"Money, Money, Money" [2] G. Hawthorne

2 - I watch fake football

I had never seen a game of football in my life, at least what America defines as football, 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.

"Lower the window," Alisa told me, "smile, and yell, 'Go, Lone Stars!'"

I didn't want to lower the window. I didn't want to smile. I didn't want to yell anything—but I did it. Because this was a Cinderella story, and I was the star.

I internally cringed at the thought of yelling what Alisa told me. There I was the owner of a so called 'football' team that didn't use their feet to play the fucking game! It sorta felt like a betrayal of my sport but I did what I had to.

"Kayla!"

"Kayla, 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?"

"Are you and Grayson Hawthorne dating?"

Well duh! But I wasn't about to tell them that. Gray and I decided we would keep our relationship out of the media.

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.

Ricky Grambs had spent a lifetime treating me like an afterthought, if that. 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.

"Madame?" Xander's voice was hesitant as our bulletproof SUV disappeared into a private parking garage beneath the stadium.

Up in the driver's seat, Isaac, my head of security, parked the SUV and spoke calmly and softly 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 Ricky 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.

"Why wouldn't you be?" Grayson asked.

It wasn't a snide remark but genuine concern.

"I'm sorry have I missed something?" He asked.

Gray sat in the backseat of the car.

Like I said, we were trying not to be seen together by the press.