Page 101 of Playing His Game

It sounded final. It sounded miserable. But it was a statement Mo couldn’t argue against, especially when the light went off and the speaker cut out.

Adam wasn’t listening anymore.

With slumped shoulders and stinging eyes, Mo returned to his car.

The trip home passed in a haze.

He was sitting in his driveway, engine off, staring at the house his parents owned and made him live in, wondering what the hell he was going to do next, when his phone lit up with a text.

Heart hammering, he scrambled for his phone.

Orson Du Pont.

Remember to consult Audrey about your breakup strategy.

Suddenly, Mo knew just where to go. What he wanted to do.

Mo hadn’t navigatedtothe Du Pont Property and Holdings headquarters many times in his life, but after years of avoiding the place, he could have driven the route in his sleep.

He parked out front like an asshole and took the elevator straight up to the top floor.

Miss Daisy was in her usual spot guarding Orson’s door. “Mo?—”

“Is he in?” Mo didn’t break stride. He slapped both palms on the door and shoved. It was an entrance worthy of a fantasy epic.

Orson and Claire sat with a pair of suits at the intimidating corporate table on the lefthand side of the office.

“Moritz!” Claire yelped.

“Now is not the time,” Orson scolded. “We’re busy.”

A harsh, bitter laugh barked out of Mo. “You’re always busy. You’ve been busy my entire life.”

“I have no idea?—”

“No, of course you don’t! Because you never see me or look my way—unless, of course, you need me to look pretty for the camera or boost your credibility with liberals.”

“Moritz, you will stop this juvenile?—”

“Juvenile? You think this is me acting like a kid? No, this is me finally growing up and being an adult. I’ve spent my whole life afraid of you, too scared of your disapproval to step out of line. But I played the good son, and you still fucked me over.” They tried to speak again, but Mo kept going, on a roll now. “Because you don’t care about me, you just care about money. It’s all you’ve ever cared about, and the rest of us are just pawns for you to get it.”

“That’s not true,” Claire cried, scandalized. She looked shocked—though whether that was because of Mo’s accusation or because he’d made it in front of an audience, he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter either way. If she’d honestly thought it was love for all those years, she was more broken than Mo.

“Right. So you didn’t just blindside me and my—my—others by selling the team to another city?—”

“You’ve never shown an interest in the team before,” Orson snapped.

“Right, because I couldn’t have possibly wanted any sort of forewarning while dating one of the players.” God, how could they be this obtuse?

“Since Murphy came to his senses, I hardly think that applies.”

“Everyone still thinks we’re together, because of you, and now he thinks—God, you’re just that selfish. But who cares about the collateral damage when you’re making shady business deals?—”

“That is enough!” Orson stood up. Apparently, accusing him of a lack of business ethics was one step too far.

“What? Going to throw me out of your office? Pretend I’m the problem because I’m finally speaking my mind?”

“I will not be disrespected by my son. I am owed?—”