Page 163 of The Sweetest Return

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I looked toward the framed photograph of me in a Forge uniform.

“I don't want to sit under studio lights talking about the game.”

He waited.

“I can do it. That ain't the issue. I know football. I know television. But I don't want Apex owning my Sundays so my opinions can become clips by halftime.”

“Never?”

“I didn't say never. I said no.”

He breathed out.

“All right. I'll tell them.”

“You disappointed?”

“A little. But I work for you, not Apex.” He paused. “For what it's worth, I knew you weren't in it.”

“How?”

“You never asked the questions you ask when you want something. You asked the questions a man asks when he's trying to make ‘no’ disappoint fewer people.”

I rubbed my jaw. “You always this insightful?”

“No. Usually I'm charming and expensive.”

“Stick to that.”

He laughed. “Take care of yourself, Dre.”

“Trying.”

The call ended, and I sat there with one less thing pretending to matter more than it did.

Apex was done.

Work was handled.

I picked up the phone, deciding I would call Imani once more and then give her the room to choose what she needed.

The screen lit before I pressed her name.

Imani.

For half a second, I stared.

Then I answered.

“Mani.”