expression on his face. Dismay that I would even ask that question.

“You should watch the replay,” I say, flicking on my turn signal. “It was pretty spectacular. We’re in the playoffs now, heading to the championship. If you watch the game, there’s this moment when Ava McNabb gets anincrediblesave, and the whole team just goes nuts.”

There’s a long moment of silence, then my dad says, in his most paternal tone, “I’m worried about you, son.”

Traffic gets thicker, more cars pulling onto the highway. I’ve been on these roads enough to know that it’s only going to get worse, but hopefully I’ll get off before it gets too congested.

I swallow. “Worried?”

“It sounds to me like you’re making business decisions with… emotions. You know my opinion on that. The moment you let your feelings get involved with where you put your money…”