“You have one of those on speed dial?” he asks, and I look at him.
“What do you think?” I send the private eye a message. “I have everyone screened before I sign them.” He just stares at me. “If there is anything out there, this guy is going to find it.”
“I trust you,” he says, and I nod at him.
“What are you going to do with the evidence?” The question is a loaded one.
“I’m going to get my life back.” The struggle in his voice is apparent.
“Well, Manning, I hope you got your gear on because we are about to go to war,” I say. “And I’m not about to lose to that bitch.”
Chapter 6
Nico
“We leave tomorrow,” Lizzie says from across the desk. “The team is in Buffalo.” We’ve been in my office all day going over contracts since I walked in at ten this morning. The only thing I’ve done is taken off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves.
“How long are we in Buffalo?” I ask, not sure anymore of the travel schedule. I go to every single away game and make sure to work my schedule around it. I don’t go when the team goes. Instead, I fly out for the game, and sometimes I’ll fly back with them if they are coming right back. There have been times when I follow the team, and Lizzie hates every second of it.
“For two days,” she says. “Then we go on the road with them to New York.” I lean back in my big leather chair and rock. The office I’m in was never used before. It was my father’s office, but he never stepped foot in it. When I got the team, I changed almost everything to get rid of the coldness and the emptiness of the office. I had the team sign a jersey, and I had it framed and hung on the wall in here. I then started adding pictures here and there. One from the time we played in the Winter Classic. There is a picture of me standing in the middle of the owner's box with my back to the camera as I looked out at the crowd. It was the first time the arena ever sold out, and it’s my most prized possession.
“You can opt out if you want,” I say, and she looks at me with her eyebrows raised.
“You know damn well that I would never say no to going to New York.” She taps her pen. “What’s wrong with you?” She leans back in her chair, and I just look at her. “You’ve been strange this week.”
“It’s Wednesday,” I say, “so technically, it hasn’t been a week.” She eyes me, and I can see all her questions. She’s legit my best friend, but I don’t even know how to say what I’m feeling. Even I have to admit it’s been a weird fucking week. I’m thinking of Becca more and more, and I have no fucking reason. I’m about to say something when my receptionist comes into the room with a box.
“You got a package.” She walks to me with the big white box in her hands and sets it on my desk. “And it’s heavy.”
“You know what they say about heavy packages,” Lizzie says, and I look over at her as she looks at the box. “Not worth the hype.”
“I’ve heard and seen that before,” my receptionist says, then walks out of the room.
“Are you going to open the package, or are you going to make me spend the day guessing what is inside and who sent it?” I look down at the white box with the big red silk bow. “That looks like a sex box.” I look up at her, shaking my head.
“What?” I ask, shocked. “How?”
“Red means sex,” she says as if it’s actually a thing.
“Who said that, and how do you even know this?” I look back down at the big white box and pick up the end of the red silk ribbon.
“A bunch of reasons.” She holds her hand up to count off the reasons. “One, the red room. It was legit a room for kinky sex,” she says, putting up one finger. “Two, red bottom shoes. You think those shoes were created for anything but sex? No woman in the universe will tell you those shoes were made for comfort.” I sit here, my mouth hanging open in shock, wondering what the fuck she is talking about. “Three, wearing red lipstick.”
“That means sex?” I ask, pinching my eyebrows together.
“Put your red lipstick on my dipstick.” She shakes her head, laughing. “Now, can you please show me what the heck is in the box?” She gets up and comes over to my big desk.
I slip the red bow off and slowly open the top of the box. I don’t know why I’m suddenly scared of what is inside. A white envelope sits on top, and folded white tissue paper means you can’t see what is underneath it. My name’s written on the front in neat handwriting.
“That’s a woman’s writing,” Lizzie says. “A woman sent you a gift?” She gasps and puts her hand to her mouth. “You hooked up with someone.” She puts her hands on her hips, and she doesn’t give me a chance to answer her. “Why didn’t you tell me? When was this? Where was this? The only place you went all weekend was to Candace’s birthday party.” She glares. “Did you have sex with a waitress?”
“Would you simmer down. It could be the clerk who wrote it,” I inform her. “It doesn’t mean that a woman sent me this.”
“Okay, so what does it say?” She folds her arms over her chest. When I open the letter, I could swear it smells like Becca. The smell of citrus and a hint of something else.
Turning it over, I slip the envelope flap open and pull the note out. I read the note, and I throw my head back and laugh. Putting the note on top of the envelope, I place it right beside the white box. I open the white tissue paper, and the bottle of scotch is in the middle of the box with two glasses. Items all around it are wrapped in white tissue paper.
“Nico, I thought this would make you smile. Enjoy the scotch. Thanks for the laughs.” I look up and see Lizzie’s face. “Becca?” She looks at me. “Like Becca Becca?”
“Can you relax, please,” I say, opening another white tissue and seeing a Celine Dion calendar.
“Like the Becca who is supermodel beautiful with perfect hair and a kick-ass body? That Becca?” I look at her, trying to hide the fact that I think of her as all that and just a bit more. “Oh, come on, you had to have noticed how beautiful she is. This is not new information to anyone. Last time she was here, the valet guy tripped and brought her the wrong car.”
“She is beautiful,” I admit out loud to Lizzie, and I wonder why I haven’t noticed before this weekend. Maybe I did notice, but I didn’t want to admit it. It might have just been the fact we were just sitting together as two people at a friend’s party without the stress of going toe-to-toe.
“Celine Dion.” She takes the calendar out of my hand, turning it over to check the pictures on the back. I pick up a wrapped roll, and when I peel the tissue off, it’s a Celine T-shirt. The laughter escapes me. “Do you even like Celine?” Lizzie asks when she spots the T-shirt with Celine’s face.
“I mean, I never really thought about it,” I answer honestly. I take out the last wrapped package, and this time, I throw my head back and belly laugh.
“That’s a whole lot of bling,” Lizzie says of the boss hat in my hand. “You can’t wear that outside in the sun.” I can’t stop laughing at the hat.