Then Ashworth laughed again.
Louder this time. More genuine. The laugh of a man who'd just been handed the most entertaining spectacle of his career—and who was already placing bets on the outcome.
"Wonderful," he breathed, almost to himself. Then, louder: "Then it's decided! Tomorrow afternoon—Phei Maxton, Landon Hayes, and Brian Thompson versus the starting five!"
He turned to Phei.
Extended his hand.
Phei took it. Shook it. Felt the old man's grip—surprisingly strong, surprisingly warm—like a man who'd buried more scandals than most people had breakfasts and was looking forward to one more.
"Don't disappoint me, Mr. Maxton," Ashworth murmured, too quiet for the microphone to catch. "This is the most fun I've had in decades."
"I have been waiting."
Phei didn't know what that last part meant. And not like he could ask or care for that matter at all.
Then he released Phei's hand, turned, and walked off the stage.
The crowd erupted.
