Page 46 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

Would he really try to buy the team out from under me, just to protect his image? Of course he would.

On one hand, I don’t want to sell the team. I’m invested in its success now.

But, on the other, if I sell the team, there are no more questions about ethics between Sophie and me. No examining if the relationship crosses lines, or if I’m technically her boss.

If I wasn’t so tangled up in the team, maybe she would feel less hesitant about me. Maybe she would want something more than fun.

“All right,” I say, keeping my voice even, noncommittal. “What’s the starting offer?”

When the person on the other end of the lines rattles off the number, sounding nonchalant about it, I have to bite my tongue to keep my mouth from falling open.

Objectively, it’s not a large number. Not compared to the money I have. But compared to what I spent on the team — it’s nearly five times as much.

Has the valuation really changed that much? Even withoutwinningthe championship? Just going to the playoffs was enough?

“Mr. Altman? Are you still on the line?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “I’m here. Let me speak with my team and get back to you. Can I give you some contact information to send over the offer?”

“That would be perfect. Thank you.”

I list off several emails, including Skylar’s and that of my lawyer, then end the call, sitting in the car, stunned. The air conditioning blows gently, and goosebumps erupt over my skin, reminding me of that day with Sophie, outside the chili hut.

Usually, I’m not a man who struggles with making decisions. When there’s plenty of information, the path is typically obvious to me. I can decide what I want and go for it, never look back to wonder if I did the right thing.

But right now, sitting in this car, the words of the attorney still echoing through my mind, I have no idea what I’m going to do.

CHAPTER 22

SOPHIE

Once again, I’ve slept with Elliot and managed to leave things between us fuzzy. Olivia is losing her mind, and was practically frothing at the mouth with confusion when I told her that it happened again, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

It’s been a few days since we’ve seen each other. I’d thought that Elliot might come back into the practice facility, make up an excuse to see me, but he’s been surprisingly absent after months of constant oversight.

Our next playoff game is in two days, and we have a lot of work to do to get ready for it. I’m out on the practice field, coaching Zara Santos through the way I want her to shift midfield, when Molly appears, looking at me apologetically and breathing hard, holding her phone up.

“Sorry,” she wheezes. “It’s Olivia. She said it was important?—”

“Take five!” I call, stepping toward Molly and taking the phone, my heart racing.

Olivia knows I don’t take my phone down on the field with me. She knows I don’t like to interrupt practice with it, that I like to set a good example for the players.

She would only call me if something was really wrong.

“Hello?” I answer, breathless, worried it might be something about Mom or Dad. I just saw them Sunday, and everything seemed fine. My mind gets ahead of itself, thinking about all the things that could possibly be wrong.

“Soph,” Olivia says, sounding out of breath, too, like she had to run to the phone to call. “Hey, sorry, this is not like anemergency, but?—”

“What is going on, Ol?”

“Well, you know how I’m at that journalism conference?”

“Yes.”

“And there are all different types of journalists here — like, political, music, everything, including some sports people?—”

“I think you’re burying the lede, Ol. And freaking me out.”