Free Game On by Wylie Snow Page B

.”
    “Perhaps you don’t care that the most powerful man in media can end your career before you can press the down button on the elevator,” he retorted. “ I do .”
    Sick to her stomach at the thought of trying to pull this off, she dug into her handbag for an antacid. Instead, she pulled the tissue out to blot the sheen of moisture from the bridge of her nose. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luc watching her.
    Cocking her head sideways, she meant to skewer him right between his baby blues, but the look on his pale, drawn face was pure lust. Amidst the cauldron of bubbling acid in her stomach, Clara felt the tiniest thrill.
    It only lasted a millisecond.
    “Luc.” When Bartel said his name, his face became a mask of indifference. “Riley Sutter is waiting for you in his office. He’s got Shelagh with him—she’s our travel coordinator,” he said for her and Charlie’s benefit. “And they need your input on the cities and games you’ll want to see. Then we’ll get you, Clara, together with our food editor, Spencer James. You and he will go over a list of potential restaurants. Once the arrangements have been solidified, you, Miss Bean, will have what, about two weeks? Luc, is that when the season officially starts?”
    “One,” came the terse reply.
    “One, then. One week to get home, pack for the month, and get back to the U.S.” Bartel looked inordinately pleased with himself as he smiled and nodded to each of them. “Good. Right. Any questions? Great. Off you go.”

Chapter 10
    “Y ou knew about this?” Luc was able to control the volume of his voice, but the door he shoved open bounced back and slammed against the jamb so hard that Shelagh jumped right out of her chair.
    “Sorry, S.” He meant to sound sincere but his apology was forced through clenched teeth.
    “Yeah, sure,” she said, collecting her notepad from the edge of Sutter’s desk. “I’m going to go make a few calls. You boys can come get me when you’re done. And try not to get testosterone all over the rug.”
    Sutter leaned back in his chair and waited until Shelagh closed the door, softly, behind her. “I’m sensing a problem, Luc. What’s up?”
    “I am replacing a dog. A fucking dog!”
    “Well, not technic—”
    “And you knew and didn’t bother to tell me,” Luc said, slamming his palms against Riley’s desk. He was so mad, he could punch something. “You let me walk in there and be made a complete fool of. Do you think, man to man, friend to friend, you may have mentioned this last night?”
    Riley stood up so fast, he knocked his chair against the credenza behind him. “Sit. Down.”
    Luc didn’t move. He could feel the anger threatening to bust out of his chest, could feel his nostrils flare as he tried to control his breathing. He eyed Sutter, who stared back, unflinching.
    He didn’t sit. But he backed away and folded his arms over his chest. “Explain.”
    “Obviously,” Sutter began, in a voice that was patronizingly calm. “I didn’t know about this last night or I would have told you. Now sit the fuck down before you bust a blood vessel.”
    Luc sat.
    “Charlie Holmes, O’Leary, Karakas, and I were in that throne room since six-goddamned-thirty this morning, Luc. You don’t think I tried to shoot this mess down?”
    “I don’t know,” Luc barked. “Did you?”
    Sutter blew out an impatient breath. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered and plunked back into his chair. He rubbed his hands over his face—a face, Luc realized, that looked as tired and drawn as his own. At least Luc had time to shave. “You’re an ass sometimes, you know that?”
    Luc felt a twinge of guilt for raging at his buddy. Of course Sutter would have tried to block Bartel’s stupid scheme. He knew about Luc’s issues, knew it would be impossible to send him on the road. And in the folds of his overtaxed brain, a small spark in his logic center suggested his anger and frustration started about three hours