Shutdown: A Playing Hard Novella

by Johnston, Marie

  Perhaps it was the anticipation of a long, ugly battle alone that had me stalled over my resume. Who’d want to hire someone embroiled in a bitter wrongful termination case?

  Or worse. No battle at all. A simple We don’t believe you. Mr. Foster was absolutely correct to do what he did could very well happen.

  But me being me, I couldn’t move on and let Mr. Foster continue to can employees at will, owner of the team or no. Yet I couldn’t argue that doing it alone sucked. Me against the Mavericks.

  I scowled at the time. Three in the afternoon, on a Monday. I’d already finished my run and showered. My hair was nearly dry.

  I leaned back to run my hands through it, separate the strands into three chunks, and braid it. Stalling tactic, party of one.

  Letting out a sigh, I stared at the ceiling. What did I want to be when I grew up?

  An athletic trainer who wasn’t at the mercy of a douchebag boss.

  So, pretty much my own boss.

  Why couldn’t I be my own boss?

  Bringing up a new document, I started writing an outline. What would I want in a business? How would I run it? Where could I get capital? My parents were entrepreneurs. I wasn’t too proud to ask for help.

  I’d gotten out of college, landed an excellent job, and I’d let it wall me in until I let a misogynistic asshole fill me with insecurity. The right image was not his ideal woman. The right image was a damn good athletic trainer.

  My fingers flew over the keyboard. An outline formed.

  Two hours later, I massaged my forearms and took a gander at my work.

  Fucking excellent, if I do say so myself.

  A knock jarred me out of my work. I saved it twice before I shut the lid and set my laptop down. Running to the door, my mind was on my project. I peeked through the peephole and jerked back. The Mavericks cap was unexpected. So was the tall man that sent tingles through my body.

  Swinging the door opened, I lifted a brow. “Sam?”

  His hands were shoved in the pockets of his breezy black athletic pants. He was back to ever-serious Sam. “Ava. I came to apologize.”

  “For what?” I wanted to slam the door in his face and hide inside. Listening to him tell me he was feeling guilty for staying with the Mavericks would ruin my productivity high.

  “When you asked me to leave the other night, I should’ve been honest and told you that I wasn’t just frustrated with my job. I was thinking of quitting.” My eyes went wide but he didn’t stop. “I honestly wasn’t sure I’d go through with it, and I couldn’t come to you with serious intentions of dating until I did.”

  “You quit?”

  “The day after we, ah… I should’ve called, but I had a few things to straighten out.”

  He went to Mr. Foster the day after I broke things off? To say we had a “thing” was generous. It was what we could’ve had that was the hardest to leave. I was in awe, full of questions, but mostly, fucking glad he was on my front step.

  I cleared my throat and acted nonchalantly. “Well, yeah. I mean, you missed your chance. Two nights ago, I met a guy, we hit it off, he proposed last night, and we’re moving to the Bahamas.”

  Sam’s eyes switched from alarm to twinkling. “I thought of calling you every day. I didn’t realize I needed to propose and move us to the Bahamas.”

  He quit his job with that misogynistic, entitled pig. He’d quit his career-defining, well-paying job. All tension drained away. He’d done better than call.

  I stepped aside. “Want to come in?”

  Sam stepped in and before the door shut, he dragged me into his arms and pressed his mouth to mine.

  In an instant, my body awoke and reminded me that it’d been seven days since I’d had a magnificent orgasm.

  He ended the kiss reluctantly and maneuvered me out of the way to allow the door to swing shut. We’d given any neighbors watching quite a show.

  He smoothed his hands over my ass. “I’ve been really busy since I quit, but I wanted to finish my project before I came here.”

  Why in the world would that matter?

  He crowded me against the wall and kissed the tip of my nose. “I found Mr. Foster in a meeting with the other league team owners and walked right in. I said that if he fired you after you reprimanded his son for harassing you, then threatened my job if I dated you, he needed to find a new head coach.”

  “You said that in front of everyone?” The image was a fantasy I could feed off of for decades. Mr. Foster’s face must’ve turned as red as the last case of athletic tape I ordered.

  “Yes. Then I handed him my official letter of resignation.”

  “But we barely know each other—” I glanced away. Len. The threat. Sam was a good guy, but he wasn’t impulsive. “Never mind. It’s the principle of it all, right?”

  Sam tipped my face up. “It was for you. Yes, the motivation behind Mr. Foster’s actions and the way he used control and deceit was wrong, but it was that he ignored what his son did to you and punished you for it.”

  “I can’t believe you.” I caressed his face. Stubble whispered against my finger. He hadn’t shaved today. Desire coiled in my belly. Not only did he quit his job, but he was so intent to do it that he hadn’t shaved. He nuzzled my hand and dropped his head to scrape his jaw against my neck.

  I seized against the sensation, like each whisker stabbed a nerve ending and sent tremors down my spine. “Oh my God. That’s cruel.”

  He lifted his head and grinned. “Want to know what I’ve been doing since then?”

  I nodded and gestured to my laptop. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  He grasped my hand and pulled me to the couch. Once we were seated, he pulled out his phone. “I’d like to start a sports skills clinic for kids. A free one.”

  His words sunk in. That would certainly make it stand apart from the expensive clinics local sports centers offered. But…it still didn’t make sense. There were still several skills clinics available in the area, although at a cost. How would he pay to put on the clinic?

  He must’ve read my confusion. “More like a camp with scholarships.” Thumbing through his screen, he brought up a file and enlarged it. “It’s been hard not to notice throughout the years that the kids who make it to the Mavericks level come from homes that could support their ascent. Their parents could afford sports physicals and registration fees, could take the time off to travel to games and tournaments, and pay for the skills clinics.”

  Yes, I’d noticed that, too. Scholarships didn’t mean as much when the kids could afford college without them. But what about those that didn’t have the ability or means to even participate in a sport long enough to get to the level of being scouted?

  They usually quit playing. Maybe turned to less healthy, but cheaper, activities.

  I took the phone from him and scanned his document. It began with mad brainstorming and with each page, it grew more detailed and specific until the final pages. A full proposal, starting with goals and objectives.

  I gazed at him. He was staring at the floor, like he was nervous about what I thought.

  “Is this what you meant when you said you’ve been having some questions about your career?”

  “For a while, I’ve been at war with myself. I was finally at a place where I could really contribute. I know the Mavericks make donations within the community, but how can I help? What can I do when I’ve only played baseball my entire life?”

  “I think it’s a great idea.” He’d been unemployed for less time than I had, and he’d already planned out an entire business venture to help kids with financial needs in the community.

  “It’ll take some time to set up financially and get sponsorships, but I’ve put in for some open positions around the city from substitute teaching to a sporting goods department manager.” His grin was tight. “I hope they’ll take a guy with no real experience outside of coaching.”

  I rolled my eyes and handed his phone back. “I guess they’ll have to
take a major chance on you, slacker.”

  He chuckled and set the phone on the end table. His expression fell and his tone softened. “Did you really think you were just a fling to me?”

  Insecurity crawled back into my gut. “I don’t know you that well.” I just felt like I did.

  His brushed his cap off and tossed it by his phone. Running a hand through his hair, he said, “I’ll have to change that.”

  Happiness rolled through me. “And I’ll help you.” Grinning, I grabbed my laptop. “Now it’s my turn.”

  He read over every word. His mouth tipped up at the corner. “This is an amazing plan. You have it all mapped out.”

  “I’d be part consultant, part athletic trainer on the go.”

  “I always thought a girl with brains was sexy. What are you doing for dinner?”

  “Hopefully, you.”

  He blinked. “Damn, Ava. How do I keep forgetting how blunt you are?” He twisted on the seat to push me back. “I like it.”

  I went willingly. He slid off the sofa onto his knees and inserted himself between mine. Rimming his fingers around the inside of my shorts, his gaze burned into my skin. “Have I mentioned how hard I get when you wear running shorts?”

  “Um, no. You’ll have to show me.”

  Epilogue

  Sam strolled into the kitchen, sifting through our mail. I paused chopping lettuce long enough to admire the swagger of my husband. He hadn’t lost it since he’d quit coaching. The cap he wore was no longer the Mavericks, but now read Ortiz Training.

  “Did you hear Foster wants to sell the franchise?” I asked.

  Sam’s brows popped. “Really?”

  Sam’s departure had more than rocked the boat, it’d turned the whole ship over. It’d started with a phone call from Human Resources—to me. After my e-mail, and after Sam’s resignation, they were very interested in the climate of the work environment. Then a news segment on harassment from local college players and an atmosphere of retaliation fostered by the owner had shocked the community.

  The hubbub had only lasted a few weeks and it’d been a quiet year since then.

  “It didn’t bounce back like he’d hope?” Sam asked. “I suppose the scouts don’t want to be associated with his controversy or risk bringing it to their team.”

  Probably. Not one bit of me felt bad.

  “I was thinking…” I set the knife down and grinned. What would Sam think of the idea that had been brewing since I’d heard the news? “I’d like to buy the team.”

  Sam dropped the mail on the table. “’Scuse me? Buy a baseball team?”

  He was getting steady work as a substitute teacher at the high schools around town. A few coaching job offers had even come his way without having to apply. But he’d turned them down, his eye on his sports skills clinic prize. The coaching gigs would’ve absorbed the time he needed to line up sponsors.

  As for me, my business was growing. Ortiz Training had two full-time employees and a part-time admin assistant. I started the job scared spitless that I couldn’t make it work, but between me, my new husband, my family, and my in-laws, I had all the support I needed.

  Sam took over chopping the tomatoes. “Buy the Mavericks, huh?”

  Yes! He was thinking about it. Ordinarily, a collegiate team would be out of my range, but with the controversy, Foster was willing to dump it at a bargain rate versus putting the work into repairing its reputation. I expected no less from a guy like Mr. Foster.

  “I could use my tiny nest egg from working with the Mavericks.” It wasn’t much, but would do. “It’s a start. I’ve already paid my parents back. Maybe they’d be interested—”

  “We have the savings I built up before I quit.”

  My heart flipped. “Do you really think we could make this happen? Because I’ve been thinking about how we could use the team to jump-start your business.”

  His answering smile could make my pants slide right off. He gave up on the food as the excitement took over. “We hire a manager, a PR person to help with the real image we want to portray. Once the team is in place, they can sponsor the clinic and offer scholarships to local teams to keep their costs down for future players. If we could get the local boosters a bus—”

  I pressed my finger against his lips and reached for his fly. “You’ve convinced me. Now, let’s talk about image.”

  _____

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  About the Author

  Marie Johnston writes paranormal and contemporary romance and has collected several awards in both genres. Before she was a writer, she was a microbiologist. Depending on the situation, she can be oddly unconcerned about germs or weirdly phobic. She’s also a licensed medical technician and has worked as a public health microbiologist and as a lab tech in hospital and clinic labs. Marie’s been a volunteer EMT, a college instructor, a security guard, a phlebotomist, a hotel clerk, and a coffee pourer in a bingo hall. All fodder for a writer!! She has four kids, an old cat, and a puppy that’s bigger than half her kids.

  mariejohnstonwriter.com

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  Also by Marie Johnston

  Playing Hard Novellas

  Shutdown

  Finish Line

  Offsides

  Fanboy series—if you like a little quirky pop culture with your millionaires

  Unmistaken Identity (Book 1)

  Highest Bidder (Book 2)

  Based on Principal (Book 3)