Love In the Red Zone (Connecticut Kings Book 1) (12 page)

He stepped closer. “That ain’t your story, duke. Mine isn’t your plight. Eli had been criticized on the low for favoring you and JJ.” That news hit me like a ton of bricks, causing my eyes to balloon. “From day one, he bent over backwards, accommodating you guys in ways that went against NFL business. It was a slap in the face for you to be sent up north over that bullshit.” I felt the blow from that statement. Felt a sudden rush of guilt with each syllable he spoke. “He didn’t fuck up and put the team in jeopardy. You did. And I get how you get all caught up in your feelings about the record-breaking shit you brought to the team—and know you’re right. But that man has a multi-billion-dollar franchise he has to act in the best interest of. He put his money on you and lost. In fact,” He straightened in stance, “if we wanna keep it one hun’ed your decision hurt JJ’s career. Put him in a precarious situation, but he’s still riding with you.” My eyes ballooned. “We all are. Right now, Richardson wants you back, but wants to be smart. Hell no, he don’t want nobody else absorbing you, specifically because of your extreme talent, but also because it takes away the winning chemistry of you and JJ.”

“There’s no chemistry if I’m not throwing the ball, Divine.”

“You spoke to Roger.” I nodded. “That alone tells me the plan they have is solid.”

“Plan?” My neck snapped back.

Divine’s eyes swept to the sides and behind me, telling of his caution. “I’ve already spoken too much.” His eyebrow rose. “I need you to trust me on this, TB.”

“Trust is a complicated and lofty term after looking at that weak contract in there.” I used my thumb to gesture to the room.

He exhaled, muscles shifting underneath his sleek Italian suit. His eyes reached his clean leather loafers, reminding me of the power Divine always held by his presence alone with the way he presented himself. He may’ve used some emotion when it came to his beloved
Kings
, but Azmir Jacobs moved calculatedly and inaudibly in his pursuits like a boss. He never bragged about upcoming deals; you got it with everyone else—when it touched the ground. He’d taught me that: strategy and predator-like maneuvers in business.

“Engage your opponents with your eyes, while defeating them with your mind. They’ll never understand your strategic win afterward.
” It’s what he’d told me years ago.

Today, his message was different. Simplistic. “You trust me on this and I owe you. My word must be good on what’s going down in that conference room
or
as who you’ll be able to cash in this favor from, duke.” He pounded over his heart on his chest. “My word is my bond and my bond is my life.”

There was something compelling in his eyes, something that I couldn’t ignore. On a deep breath, I hung my head, a symbol of my capitulation. I turned and headed back into the conference room. En route to my seat, Chesney signaled me with his eyes. I communicated ‘
negotiate
’ by yanking my ear with two fingers instead of one with a thumb. He nodded ever so slightly before turning to Divine, who swiped his thumb with chin, signing all was good. These were just a few of the non-verbal cues we learned as his clients.

“Okay…” Chesney breathed out, swinging his eyeglasses by one of the temples of the frame. “I’m inclined to proceed with negotiation, advising Mr. Bailey to at least give you, the
Kings
, an opportunity to make nice with him
or wave his black ass off to the Giants
. There are a few things that must be addressed for this to happen.” He sat back in his seat, applying his specs. “Let’s start with a signing bonus: Something minimally on the low end of seven figures should be put on the table; however, nothing short of the high end of six. The next thing we must agree upon is his requirements of attendance at games: If he isn’t even third string, why should he have to embarrass himself by traveling with the team to warm their bench? I have a few more terms to address, and will, but first we need to attack the big elephant in the room: this offensive pay. As we know, Trenton Bailey is a Heisman Trophy winner, whom the
New York Giants
attempted to trade up to make him the number one pick in the 2009 draft, but the
Connecticut Kings
wouldn’t dare
abandon the pick no matter the offer and drafted him number one overall, making him the highest paid rookie in league history. Mr. Bailey was awarded the Heisman Trophy, won a national championship, and became the first overall pick in an NFL draft—all within a one-year span. In his rookie year, he broke your franchise record of 647 yards…”

I drifted off, partly entertained by Chesney’s deliberate play to carry on his courtroom-style argument to rattle the opposing team. I zoned out, doing another thing Divine taught me: sit back and shut the hell up while Chesney put in his work.

Jogging down the back staircase and breezing through the kitchen, I stopped when I saw Jade and Kyree at the table. The top was covered in soiled newspaper with some type of soaked tiered structure. Jade was placing the top on to close it. Her ass was propped in the air, her knees on the seat of the chair as her small frame reached over the table in a tank and low riding sweats that exposed her caramel back.

“Whoa,” I breathed, eyes locked on the impressive tower. “What’s this?”

“My science project,” Kyree announced across from his mother, on the other side of the table.

His smile was broad with pride, eyes wide with excitement.

“That’s what’s up.” I returned his smile.

“Yeah. Mom is good at this from when she was in school.” His brows met. “You dressed up, Trent?”

Jade eased back from the tower slowly, observing it closely to be sure it’d stay. She tossed a glance over her shoulder to me. Immediately, she turned with her shoulders. Her eyes roved over me starting at my feet and ended up at my head before going for a second round. Then I saw it again. That spark of heat in her eyes. But as usual, she cleaned it up by turning around. Not before I caught that biting of the bottom lip.

“Ky, my hands are wet. Take a picture with my phone before you get ready for bed.” With her back to me, she asked, “Date tonight?”

“Oh, nah.” I found myself brushing the back of my head and neck. I realized this was her first time seeing me out of sweats when I wasn’t going to church. “A function.”

“Function?” she echoed an octave higher. “You do those?”

“Yeah.” I chuckled, swiping my bottom lip with my thumb. “I guess I am tonight. A friend of mine is having a thing in the city and I told them I’d come through.”

It felt like I was explaining myself, just not to someone demanding it. Shit was crazy.

“Ohhhh…” she hummed as though considering my answer. Then she got off the chair and stepped closer. “Do we need to be gone by the time you get back? You know…to give you some privacy?” She more like whispered so Kyree couldn’t hear.

“Oh, nah.” I felt my face wrinkle. “It ain’t that type of party.”
I don’t bring women back to my crib.

“So, it’s a party you’re going to.” I broke out in another chuckle.

Slick ass.

I gave a slight nod, unable to wipe the stupid ass smile off my face.

“Nah. Not really, but a social event.”

“A social event.” She nodded with her eyes cast somewhere behind me, thinking. “What I wouldn’t pay to see you at a social event, socializing.” Her eyes were on me again, slanted and communicating something.

I had no idea what, specifically. Was she asking to come on the low? I wouldn’t invite her. I didn’t exactly trust her. There was something worldly about Jade. I could tell she’d fit right into events like this. Like she grew up with people of affluence or had some experience with them. Yeah, she was on hard times now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t sniff out a baller for milking. Cute and sexy as fuck or not, my guard was up when it came to Jade. There was a dangerous charm in those hazel eyes. Either way, she’d tell on herself eventually. I was still going with the attitude of not sweating it. Snakes always revealed themselves when they hissed.  

“You’re funny,” I murmured before turning for the back foyer. “Ky, good luck on acing that assignment. It looks solid, lil’ homie.” I took off.

It was super awkward hitting up these types of events for me now. Yeah, I was Trent Bailey, but I wasn’t balling like I used to and had no driver to pull up to the venue. So, I parked in a lot a couple of blocks away from the venue and braved a walk alone. This was strange and dangerous, too. I had no security with me and could be stopped at any moment by a crazed fan. Luckily, I was able to make it to the Tribeca building without fanfare and even managed to slip past the gang of photographers and paps crowding the red carpet. Apparently, as I was walking in, StentRo and his wife being on the red carpet had all the cameras flashing, leaving me unnoticed.

I had no problem with security when checking in; my face was my invitation. The dude behind the podium greeted me by my last name, checked me off a list, and ushered me through. Divine wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t half ass anything he did. From the moment I walked into the gallery, the place reminded me of old world museums with gold and brass fixings and velvet ropes providing a space between you and the big ass framed paintings on the huge walls that lined the narrow entryway.

I was offered
Ace of Spades
and
Mauve
midway through the first exhibition. To calm my tattered nerves, I opted for the brandy. Leave it to Divine to triple brand himself. I respected his business acumen. Dude made paper off his paper. I took a deep swig, needing that coating of warmth to hit me soon if I was going to survive this.

My attention was caught by a sensual painting of a nude woman’s profile. She sat on her knees, ass on her heels, facing a canvas posted on an easel. Her right hand held a paint brush to the canvas while her left arm held her bountiful breasts, hiding her nipples. Her thick and wild hair covered one eye and a quarter of her face. She held a seductive gaze while peering directly in your eyes. It was a painting, of the woman painting, and apparently for her lover according to the image on the canvas she painted. It was a basketball with the number seven painted off center of it. The number seven struck me because it was my team number. With just a few seconds of studying the vibrant colors and three dimensional strokes of paint, I realized I knew the woman with large tits, a small waist, and modestly rounded hips.

“The fuck?” I murmured to myself.

“Dope, right?”

I felt slaps on both my shoulders simultaneously before I turned toward the voice.