Game of Temptation

tasted like cheap mint tooth

thud against the wood. The second rattled the empty glass beside the lamp. By the thi

screen to know something was wrong. Nobody calls a sports agent at five in the morning with g

blue glare and swiped

reen, and my breath caught a

i was leaning toward me, his shadow stretched over my suit. His right hand hovered just above the small of my back. He wasn't touching me. His fingers were curl

nd the league's most expensive problem child caught sneaking out together

s climbing by the thousands every

ot away with two sus

favors for contr

em both

tions stacked faster than the screen could refresh. Tagged photos. Sports blogs. Gossip sites. So

ged. An incoming cal

ng Director of Apex

hands stop shaking, and a

id, no greeting. His voice was flat and colde

efore I coul

y apartment pressed on my ears. Then I put my bare feet on the

a hurry. Then the charcoal-gray suit I keep for legal emergencies and arbitration h

xplosive forward, lethal pull-up jumper, court vision that bordered on supernatural, and a deep refusal to take orders from anyone in a suit.

es. I took the job determined to treat him like any other high-risk, high-value asset. No special treatm

Kai was still in his gray practice gear, sweat darkening his collar after an extra hour of shooting. I spent two hours at t

ile, he stopped sneering and stopped checking his watch. When we finall

usted, caught up in finally getting through to him, and distracted by the strange warmth I felt every time he said

pse was tearing

My hands stayed locked at ten and two. Every red ligh

lding should have been empty, but the security gate was open and guards stood by the elevator

ecutive floor, all glass a

itching in his locked jaw. Two senior PR directors sat in the armchairs across from him, along w

r. Kai's sharp profile in the amber glow of the exit light. My face tilted up toward him, lips parte

ow enough to make the glass partitions

hin up, and kept my voice steady. Years of high-pres

ked him out the secure exit so he'd avoid the media. Nothing happened. It

g my private line, threatening to pull seven-figure endorsements by midday. The commissioner's office emailed forty minutes ago, polite on the surface, but it spells out preliminary inquiries

leather binder stamped with the agency's go

C. Any intimate, romantic, or improper personal involvement with an active roster client

e for a seat at the table. Back then it looked like routine legal protectio

ix this,

al. "How? With a denial nobody

and guilty. We lean into it. We take control of the story before it des

wned. "What are you s

rolled. We coordinate his appearances, sit together in the family section, smile for the sideline cameras, and hold the story through the playoffs. The moment the final whistle blo

on his knuckles, working through the regulations. Across

ck at the monitor. "It turns an ethics scandal into a

e for a long moment, searching m

media finds out this is fabricated, or if I find out you actually crossed the line in private, you won't just be fir

ks," I said, without

d the receiver of his landline, and hit one spee

thout waiting

gers were numb. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the flood of alerts until I found Kai's nu

the green icon for o

stened to the hollow ringing, waiting for the low voi