“Smalls…” Again, Bobby does that low timbre of his. He lifts a brow, and takes a step closer, as though to cut me out of the conversation. “Back in my day, this was called an endorsement deal. We worked our asses off, we created our own brand and empire, but in our spare time, we pretended to drink the most fashionable sports drink and wear the sexiest sneakers. That’s how endorsements work. In exchange, those brands give you money.”
Evie looks to me. “How much money?”
I grin. “It’s my understanding you pay your current winners five hundred thousand dollars at the end of a tournament. Six divisions, six winners.”
“We pay them seven-fifty now. We can afford to do that, because we continue to build our empire.” She tilts her head to the side, and doesn’t stop until her neck cracks. “We continue to build, we continue to kick ass.”
“What if Monaco doubled it?”
Her eyes bulge, and because I didn’t expect I’d win her over so easily, I smile and open my folder. “Monaco will pay four-point-five million dollars a year, in exchange for a little ad space and maybe a fast clip of you saying you drive using our tires or something.”
“I do drive with Monaco tires,” she whispers. “That’s actually true.”
I laugh. “Then this will be easy. You get to sweeten the prize money, thus drawing more fighters in, more ticket sales, more subscription packages, and because your empire continues to grow, the audience that gets to hear about you and our tires grows. It’s mutually beneficial. And like you said, you already drive with Monaco.”
I extend a hand, and wait for her to take it; blood and all. “Give me an hour of your time, let’s nail down the details, and then we can celebrate a lucrative partnership.”
It takes thirty minutes, two phone calls, two new additions to our meeting – Kit Kincaid, who just so happens to be Bobby’s wife and, god help me, Bryan’s mother, and Sophia Solomon… she’s a dancer. I don’t quite understand her role in this meeting, but I don’t really give a damn, because I have signatures, a promotional deal, a lifetime membership at the Rollin On Gym, and the perfect in with the gym and the family who owns it.
Bryan
Well, Shit
I kill the music playing through the room, and work on undoing Lyss’ now-scuffed gloves. It’s just a tiny scratch, but it’s a start, and the very first of a million more she’ll collect in the next few years.
“How do you feel, baby? You tired?”
“I’m hungry.” She drops her first free hand to her belly and rubs. “Can we go to Dixie’s now?”
I purse my lips and work on the second glove. “First of all, Dixie’s isn’t a place for hungry. It’s a place for dessert. If you’re hungry, then Uncle will get you some grilled chicken and salad.”
She pouts. Like, massive bottom lip dropped so far out that I see her gums. “I’d really like some sorbet, Uncle Bry.”
I chuckle and toss her second glove against the wall. “So you should have asked for ice cream. Don’t come at me with your lies about being starving.”
“Calling someone a liar is bad,” she shoots back. “It’s mean.”
“Only if it’s not true,” I toss straight back. “Would you like to go out for sorbet, Alyssa?”
She wraps her arm around my hips as we leave the training room and head along the hall. “Yes please. I’ve been thinking about the strawberry swirl all day.”
“I’ll call your daddy first, just to let him know where we’re going, but then after that—”
I come to a skidding stop at the gym kitchen, and feel my heart stumble. “Madilyn?”
Skirt suit, grabbable fucking ass outlined in peach-colored fabric, high heels that give her a few extra inches, just like last night, and hair tied back in a neat ponytail, she spins at my word, throws a hand over her heart, and grabs at the table when she nearly topples in those heels. “Bryan! Oh my…” Her gaze shoots back around to my stunned family, then back to me. “Oh, damn.”
“Bryan?” Evie watches Madilyn with narrowed eyes, with firmed lips, and when she gets no answers, she slowly stands from her seat and flexes her fists. “Madilyn? You know my cousin?”
“I…” She’s panicking. Eyes wide, pale-faced panicking. “He… uh…”
Evie’s eyes snap to mine. “Bry?”
“She kicked me in the balls last night. Knocked me on my ass. Thought she hurt my feelings.” I grin when her cheeks turn paler. “Then she walked home in the dark when her boyfriend lost his car.” I look to Evie. “Ouch.”
“You kicked him in the balls?” Evie snaps.
“I mean—”
Evie is a scary chick. She’s loyal, she’s trigger-happy, and she’s not inclined to apologize, but my mom is a whole other bag of cannons.
She thrusts up from her seat so fast the entire bench scrapes back on the floor, then she reaches up to tie her hair back.
Aw fuck.
Everyone scrambles away when she snaps the elastic from her wrist and wraps it around her hair. When Kit Kincaid is going to fight, you move the fuck aside.
But despite Madilyn’s pee-in-her-pants fear, I’m the recipient of my mother’s scorn.
“You were at Piper’s Lane, Bryan Kincaid?” She rushes around the table, blows past Madilyn, and slams her fists to my chest so hard that the oxygen leaves my body. “Racing?” she snaps. “Are you serious right now?”
Lyss squeaks. “Daddy?”
“Come here, baby.” Ben steps around me and Mom, and scoops our niece up before she completely loses her shit. “Let’s give Miss Kincaid space to blow her lid.”
“You said you don’t race anymore!” Mom screeches. “You’re a liar!”
“I said…” I swallow. “Uh…”
“It’s not mean if it’s true,” Lyss unhelpfully adds.
“I just go out there for fun, Mom. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal! People die racing cars, Bry. They die!”
“Nobody has died at Piper’s Lane since…” I search for the information. “Ever! Mom, it’s a dirt track. Nobody dies. They just get dizzy from driving in circles.”
She smacks me a second time, because I guess child abuse is allowed now. “And when someone driving at a hundred miles an hour gets dizzy?” she demands. “What of the people he hits because he didn’t stay home and listen to his mother?”
“You’re overreacting,” I snap. “You’re being crazy.”
“Oh shit,” Mac hollers. “Duck!”
“I’m overreacting?” Mom seethes. “Really, Bryan? I’m overreacting?”
“I think I might…” Madilyn collects her papers, her folders, her purse, and tries her damned best to sneak out while my mother publicly berates me. “We’ll talk, Evie.” She lifts a hand and presses her fingers to her ear and mouth. “I’ll call you.”