Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(42)

He’s mismanaged the organization and he’s mismanaged his money. The man is not poor by any means, but the Vipers are now valued in billions, not millions. Publicly, Andy claims he simply wants to free up some of his holdings so he can reallocate funds for his family’s estate planning. Privately, it’s a different story. He’s still worth more than 99 percent of the world’s population will see in a lifetime, but wealth is relative. Tying up this much money is a luxury when there are other investments that could make him more money faster and easier.

I bided my time, getting my finances in order so that when the perfect moment presented itself, I’d be ready. Selling the True Playahs app wasn’t a difficult decision. It was a calculated one that I’d been planning for years. This team, my father’s legacy, was the endgame. And none of the people who stood in his way will stand in mine.

The door to the suite opens and Andy Jr. walks in, looking ridiculous wearing a Vipers jersey over his dress shirt and pants. How a man who lives in Vegas has a complexion so devoid of color has always mystified me. He’s so pale, you’d think he lives in Alaska.

“Christopher,” Andy says, extending his hand to my father first with false deference. “So good to see you.”

Assessing Andy shrewdly, Pop extends his hand after a slight hesitation. “AJ, how you doing?”

He’s been calling Andy that since he was a college student. He knows it gets under the other man’s skin.

“I’m good,” Andy replies through a tight smile. He can only fake humility for so long before his privilege starts to show. “Glad to see you.”

He turns his attention to me. “Checking out the investment, Mav?”

“Just enjoying the game.” I gesture to the buffet of food laid out and the fully stocked bar. “Can I offer you anything?”

“I have my own box,” he replies testily. “And my own food. I just wanted to come by and say hello.”

“Ahhh, of course.” I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle I brought in myself just for him. “Have a drink with me, though?”

“Is that…” He frowns at the red bottle of liquor I’m holding. “Is that Macallan 60?”

“It is.” I reach for a glass. “Maybe one drink.”

I can tell he wants it. One bottle from the Macallan Red Collection—sixty years old, sixty thousand dollars, and goes down smooth as silk. I’m not one to toss my weight around, to intimidate people with wealth… unless they need reminding, and if there’s ever anyone who needed reminding that our positions in this game have swapped since I was the kid scurrying around the stadium, and he was his daddy’s favorite, it’s this man right here.

“Like I said,” Andy replies, his voice as sharp as his jaw. “I have my own box. We’re close to wrapping things up, I think. Just remember you may become the majority owner, but the deal is contingent on my continued involvement and a seat on the board.”

“Why do you feel the need to remind me of that?” I ask, allowing a small smile. “You’ve stipulated it since the beginning of our negotiations. I’ve never had a problem with it.”

At least not one that I’ve voiced to him. Of course I’d rather evict him from the organization altogether. He and the friends he’s entrenched in the leadership and front office are the reason the Vipers had back-to-back losing seasons in the past. I will change that. And to rub it in their faces, I’ll use my father to help me do it.

“Just making sure,” Andy replies, adjusting the knot of his tie beneath the jersey. Goofy shit. “I better get back to my box. My family’s there.”

You mean the wife you cheat on and your kid who periodically posts on social media how much she despises you? I’m sure they’re waiting with open arms.

“Thanks for coming by,” I say instead and proffer the Macallan 60 again. “Sure you don’t want one for the road?”

“Uh, no,” Andy answers tersely. “We’ll talk soon. Enjoy the game. I think we might pull this one out.”

Once he leaves, my shoulders relax and the fist in my pocket unclenches. My body always reminds me that man is not to be trusted.

“’Bout damn time he cleared out,” my father mumbles into his beer, eyes still trained on the court.

The door to the box opens and I turn, prepared to ask Bolt what took him so long. He saw an old classmate and went down to meet him. He knows I would have been fine if he’d invited him up to the box, but Bolt is very discreet. Most of his friends don’t even know he works for me. I’m not someone who flaunts and neither is he. Zere’s penchant for flaunting, for making sure everyone knew what she had, what I had, is one of the things I don’t miss about our relationship.

When Bolt walks in, he’s not alone.

“Kenan fucking Ross,” I say, a wide smile breaking out over my face. “Bruh, what’s up?”

The retired future Hall of Famer gives me dap, towering over me by a good five inches and over Bolt by even more.

“Ran into this one,” Kenan says, his smile white against his brown skin. “And he thought you wouldn’t mind seeing your boy.”

My assistant and I share a lightning-quick glance. If Bolt brought Kenan to me, he probably sees an angle that I don’t recognize yet, but will soon.