Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

“Did you bring your whore? Or did you come alone as I asked?” John asked in a pleasant tone. It made Tracy's blood cold.

“I did as you asked. I'm here alone.”

“Good. Then we can do business like reasonable men.” Tice paused and eyed Mr. Haye

s in a reserved manner. "I’m going to need you to sell that restaurant to me, effective immediately."

"Give me one good reason." Mr. Hayes stood back, looking completely calm and in control.

John raised his right eyebrow and continued, "Don’t try and act like a big-shot with me, Paul. You’re dancing with the big boys now and I’m not so sure that you realize just what you’re getting yourself and that bitch girlfriend of yours, into."

"Enlighten me," Mr. Hayes said through gritted teeth.

"Ha," John laughed. "I don’t have the time, or the inclination to tell you a damn thing. But I will tell you this: most of the officials within fifty miles of here are sitting happy right under my thumb. You... can’t... touch me," he said slowly.

"I don’t care if you ate bagels with the fucking Pope this morning. You’re not getting that restaurant, no matter who you think is on your side. Not everybody is a corrupt windbag like you, John. You can’t have them all up your sleeve."

The old man looked as if Hayes’ comment actually hurt his feelings.

"Now, Paul," he said. "I didn’t think that I would have to remind you about everything that I've done for you and your company."

John leaned back in his chair and it squealed loudly beneath him. The abrasive sound echoed through the nearly-empty warehouse. Mr. Hayes didn't say a word, instead just waiting for Tice to do all the talking.

"Well, I feel like you need to be reminded of something... maybe how to pick your battles?" Tice said after a moment.

Mr. Hayes spread his fingers out over the cold wood. "What are you implying, sir?"

The last word dripped with disdain.

John Tice finally rose up from his chair and leaned onto the desk, mimicking Mr. Hayes’ position.

"I’m not implying anything,” the older man answered. “I’m telling you that you and your pauper girlfriend are going to move the restaurant and hand over the deed to that building."

Outside, Tracy frowned. Why did Tice want that building? He couldn't possibly want the restaurant- it had to be the building. But, even that didn't make much sense. It was a great piece of real estate, but nothing worth this much effort.

Mr. Hayes’ voice wafted through the high windows and asked the same question that Tracy was thinking, "Why?’

John laughed loudly and sat back down in his chair. "Come on, Paul. I can't tell you all my secrets. I have plans.”

"That still doesn’t explain why you want that building back." Mr. Hayes crossed his arms now, obviously annoyed.

"That building?" John fiddled with his onyx cufflinks and continued, "There's not much I can say about that building, other than the fact that it holds your precious Tracy's dreams. After the two of you seduced my beautiful daughter and ruined her life, I would think that you would understand and give me the benefit of the doubt."

"After your kid tried to poison me?" The rising agitation was showing through in Mr. Hayes’ voice. "Why would I give you the benefit of anything? I already let you go once, you and your crazy daughter. Clearly that was a mistake."

“The mistake would be not signing that restaurant over to me,” John replied. “You won't like the consequences if you don't. I have the paperwork right here. All it needs is your signature. And I will get your signature with any means necessary.”

Mr. Hayes laughed at the threat. “Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged, Paul.”

“Don't make threats you can't keep,” Mr. Hayes cautioned. “I'm not giving you anything.”

“Fine. Over your slut girlfriend's dead body. You left her at home, didn't you?” John smiled like a crocodile about to devour its prey.

“If you hurt her...”

But before she could hear any more, a different sound made Tracy's ears perk up. It was a crunching, like shoes on the gravel driveway. In fact, that was exactly what it was. A man in all black approached the warehouse, moving as softly as the gravel would allow. She knew that the men inside would never hear it through the door. Both of his hands were tucked into the front pockets of his leather jacket. The dark garment had been zipped all the way up to his clearly boxy chin.