Page 47 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“Sorry.” She takes a breath, and I can picture her steadying herself. “Sophie, I was just chatting with this sports journalist who said she got this big scoop from a contact at this law firm.”

“Okay?”

“…it sounds like Elliot is going to sell the Bolts.”

I stand completely still, blinking against the sunlight, trying to compute what she’s just said to me. Elliot is going to sell the team.

No — he wouldn’t do that. He knows how much this team means to me, knows how bad it could be if it fell into the wrong hands.

And we’ve just started working together on things. Why would he sell the team when we’re getting along? Collaborating? After we’ve just secured a sponsorship with the Haworth Institute?

“Sophie, are you there?”

“Yeah, I just… That can’t be true.”

“She couldn’t reveal her source, but said it was a contact who knew someone at the law firm, not actually an attorney. They said an offer was made on the team, and Elliot is negotiating for price.”

“He’s negotiating the price,” I repeat, dumbly, because I’m not sure what else to do.

“Apparently, they’re supposed to meet about ittoday.”

Across the field, the players are enjoying their water, chatting, laughing with one another. This is the first time we’ve made it to the playoffs in a while. There’s a lot for them to celebrate, to feel good about.

“Sophie?”

“Do you… would it be possible for you to tell me where?”

“Where… the meeting is?”

I hesitate, knowing this is bordering on crazy, but not caring. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause, then Olivia says, “Let me see what I can do.”

When I hang up and hand the phone back to Molly, who was standing a respectful distance away, she worries her hands together, brow wrinkling. “Everything okay? Your parents?—”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say, shaking my head, already stalking toward the sidelines to grab my bag.

“Wait, where are you—” Molly starts, but I just shake my head, pointing at my assistant coach as I walk past.

“Sanchez!” She turns around, eyes widening when she sees me. I can’t imagine what the expression on my face is right now, but it can’t be good. “Finish up practice for me, okay?”

“Sure, Coach.” She says, eyes tracking me. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Then I’m off the field, through the parking lot, and sliding into the driver’s seat of my car.

Slowing for a moment, I think about the possibility that this isn’t true. That Olivia’s friend’s source is unreliable. That Elliot might not be in a meeting right now to sell the team.

Methodically, I take my phone from my bag, unlock it, find Elliot’s contact.

The last thing I have from him is a string of us arguing about if there’s a good sushi place in Dallas, him prompting me to take him somewhere nice.

The last message is from me.

Fine, but you’re paying.

For some reason, the sight of it send heat through my face. Why did I say that, even as a joke?