Page 19 of Challenge Me

“You’re seeing someone else,” he said.

The damn article.

Suddenly, I felt like Damocles. I’d reached for the feast, only to find the sword swaying closer with every bite I took.

Chapter 7

Amir

Bastard. That goddamn bastard.

I couldn’t believe I’d been putting so much blame on myself, trying to find a way to absolve him. No, he didn’t force me to sleep with him. He didn’t out me to the press or anything of the sort. But he was playing into it, and that was unforgivable.

Clara fucking Kessler. She was the epitome of dirty journalism. She’d spent a godawful amount of time hunting for dirt on McKinney when he first joined the big leagues. Since he’d always been out and proud, and he had an online following, there’d been attention on him from the start. She, like the worm that she was, wanted to knock him off of his pedestal.

After the World Series, she’d been investigating Trav again, to steal the limelight from him and find a way to cover him in mud. I thought it was a way to get back at him for not being a piece of shit and giving her no good articles when she was after him the first time. Too bad for her, the guy was as pure as the sun.

Trav’s theory was that she’d been watching us while he was in New Haven. No doubt she wanted to find a way to spin a story about us sneaking around together. Considering his public relationship with Roman and the good press he’d gotten, she’d be more than interested in taking it away. Instead, she stumbled upon me at my weakest point. And she’d exploited it.

According to my PR guy, Renshu, Clara was on the move. And where was she headed? He’d made me guess. I’d wanted to give Remi the benefit of the doubt, but clearly, that was a mistake.

But of course he’d capitalize on it. I didn’t know much about him, but he’d told me some things. The idea of making offers from the heart had been laughable to him. If I were to hazard a guess, he did what was best for him. Nothing less, nothing more.

Get it under control, Shawn had said. We don’t need this kind of heat on us right now.

It was my job to do something about it. Renshu told me not to be rash, so I was going to start with words. That was always the best place, and if it didn’t work, well, back to the drawing board. I would’ve preferred to ignore it until it went away, but there was too much risk now that Remi was going to talk to that witch. God only knew what he’d say.

I’d called ahead, but he wouldn’t answer the phone. He might be more agreeable face-to-face anyway.

Wanting to avoid being spotted, I pulled around to the back. After I put my hood up and my glasses on, I stepped out of the car. There was an entrance next to the dumpster, and I tried to ignore the offensive smell as I pounded on the door.

“Come on,” I growled as I continued to bang my fist. I didn’t want to attract attention, but I’d run out of options.

Finally, the door cracked. Remi was dressed in a pair of black jeans that were expertly crafted to hug his thighs. Unbidden, the memory of them under my fingers came to mind. His black flannel had been traded for a dark grey and white checkered one, which was unbuttoned. Underneath, there was a textured black t-shirt with a slight V-neck.

I touched his chest to push him back, but the angle made his other hand visible. Pulling back abruptly, I kept my eyes on the gun.

“Remi . . .”

“Hell,” he breathed. He looked both ways, then grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.

I shook him off as soon as we were inside. My heart raced as he walked to the opposite wall, then turned around.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he demanded. “I had no idea who you were.”

“Can you . . .” I nodded toward the gun.

With pursed lips, he marched away. I followed, although it probably would’ve been a better idea to leave. He ducked into an office, which was incredibly organized for being in a bar. There was a cot with the legs folded so it stood flat against the wall, and a plastic chest of drawers was tucked into the corner. On top of it, there were a few wooden carvings and a copper bowl, but other than that, there wasn’t anything interesting about it.

Remi placed the gun in a drawer with a keyhole, but he didn’t lock it. He dropped into the desk chair and leaned his forehead against his knuckles.

This was . . . awkward.

Voices from somewhere in the main room reminded me why I was here. I’d seen the van out front, and even thinking about it made my blood boil.

“Is the interview stressing you out?” I asked.

Slowly, he lowered his hand and looked at me. There was something burning in his eyes, barely controlled. It made my gaze drift to the drawer, which was within reaching distance from him.