When Lily Langston goes to a game with her best friend. The last thing she ever thought to happen was being hit in the face with a ball.
But what left her even more shocked was when the guest pitcher himself, the known ruthless billionaire Hayes Gr...
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"No, I swear they are on the cusp of an offer. Just push them a little more, maybe add a bit to the money you promised?"
"Sir, if we extend-"
"Jared, I pay you, don't I? I'm not here to ask for your advice. That's what Andrew's here for?" My eyes shift to my adviser, Andrew, on the couch.
I turn my attention to the view of Boston, frustrated. "You know when you said you had to meet me at my house? I was hoping it was for good news, Jared." I swig the rest of my scotch down and drop the glass on my desk.
"You know your failure is driving me to drink? Are you happy? You are why I drink" I raise my glass to him as he looks at me uncomfortably.
"Mr.Grant, I will get them on board."
"Good." I stared at him; I was mad. This should've been resolved two weeks ago. But as he sits like an anxious child in the seat across from me, I'm angry. "What the hell are you still doing in my office? You have shit to do," I yell louder than I'd hoped, and Jared stands, almost knocking over his chair.
"If this deal isn't done by tomorrow night, you better give me a good reason why you should still have your job." He nods and leaves my office, and I excuse everyone.
It was late, and I was sleep-deprived. I powered down my computer and exited the office. A dark hallway greeted me, and the rain outside pounded against the windows. Boston was blurred in this view. Then I hear something shatter upstairs.
"Lily?" I race up the stairs, and as I reach the top, I hear her dorm slam shut. "Lily!" I rush towards her room, and something below me crunches. Pieces of a red ceramic mug were scattered across the floor, with hot tea leaves in between shards, fuck.
"Lily!" I yell again, and I'm left with no response. I twist the knob to her door, and it's locked. "Lil's!" I pound on the door, and now I feel upset. She doesn't respond again, but then I hear it.
The softest sob could be heard quietly: "Lily?" This time, I asked a question rather than a yell because as she was sobbing, I was left confused out in the hall. Yelling wouldn't win me an access key.
"Lily, what's wrong?" I ask. I'm left with only the sounds of her sobs increasing. I was never good at handling tears; they simply made me feel immensely uncomfortable. I pick up my phone and scroll, and then I find Olive's Instagram. I click the DMs and then FaceTime audio. It rings and rings, and it begins to annoy me as it continues. Then it stops.
"Hayes!" Olive yells into the phone, sounding distressed. She is running from the sounds of her breathing. "What's wrong with Lily Olive?" I hear her heavy breathing on the other line, "Olive?"
"Her father, it's her father," a feeling I'm not familiar with can be felt in the pit of my stomach.
"Is he?"
"An hour ago, I'm on my way." Her voice is scared, frantic.
