Rolondo makes a faint, mock crowd-roar, and I elbow his side.

“Let me guess,” Finn drawls. “You’re obsessed with finally finding One-Eyed Willie.”

Ryder chokes on a smothered laugh, and I have to run my hand over my beard to hold in mine.

“Man,” Rolondo mutters. “You’ve gone and done it now.”

Chess has the stare of death. Like, scary fierce. I’m pretty sure her closet is full of the skeletons of other smart-mouthed ball players who dared to cross her path. It’s so bad we all stand there like recalcitrant boys who’ve been hauled up before the principal.

But my lips are twitching. I know in about ten minutes we’re going to be bare, and Finn is going to hate every second of it. I itch to take out my phone and text Fi. My smile dies a swift death at the thought of her. Fi didn’t sound right. She was hurting, and damn if I know why. The distance between us is like a cold hand gripping my spine. I don’t like the feeling, or the fact that she didn’t tell me the truth.

But I’m going to find out. The sooner I’m stripped and “oiled” the faster I can. I take a deep breath and step forward. “I’ll go first.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Fiona

It is a universal truth that women like to talk their problems out. Unfortunately, all the talk in the world won’t make a problem go away. Mine is waiting for me like a looming black cloud as soon as I get into work and see that Elena has moved to her own office at the end of the hall.

She waves, grinning broadly, as I walk past. I briefly wonder how a finger-wave back would go over but don’t bother. Instead she gets a chin nod as if I’m channeling a bad biker cliché. It feels stupid and ineffectual, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time I get to my desk and find that Felix’s to-do list includes ordering fabrics that I picked out but are now considered Elena’s design contribution.

She comes to my desk just as I’m turning on my computer. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. Felix just called me into his office this morning. He gave me the associate designer job.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope we can still be friends. I’ve really enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other.”

God, she says it so sincerely. And what can I do? I’m pretty sure punching her in the face won’t help the situation. Though it might feel really fucking good.

I glare down at my hand, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. But for some odd reason, I start to think of Ethan’s hand wrapping around mine, holding me down as he slides into me.

“You feel so good, Cherry.” Brilliant eyes of green-gold and amber look at me with glazed wonder. “Nothing better on Earth than this.”

“Fiona? You okay?”

I suck in a breath and glance up at Elena, who hovers. “Yep. All good.” Not entirely true. But I’m calmer. Able to speak, anyway. “Anything else?”

She frowns a little. “Ah…no.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting some coffee then.”

I leave her standing there. For now I’m calm. But every step I take hammers it in: I hate this. I hate this.

It occurs to me that I have to be a little more proactive. Take the bull by the horns. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.

I wait until the end of the day to make my move. Yes, I’m that brave.

“Felix? You have a moment?” I clutch my clammy hands behind the folds of my skirt.

Felix looks up from his laptop. A tiny white espresso cup sits beside it, which means he’s probably reading up on celebrity gossip. “Sure, sweetie.”

Sweetie? I want to gag. And now that I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, I actually have to talk. Part of me really wants to laugh. I have absolutely no trouble talking to people. I don’t think I could go a day without saying something to someone, even if it’s just to tell a person they have on cute shoes.

But now a golf-ball-sized lump of panic is lodged in my throat, and it’s all I can do just to get my ass in the chair opposite Felix.

“Want an espresso?” He gives me an overly friendly smile, the one he uses on clients he fears might be difficult. So I know he isn’t exactly unaware of why I’m here.

“No. I’m good.” I focus on his eyes. Always look them in the eye. Reminds you that you're talking to another human. Nothing more. “You…ah…made Elena associate designer?”

Everything inside of me wants to scream, maybe throw Felix’s coffee onto his pristine white leather Corbusier lounge chair.

With an expansive sigh, he sits back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, I did, hon.”

“I thought you weren’t going to make that decision until next month.”

“Fiona, I understand that you’re disappointed.” His tone is so patronizing, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from twitching. “But you and I both know it was coming to this.” He takes a dainty sip of his macchiato. “I simply sped up the process.”

“Is it…” I suck back a sobbing breath. “Is it because I went on vacation?”

His cup clinks on the glass desktop. “God, no.” He regards me for a moment, his dark eyes almost sad. “Elena simply has an edge that you do not. Namely, contacts.”

This time a sob does escape me, only it sounds kind of a like a laugh. “You promoted her because of her mother?”

“No, because of her mother’s friends. She has lots and lots of friends with lots and lots of cash.” He smiles slyly. “Her designs aren’t bad either. Fresh and lovely without being too daring. Just what the bored, rich Manhattanite wants.”