Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

The lavish display reminded me of another reason I wanted to keep this job. I always traveled first class for the company. I stayed in the best hotels. My clothes were always new. I never wore the same suit twice. I had made it. Some people thought I had skipped a few rungs on the ladder, but I didn’t care.

Revolution was the pinnacle in the industry. The company had its hands in everything electronic: equipment, music, and gaming. We had the best tech developers in the country. There was nowhere else I wanted to be. And I had the hottest video game on the market. The launch was in less than two months. The timing couldn’t be better—until last night.

The marketing team counted on Kenzie walking away from the Olympics with a medal. He was already a world star in the sport, practically a household name. Anything he touched would sell, but for kids around the world, a video game with his name on it would be even more thrilling if he had a medal around his neck.

Women loved him. The fans loved him. Kids wanted to be him. Getting him to sign for this game was a clear coup. But he had screwed it up. How was I going to sell games to kids if he was whoring around? What parent would let their child play a game whose star licked shots off women? I cursed myself, thinking we should have gone with Taylor Dirks, the squeaky clean dad. Sure, we’d lose the twenty-something demographic, but I wouldn’t have to deal with the angry email assaults and posts from parents who had to explain to their children why Lachlan Kenzie’s game wasn’t welcome in their house.

It was a risk choosing Kenzie, but he was the edgier, sexier choice.

I took the frosted glass and pressed my lips to the rim. The tiny bubbles slid down my throat as I released the death grip I had on the arm rest.

When I awoke this morning, the last thing I expected was to pack a bag and head to the Olympics, but I didn’t see what choice I had.

If I let Lachlan Kenzie keep on this rampage, he would take the Kenzie game down with him. And that meant my biggest account would lose its ambassador and I would lose my position. It had taken over a year to develop the game. I’d spent six months preparing for the release. I’d worked too long and too hard to let some privileged, egotistical asshole ruin my life.

He was reckless. Arrogant. Selfish. All the things I wasn’t.

He had to get his life under control while he was in Rio, and I was the woman who was going to make that happen.

3

Lachlan

I sat at the bar while a lazy fan twirled overhead. I didn’t know what in the hell I was drinking, only that it made the hangover disappear in an instant. Liquid lunch worked for me.

“Another round.” I held up my glass to the man behind the counter.

He slid a cold drink across the bar. I slung it back, feeling the sting hit the back of my throat. The sweat beaded across my brow. It was hot as fuck here for winter.

Practice had ended hours ago. There was only one story that had emerged from the football world today. It was the only thing anyone was talking about. It didn’t help that we were a week out from Opening Ceremonies and the press was looking for anything to report. They were like sharks sniffing for blood.

The ticker ran along the bottom of the TVs mounted to the wall.

Lachlan Kenzie walked out on the UK football team after night of debauchery.

I glared at the headline. What did they expect? I was surrounded by pricks. They didn’t have boots or a kit for me. The pitch wasn’t ready. I wasn’t going to stand around while they got their shit together. I had played my share of amateur matches. I was done with it.

I reached over the counter, grabbed the remote, and hit the mute button. I didn’t want to hear any more speculation on why I left. I knew what a cock up the whole thing was, and that was the only thing that mattered.

“Bad day?” the bartender asked.

I nodded. The locals seemed laidback. But the last thing I needed was someone snapping my photo and announcing to the world I was in this bar. Last night I didn’t care, but my world was closing in on me today.

They couldn’t touch me inside the village. The press wasn’t allowed to enter, but out here I was fresh meat to them. A juicy story to devour one bloody bite at a time.

I kicked the stool out of the way. It was growing dark outside. I paid for my drinks and pushed the door, emerging into a blast of heat.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept my head down. But before I turned the corner, the flashes came out of nowhere.

“Fuck,” I muttered, putting my hands up.

“Lachlan, why did you leave practice?”

“Have you quit the team?”

“What did your mates say when you walked out?”

“Are you boycotting the Olympics for political reasons?”