These Games We Play

Chapter forty two:fireworks

I had never seen a game of football in my life, but as the new owner of the Texas Lone Stars, I couldn't exactly say that to the crowd of reporters who mobbed the SUV when we pulled up to the stadium. I had to say though the off-the-shoulder jersey with a black skirt and boots was working for me. Lia had been explaining the rules of the game and I was still highly confused. Cam had tried to help but it was no luck. My plan was to just smile, look pretty and hope that my team won.

"Lower the window," Alisa told me, "smile, and yell, 'Go, Lone Stars!'" I didn't want to lower the window. I. I didn't want to yell anything-but I did it. Because this was a Cinderella story, and I was the star.

"Evangeline!"

"Evangeline look over here!"

"How are you feeling about your first game as the new owner?"

"Do you have any comments about reports that you assaulted Skye Hawthorne?"

I hadn't had much media training, but I'd had enough to know the cardinal rule of having reporters shout questions at you rapid-fire: Don't answer. Pretty much the only thing I was allowed to say was that I was excited, grateful, awed, and overwhelmed in the most incredible possible way. So I did my best to channel excitement, gratitude, and awe. Nearly a hundred thousand people would attend the game tonight. Millions would watch it around the world, cheering for the team. My team.

"Go, Lone Stars!" I yelled. I went to roll up my window, but just as my finger brushed the button, a figure pulled away from the crowd. Not a reporter.

My father.

Peter Rayways had spent a lifetime treating me like an afterthought and using me as if was a toy. I hadn't seen him in more than a year. But now that I'd inherited billions? There he was. Turning away from him-and the paparazzi-I rolled my window up.

"Eva?" Pip's voice was hesitant as our bulletproof SUV disappeared into a private parking garage beneath the stadium. My sister was an optimist. She believed the best of people-including a man who'd never done a damn thing for either one of us.

"Did you know he'd be here?" I asked her, my voice low.

"No!" Pip said.

"I swear!" She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, smudging her lipstick. "But he just wants to talk."

I bet he does. The last time he just wanted to talk was 4 years ago when I ended up tied to a bed whilst a man twice my age and size felt his way over my body as my father watched. I pushed that memory down and tried to focus on the rules Lia had told me.

Up in the driver's seat, Oren, my head of security, parked the SUV and spoke calmly into his earpiece.

"We have a situation near the north entrance. Eyes only, but I want a full report." The nice thing about being a billionaire with a security team brimming with retired Special Forces was that the chances of my being ambushed again were next to none.

I shoved down the feelings that seeing Peter had dredged up and stepped out of the car into the bowels of one of the biggest stadiums in the world.

"Let's do this," I said. "For the record," Alisa told me as she exited the car, "the firm is more than capable of handling your father." And that was the nice thing about being the sole client of a multi-billion-dollar law firm.

"Are you okay?" Alisa pressed. She wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type. More likely she was trying to assess whether I would be a liability tonight.

"I'm fine," I said. I wasn't fine.

"Why wouldn't she be?" That voice-low and smooth-came from an elevator behind me. I looked to see Grayson Hawthorne. I hadn't seen him since Friday and I was starting to miss his presence. Despite the fact he was still the most self-assured, self-righteous, arrogant jerk I'd ever met.