I step to the side, but his hand still lingers a little too long.

“The men’s room is that way if you’re looking for it.” I motion in the opposite direction of the corridor.

“Actually,” Mr. Foller begins. “I was looking for you.”

Tension invades my body immediately.

He brushes his hand along his sports jacket before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you and I could have a talk. It’s about Fitz.”

I move to go around him. “I’ll find him for you.”

Foller sidesteps with me. “I think this is a conversation better left between the two of us. I’m not sure he’d be all that happy to hear what I have to say.”

“Usually that’s a pretty good sign it’s best if you say nothing at all,” I snap. “Your relationship with Fitz doesn’t have anything to do with me. I support him with his career, but I’m not involved in football. I never have and never will be.”

Foller’s eyes widen. “You can’t possibly believe that you don’t have any influence on him. Not now, Parker. But I suppose”—he pauses—“your issue was always your skewed perception of reality.”

Suddenly, I’m a teenager again, sitting on the couch in Mr. Foller’s office. I’m being told there the same thing I am at home.

Get in line.

Behave.

But here’s the thing. I’m not a kid anymore. And if Foller thinks he has a big set of balls on him, he’s about to find out I have bigger ones.

“We want to keep the momentum from the Super Bowl up,” he goes on. “I’m finding, these days, he’s a bit distracted by the campaign, by the wedding, by you. I’m not sure a wedding right now is best for him. It might be best to push it slightly, until right after next season ends. I want to make sure whatever years Fitz has left on the field are his best yet and that he goes down in history as a top quarterback and not, well, the president’s son-in-law.”

I smile politely, taking a step forward. “I’m sure he’d be absolutely furious to know you’re trying to intimidate the woman he’s about to marry outside the room where our engagement is being celebrated. Something like that might cost you more than just an invitation to our wedding. Now, if you don’t want me to tell him that you have the audacity to corner me, you’re going to step aside and let me pass, and the only thing you’ll ever say to me again is Hello, Mrs. Rhodes. It’s nice to see you.”

I know I have options. I could push past him. I could scream. But I want Foller to know he’s not the one running the game here. I am.