“Stop twisting my words,” Riley said, her temper showing. “The team needs you. I need you. However, you won’t be any good to us if you’re dead.”
“Dead? Yikes, Riley.” Darcy exhaled. “Way to drive your point home with a freaking sledgehammer.”
“Where your safety is concerned, I won’t pull my punches.” Riley nudged Lieutenant Bronson. “Tell her. Death is a real possibility.”
Darcy didn’t give the lieutenant a chance to answer. What was the point? Either he backed up Riley, or he backed up Riley. At this point, what else would he do?
“Unless you’re prepared to fire me, I’m going,” Darcy said. “Well? Do I still have a job, or should I head down to the unemployment office?”
“Stubborn,” Riley muttered. “Ultimatums piss me off.
Holding her ground, her heart racing like a high-speed train, Darcy merely shrugged.
“You win,” Riley said.
Watching the exchange, Lieutenant Bronson shook his head.
“I would have fired her ass.”
“Always an option.”
Darcy knew Riley’s words were a promise, not a threat. But she’d won—for now—and that was all that mattered.
“I hired you a bodyguard. No arguments,” Riley warned. “He’s your shadow from now on.”
“But—” Darcy tried to protest. Riley cut her off.
“His name is Steve Molitor and he’ll look like one of your staff. Except Steve carries a gun. Do what he says, Darcy. Please?”
“Okay.”
“And,” Riley added. “We need to bring Mac into the loop.”
“No.” Darcy shook her head. “A bodyguard is one thing. Don’t tell McClain.”
“Mac needs to be aware of what’s going on in case something happens,” Riley reasoned. “He can keep an extra eye on you.”
“And treat me like a victim?” Darcy shuddered at the thought. “McClain and I can finally be in the same room without wanting to kill each other. Don’t undercut our progress.”
“Crazy woman,” Lieutenant Bronson said with a sigh.
“Try to walk a mile in her stilettoes, Lieutenant,” Riley said before Darcy could answer. “You have no idea what she’s endured to get here. And you never will. But a little empathy wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“You’re probably right. Unfortunately, my supply of empathy ran out long ago along with most of my patience.” Bronson stood. “I’ll go. Contact me if anything happens, Ms. Stratham. Anything at all. Understood?”
“You’ll be the first to know, Lieutenant,” Darcy said, shaking his hand.
“He’s an enigma,” Riley said after Bronson left. “So pretty, yet so cynical. You should consider dating him.”
“You should consider getting your head examined,” Darcy scoffed. “Besides, if I die, my dating life will be a moot point.”
“Not funny,” Riley said.
“I can either laugh or cry.” Darcy sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I have any tears left to shed.”
“You do,” Riley assured her. “When the right moment comes along, you’ll bawl like a baby.”
“Mm. Perhaps.” Darcy frowned. “How did you arrange for a bodyguard so quickly? The letter only arrived this morning.”
“I hired Steve last week,” Riley informed her with a smug smile. “From now on, he’s on the team’s payroll until the threats stop.”
“For the love of…” Darcy hugged Riley close. “You don’t play fair.”
“Of course not.” Riley squeezed her in return. “When I want something, I’m ruthless.”
“And that’s why you make the big bucks.”
“Exactly.” Riley patted Darcy’s arm, the concern in her eyes palpable. “Don’t take any chances. Be safe. Be smart. And do your job. The team is counting on you.”
“Go, Knights.”
“Go, Darcy.” Riley gave her a fist bump before exiting the office.
Alone, Darcy held out her hands. They shook and she sighed. Grabbing her purse, she headed out the door. So much for her famous nerves of steel. Where was the Ice Queen when she needed her?
CHAPTER TWELVE
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
DARCY WAS BONE tired but in the best way possible.
Four days of the NFL combine, of watching young men pour everything they had into making the best impression possible on coaches and front-office executives who could make or break their futures.
Knowing she had the power to change someone’s life wasn’t a responsibility Darcy took lightly. She couldn’t let sentimentality get in the way of what was best for her team. Yet, her heart went out to each player whose dreams could be made or dashed in such a short time.
The combine was over for one more year. Darcy didn’t relish another night in her hotel room; she’d rather be back in her own bed. But the flight was booked for tomorrow morning so rather than suffer through her own company, she sat at a table in the bar, her hair clipped back—messy and casual—little makeup on her face, sipping her favorite whiskey. She scribbled notes into her ever-present notebook and listened to her companion grunt, grumble and groan.
“Ugh. I’m ready to go home.”
Darcy kept her head down and smiled as Joshua McClain nursed his bottle of beer.
“Go to bed,” she told him, watching his eyes droop.
Ignoring her suggestion as he had for the past hour, McClain scrubbed a hand over his face.
“A laptop would be more efficient,” he told her.
Darcy set her pen aside and sighed. He was determined to bother her, and he’d succeeded. Most of the time, McClain behaved like a full-grown man. Other times, like now, he had the mentality of a little boy who resented when he wasn’t the center of attention.
“Unlike you, Mr. McClain, I keep records of our daily activities. It’s called doing my job.”
“I take notes,” McClain said.
“Your assistant takes the notes which you then edit.”
“Same difference,” he insisted. “The information is recorded—on a laptop. I read every word. Want me to tell you how fast Stewart Shield out of Clemson ran the forty-yard dash?”
Darcy rolled her eyes. While she studied her butt off to remember names and stats, McClain, damn him, was blessed with perfect recall. Sometimes life wasn’t fair.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Darcy said. She looked at McClain. “Will you be here when I get back or should I take my stuff with me?”
“Why not use the one in your room?” he asked with a yawn. “It’s late. Even the most dedicated drinkers are starting to clear out.”
“You go. I’m not tired yet.”
When Darcy reached for her satchel, McClain stopped her.
“Go on.” He sighed. “I’ll look after your stuff while you’re gone.”
“Such a martyr.” Darcy laughed as his comically sad expression deepened. “I told you to leave.”
“Ya, ya, ya. Whatever.”
“If you’re worried about leaving me alone with the wolves, this little lamb can take care of herself. Besides, I have Steve.” She nodded to the man who sat two tables away, pretending to play a game on his phone while keeping an eagle-eye on her. “Look at his arms. He could defend me from a stampeding herd of elephants without breaking a sweat.”
“My arms are just as big,” McClain said under his breath.
Men, Darcy snorted. Their endless egos never ceased to amaze her. If they weren’t comparing the size of their dicks, it was something else. Always something else.
“What’s with Steve, anyway,” McClain asked, eyeing the other man suspiciously. “You can’t move without running into the guy. Acts more like a jealous boyfriend than your assistant.”
“Boyfriend?” Darcy shook her head at the idea. “He’s a professional. And married.”
“As though a wedding ring ever stopped a man from fooling around.”
“A ring would stop me,” Darcy sai
d, offended by McClain’s suggestion.
“Sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Blame the late hour and the booze.”
“You’ve had one beer.” Darcy peered at the bottle. “The bottle is still half full.”
“Guess I can’t hold my liquor the way I did in my youth.”
“Watch my things carefully, old man.” Darcy stood and stretched. “They say the eyesight is the first thing to go.”
With the sound of McClain’s chuckle in her ears, Darcy made her way to the restroom. Since they’d been in Indianapolis, she’d found out several things that were counter to the legend of Joshua McClain.
First. He didn’t drink, he sipped. One round was his limit. He preferred beer, and never finished the bottle.
Second. McClain knew how to keep his temper in check. The wild man who used to get into fights at the drop of a subtle innuendo kept his cool. Darcy had seen him flustered and annoyed—honestly, she’d deliberately given him plenty of reasons to fly off the handle. Part test, part a natural reaction to the way he could push her buttons, she was impressed by his restraint.
Third. Maybe the most surprising of all? Darcy liked Joshua McClain. He was funny in a subtle, blink or you’ll miss it, kind of way. He had a sweet side he tried to hide from the world. And, like tonight, he could be gruffly protective. She knew the only reason he stayed with her in the bar was to make certain no one gave her a bad time.
Fourth, and most important, she trusted McClain. He might not always land on her side where the Seattle Knights were concerned, but whatever the issue, he’d come to her first. No leaking their differences to the press to gain the upper hand. No undermining her with their boss or the players. For all his snarky ways, he was honest to his core. Darcy had dealt with enough sneaks and backstabbers to know an honorable man when she met him.
Yes, there were times when he still made her head want to explode. And true, they didn’t agree on everything about the game of football in general or the specific direction they should take their team. However, inch by inch, argument by argument, they came closer to a workable consensus—a way to move forward that worked for them both.
Fifth—and the least relevant point—McClain was seriously cute. His smile gave her butterflies and his laugh made her happy. There were moments when he looked at her that made Darcy want to sink into his eyes, into his arms. Which was crazy. Insane. Beyond foolish.
Darcy had a little crush on McClain. Big deal. She could think of worse things. If he never caught on, where was the harm?
Making her way back to the bar, Darcy paused to check her phone for new messages. As she scrolled through the texts, she glanced toward the table where she’d left McClain and noticed he wasn’t alone. With their backs to her, she couldn’t see their faces, but she easily recognized the three men as head coaches from other teams.
Whatever the other men had to say, McClain did not look happy.
Keeping out of their line of sight, Darcy cautiously approached the table. She leaned her back against a large floor to ceiling wooden post and listened in on the conversation.
“How can you work with a woman?” asked the large man to McClain’s right. “What a nightmare.”
“Watch your mouth, Tim,” McClain said, his voice low. “Remember, Darcy Stratham is my boss.”
“Come on, Mac,” the gray-haired man scoffed. “You can’t be happy with the situation. I asked around. Darcy Stratham has a reputation for sleeping her way to the top.”
Darcy stiffened. She knew the rumors and learned early on that protesting and defending herself was pointless. She’d learned to live with the whispers, ignored them, overcame them for most of her career. But to hear the false accusations tossed in McClain’s face hurt more than she expected.
“You think Riley Preston hired Darcy because she received sexual favors?” McClain asked through gritted teeth. “Think carefully before you answer.”
“Don’t get on your high horse, McClain,” fat man number three said as he drained the last of the liquid from his glass. “You’re hardly a card-carrying feminist.”
“Doesn’t matter what I am or what I’m not. Darcy Stratham is the general manager of the Seattle Knights and she has my respect and loyalty. End of discussion.”
Darcy patted her chest. McClain’s words made her heart race and she worried it might burst from her body at any second.
“I will say she’s a looker.” The first man chuckled. “What’s the lowdown, McClain? Have you taken advantage of what the woman has to offer?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” McClain bellowed, his fist hitting the table. “Take back what you said. Now.”
“I could,” the man said with a derisive snort. “But why bother? I just repeated what everyone else has already said.”
Darcy moved from her hiding place and hurried toward the table. McClain was on his feet, towering over the other men. By the look on his face, at any second, she expected him to throw a punch.
Knowing a brawl would be a public relations disaster for the team and a black mark on McClain’s career, Darcy rushed toward the table. She needed to defuse the situation—any way possible.
Darcy stopped beside McClain, gave him a warning look, then plastered her best fake smile onto her face.
“Gentlemen. Nice to see you.”
“You should leave,” McClain said.
Heated anger radiated from every inch of McClain. His body was coiled like a snake ready to strike. Darcy was human. Part of her wished she could let him do his worst. But the brief satisfaction of watching him wipe the smug expressions off the other men’s faces wasn’t worth the chain reaction of trouble his actions would cause.
Casually, calmly, Darcy placed her notebook into the satchel she’d left at the table and turned to McClain. She kept her voice low—for his ears only.
“I need to speak with you. Alone. Now.”
“I’ll be along as soon as I take out the trash.”
Darcy glared into McClain’s eyes. Don’t be such a guy, she told him, hoping he understood her silent message. She could tell by the flicker of his lids that he received her signal loud and clear. He simply chose to ignore her.
Searching her brain for the best way to stop a massacre, Darcy let out a sigh of relief when Steve appeared by her side. For once, she was grateful for the bodyguard Riley pushed on her.
“Problem?” Steve asked. He was a man of few words. Then again, who needed a huge vocabulary when you looked like two-hundred-and-twenty pounds of immovable brick wall?
The men at the table gaped and gulped, and if they were smart, said a prayer for their salvation. Darcy knew Steve wouldn’t lift a finger against anyone unless he had no choice. Luckily, the three dipsticks weren’t as well informed.
“We were just leaving,” Darcy said. When he didn’t move, she kicked McClain’s foot. “Weren’t we?”
“Sure.” McClain shrugged. “Why not?”
They exited the bar without incident, but McClain didn’t wait long before letting Darcy know he wasn’t happy.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded, following her through the lobby.
“Kindly keep your voice down to a dull roar.” Darcy stopped at the elevators and pushed the button. “I’d rather not share our private business with the entire hotel.”
“And I would have preferred to knock some sense into the lug-heads in the bar,” Mac growled. “Can’t have everything you want.”
Ignoring him, Darcy entered the elevator. McClain joined her but blocked Steve from getting into the car.
“Take the next one,” he told the other man. “Ms. Stratham and I need to talk in private.”
“No,” Steve said and pushed aside McClain’s arm.
“Excuse me?”
Steve positioned himself between Darcy and McClain.
“Sorry,” her bodyguard said, staring straight ahead. “No, thank you.”
Unable to help herself, Da
rcy snickered. McClain looked around Steve—no easy task—and glared. When the doors opened on their floor, they moved into the hallway.
“Would you give us a moment, Steve?” Darcy asked, stopping in front of McClain’s door.
“Sure thing. I’ll be close if you need me. Just holler.”
“What does he think I’ll do to you?” McClain demanded as Steve walked down the hall, out of hearing distance, but not out of sight. “What gives him the right to be so overprotective?”
“Forget Steve.”
“Hard to do when the man is everywhere at the same time,” McClain muttered, glaring over Darcy’s shoulder.
Darcy felt a low-grade headache starting at the base of her skull. She needed a hot shower and eight solid hours of sleep. Before she could indulge in either, she wanted to make something clear to McClain.
“What happened in the bar?” she said. “Don’t ever engage with jerks like that again.”
“You don’t know what they said.”
“Of course, I do.” Darcy sighed. “I heard a little of the conversation. Even if I hadn’t, do you think anything they said was new? For twenty years, I’ve dealt with rumors and innuendos. Sometimes to my face, mostly, behind my back.”
“They’re wrong,” McClain said.
Knowing he believed in her, hearing the conviction in his voice, sent a shot of comforting warmth through Darcy’s body. She almost melted, almost let McClain’s behavior slide. Almost. Rubbing her neck, she searched for the right words to explain.
“If you tried to beat up every asshole who thinks my only talent is spreading my legs or falling to my knees, you wouldn’t have time for anything else.”
“You know how to paint a picture—one I’d rather not see,” McClain said. “I couldn’t let the filth that came out of their mouths pass without doing something.”
“No one wants to hear the truth, Mr. McClain.” Darcy lifted her chin because she refused to give in. “If you find yourself in a similar situation—and you probably will—the only way you can help me is to walk away.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to do business with other teams,” Darcy explained. “I don’t care what anyone thinks because I know the truth. But if you go around defending my honor, you’ll burn a lot of bridges in this league. General managers remember things like one head coach beating the crap out of another.”
The Devil Wears Blue Jeans (One Pass Away: A New Season Book 1) Page 10
