“You know what? You’re right. Judging by the way you just about tore up that pap, there’s definitely some fire,” he said, reaching out to yank at my collar. The tip of his finger grazed my collarbone. “Beneath that ugly-ass shirt.”
I edged away, but my heart had begun beating faster. What was it about this guy that had me either hot and bothered or heated and annoyed?
“Let’s get back to the charities.”
“Fine, but I’m getting back to your inner rowdy Queens kid later. I like that version of you.”
Trying to ignore the compliment, I went on, “There’s a ton in New Jersey and the Tri-state Area in general. I have a list saved in my cloud that I wanted to go over with you.”
“Just tell me the best ones. We don’t need to go over every option.”
“There’s really no way to pick a best one because they all have good to them,” I said. “There are grant-making institutions—”
He leaned back again, long legs sprawled in front of him. “What’s that?”
“Foundations that collect donations and then redistribute them to people who have sent in grant proposals. Schools send in grants a lot, but also youth centers and shelters.”
Gavin rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, frowning thoughtfully at the envelopes.
“I dunno.”
“It’s not a fast and easy choice if you want it to have meaning,” I said.
“Who says I want it to have meaning? I’m just doing it because Mel Hawkins has been busting my balls over it for fucking years. She’s all about her athletes ‘giving back to the community.’ And she thinks it would help with PR.”
“Maybe so, but you wouldn’t be thinking so hard about it if you just wanted to throw a few million at the nearest charity and make sure the cameras showed up when you signed the check.”
“Whatever.”
Another point for Team Monroe.
“Just tell me your ideal situation, and I’ll make suggestions. This is my thing, remember?” When he kept giving me grumpy face, I added, “I’m not giving you a hard time or trying to soften you up. I’m genuinely interested in this making a difference, even if it’s just something you’re being forced to do. You may as well put your money to good use.”
He slowly relaxed, and I wondered if it really bothered him that much to think anyone was trying to change him. Another interesting Brawley-related nugget to churn over in my mind on the commute home.
“So, there’s this one kid.” Gavin ran a hand through his newly shorn hair, and heaved a slow breath. “He wrote to me and is from my old neighborhood. Goes to my old high school. Plays football. And he’s in the same situation I was in as a kid. I was hoping I could do something for him.”
I cocked my head. “What situation is he in?”
The question earned me a semi-incredulous stare. “You really didn’t look me up?”
“Not really. I mean, I found basic information. If you wanted me to know personal things about you, I figured you’d tell me on your own. Also, I don’t really care.”
Again, Gavin’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile before it flattened in the default slash. “I got no family. Grew up in the system. Never even had a foster home for more than a minute since I was a hard case.”
“Oh.” I winced. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Gavin. I didn’t realize.”
“Whatever, it’s not like you told my parents to dump me when I was born.” Gavin shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Anyways, this kid seems a lot like me. Anger problems, right? Can’t get a good foster spot because he gets bounced back into a group home after one fight too many. Football is his outlet. He wants it to save him like it did me. Wants to know how the fuck he can get out the way I did.”
He was trying to sound so tough, making his voice rough and impatient, like it was a chore to talk about all this, but I could see how much it affected him. Could see it in his downcast eyes and fidgeting hands. The way his shoulders hunched forward.
“I figured I could do something for him, but I don’t know what. I don’t know how to support the foster system, and it sucks so bad, I don’t know if I want to. I dunno if it’d get to him. And I don’t want to write him back some bullshit letter about how to go pro because less than one percent of high school athletes go pro. I looked up his stats and his damn team ain’t even ranked. Dunno why I’m surprised, since it’s my old team. It hasn’t been ranked since I played there a decade ago.” He spread his hands. “So, yeah. Any ideas you got are welcome as long as they aren’t trash.”
I nodded slowly, turning the idea over in my head, and held eye contact. He didn’t look away, not minding the scrutiny, and snickered at my spine-snapping, eye-widening, lightbulb moment.
“Is the sports program at your old high school well-funded? Like with a booster club or anything?”
“What’s a booster club?”
“A club run by parents that helps sponsor the team. I dunno, they had them on Friday Night Lights.”
“You watched Friday Night Lights?” Gavin scoffed. “I bet it was just for the sweaty dudes.”
“You’d be winning that bet. And I only watched three episodes before I realized how problematic it was.” I waved off the topic before I could go into an in-depth analysis of the inclusion of Southern Christian values and blatant racism on prime-time television for teens. “In any case, if the school doesn’t get grants or donations for their sports programs, you could do something really amazing like donating to the school. Getting with, I dunno, Under Armour or Nike, and giving them all new pads, helmets, decals, and uniforms. Maybe even shirts for coaching staff?”
Gavin maintained his non-expression, and I wilted.
“It’s not the same as donating cash, but I bet it would mean a lot to the kid who wrote to you. Also, it’d be you giving back directly to where you came from. Assuming you had a good relationship with the coaching staff at your school or that they’re even there anymore . . .”
“They are. And I did.” Gavin got to his feet and crossed the room to grab a football from the sofa. He tossed it in the air and said casually, “That’s actually not a shitty idea, Noah.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the first time he’d said my name, or maybe just the first time he’d said it without scorn or sarcasm, but warmth spread over me at the two syllables rolling off his tongue. I’d done something right. Not only for him, but something that would make a bunch of kids smile. And he was happy about it too. Somehow, I knew that was why he was hiding his expression. Gavin wanted me to fight for his smiles, even if I was the one causing them to grace his perfect face.
“Do you want me to look into it?” I pressed. “I could get with Mel to discuss it so you’re not directly involved with the nitty-gritty.” I took a breath, thinking hard. “Although, if you want my opinion, you should handwrite a letter back to the kid. Maybe even record a message for him or his school or something.”
“That’s not my style,” he said, still tossing the ball. “I don’t do feel-good messages.”
“Maybe not, but it would really be that extra special touch this whole thing needs to seal the deal that it’s from you. Not someone forcing you into this project or just a PR stunt. That it matters.”
“Give it up, Noah.”
I held up my hands. “Just hear me out: When I was a kid, I was poor as fuck and spent a lot of time trying to figure out paths out of my parent’s tiny apartment. After watching Anderson Cooper on CNN, I got passionate about becoming a reporter. It seems stupid now, but he was basically my hero. A gay journalist who had this rep for holding people accountable.” I sounded like an idiot, but now I was desperate to make a point. “This was before I knew about social media, so I wrote these stupid letters hoping they’d make it to him and they never did. Or they did and he never responded. This probably seems like a totally pointless story, but trust me. Those responses matter to kids who need someone to look up to or something to look forward to.”
Gavin had crossed his arms ov
er his chest as he watched me talk a mile a minute. “Are you done?”
“Yes.” I heaved a sigh. “Sorry, I’m going overboard.”
“You are,” he said. “But I won’t stop you. It’s a decent idea and you’re pretty fucking adorable when riled up about working socially.”
I could feel myself beaming and tried to tone it down. In an attempt to be cool, and failing, I flashed a double thumbs-up. “I told you this is my thing. As soon as you give me the okay to get started, I’ll contact Mel.”
“Hold up.”
Was this the moment when he would crush my excitement? Probably. I braced myself, but Gavin just gave me another of those hard-won half smiles. It was bigger than I’d seen before, even out on the beach, and those golden eyes had a warm glow to them. Beautiful enough to take both my breath and my words. It was a good thing, since I’d been using too many of them in my zest to convince him to write a fucking letter.
“Wait until after your contract is signed. She won’t like some random overexcitable geek contacting her about social justice shit if you’re not an actual employee.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” I nodded, then stopped. “Wait, after I sign my contract?”
“Yeah. After.” Gavin threw the football at me. He nodded in approval when I caught it without fumbling. “Let’s just skip over the probationary crap and say you’re hired. Your corny do-gooder shit charmed me.”
“Seriously? I didn’t think Gavin Brawley could be charmed.”
“Heh.” Gavin gave me another of those scrutinizing stares. “Me neither.”
Chapter Seven
Noah
I googled Mel Hawkins, super sports agent, before dialing her number. I told myself it was for research purposes. This was a professional I wanted to impress, and I wouldn’t blow it by walking in unprepared and ignorant like I’d done during my first interview with Joe Carmichael. What I was really doing was stalling. The idea of calling her terrified me. This was someone who negotiated contracts with the NFL, for Chrissakes. She could eat me for breakfast.
Google searches showed me images of a beautiful black woman who couldn’t be more than in her early forties. She wore suits so sharp they likely cut anyone who tried to brush past her, and had a smile that managed to be pleasant and sarcastic at the same time. Like she was being polite but knew you were an idiot. I liked that. I also liked that she had a list of clients that likely made the usual middle-aged white male agents cry.
Not only did she represent Gavin, she represented his fellow Baron Simeon Boudreaux, along with athletes from other teams. I also noticed that her clients were all starting players and played different positions. Smart as hell. No one was competing for the same sweet spots.
After twenty minutes of poring over her website and doing quick-and-dirty research about the types of charities her other clients had set up, I made the call. Gavin had given me her personal cell phone number, and he’d forced me to call from his landline.
Which, what? I couldn’t believe he had a fucking landline.
“Gavin,” she said without a greeting.
“Actually, this isn’t Gavin. I’m Noah Monroe.” When the declaration was met with complete silence, I added, “His personal assistant.”
“I wasn’t aware that he’d hired a personal assistant.”
“I only started a couple of weeks ago. It was technically a probationary period, but I’ll be signing the paperwork this afternoon. He and Joe Carmichael interviewed me after realizing he’d need someone to help him during the time he is homebound.”
“During the time he’s homebound,” she repeated, a smile in her voice. “I like the way you bullshit, Noah. Can you do me a favor and send along your résumé? I like to be kept in the loop.”
Score one for Noah, retract points from Teams Carmichael and Brawley. She did not like that she hadn’t been informed.
“I’m sending it off as we speak,” I said, tapping at the laptop. My confidence soared and my heart stopped beating as violently. After shooting off the email, I folded my legs beneath me and relaxed in Gavin’s enormous office chair. It was made of the supplest leather I’d ever felt, and was soft as silk against my skin. “I’m calling for Gavin, which I’m sure you guessed. He’s insisting on keeping a training camp schedule even though he isn’t at training camp, and is going to have me handle business that isn’t extremely sensitive.”
“Not surprising. He’s afraid of getting rusty while off the field for an entire season.”
“Will it matter that much? Forgive me for sounding ignorant, but he’s so talented. It wouldn’t fade, would it?”
“No. But my athletes punish their bodies to stay in top form. He’s likely afraid of easing back on his regime and not being one hundred percent by next season. Obviously, he doesn’t have to be as hard on himself as he is, but Gavin is intense.”
I’d noticed. And that intensity had tripled ever since he’d officially hired me. It was like he was making up for that one bonding moment by never cracking a smile and avoiding me constantly in order to hide in the gym.
“He is intense,” I said. “Including about the charity. He took it very seriously, and that’s why I’m calling you.”
“Oh, really?” Now she sounded intrigued. “Tell me more.”
I spent the next ten minutes referencing the kinds of philanthropic pursuits her other clients had done and building up to Gavin’s idea. It was a one-shot deal, so not as far-reaching as founding an actual charity, but I’d talked Gavin into picking a new Title 1 school to sponsor every year.
“And this was Gavin’s idea?”
“Yes. He was inspired by a letter he got in the mail. A teenage boy from his old high school had written to him. Apparently, their school has lost a lot of funding over the past decade, and the sports program is in disrepair.”
“Wow. I’m impressed with him, but also with you. The idea may have been planted by him, but considering your history in social work, I’m sure you helped quite a bit.”
I preened at the laptop. “Just a little.”
“Uh-huh.” Mel snorted. “Email me the details we just talked about, and we can get started on this next week. I love the idea. I’m proud of Gavin.”
“Awesome! He’ll be so glad.”
He really wouldn’t. He’d more than likely grunt and keep doing squats. I’d walked in on him this morning and the sight of his ass and thighs clenching and flexing had nearly caused me to degrade myself.
“Sure.” Mel was smiling again. I could hear it in her voice. “While I have you on the phone, let me give you some other duties to accomplish while he has you. He needs a social media presence whether he wants it or not. Instagram and Twitter should be sufficient for now. Facebook would be great for older fans, but I won’t push that issue just yet, since he already has a fan page. I want you to create his Twitter and Instagram accounts, and start posting on them.”
“Uh.” Damn, now I was going to have to ruin our nice conversation by saying no. “I don’t think Gavin would like me posting as him.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s better than me asking him to do it himself.”
“I’ll set up the accounts, and I’ll talk about the content with Gavin.”
“That’s fine, but I want to see content as soon as possible. He needs a brand that will stick besides ‘asshole.’ I don’t expect him to become JJ Watt overnight, but reminding his fans that he is an exceptional athlete who dedicates his entire life to the sport will go a long way. Just take videos of him working out and put them on Instagram. The fans would go wild, and keep them invested in his career even while he’s off the field.”
I’d also go wild with lust and have to banish myself, but she was right.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said.
We hung up and I gave myself a pat on the back for making a good first impression. Finally. Which meant it was time to ruin all of those feel-good glows by calling Joe.
There were several things about Joe that made m
y skin crawl, but the top one was that he consistently reminded me of Gallagher. It was the cool arrogance and cutthroat attitude. I hadn’t noticed it even a year ago, but now it was easy to identify the markers of someone who only viewed you as a commodity. I honestly had no idea how Gavin coped. But maybe that was why he was so protective of his privacy and his autonomy—he didn’t want to belong to anyone. He didn’t want anyone trying to mold him or make him theirs.
Or maybe I just needed to give up on my overanalysis of the football player after our brief moment that hadn’t even been a moment.
“Did you get the DocuSign?”
“Hi Joe,” I said, forcing some warmth into my tone. “I did, but I had a question.”
“What? I have something else to do five minutes ago.”
How did he get through a day without being punched in the face?
“One—the language about me living at the residence is still there. Two—there’s also language about a huge signing bonus that we didn’t even discuss.”
“The signing bonus is to account for you living there. Gavin told me to add it.” Joe sounded steadily more impatient. “He said you were struggling with the commute, and needed an incentive. He thought throwing more money at you would convince you to make your life easier by staying there through the week. Why he cares about your life being easier is beyond me.”
“I’m sure it has more to do with me straggling in a late, hot, sweaty mess of disorganization,” I said. “It’s true that I’ve been struggling but—”
“No,” Joe interrupted. “There wasn’t a complaint about your performance. He specifically said the commute is stressing you out.”
It was, but I hadn’t realized Gavin had noticed. Or cared. He’d just given me disgusted looks before stalking off again.
“I’m not sure what to do,” I finally said. “Can I call you back?”
Joe hung up without another word, and I was left staring at the fancy phone that sat on Gavin’s desk like an ornament.
Part of me was terrified of being locked in a mansion with Gavin Brawley. Not only because of his menacing glares and brooding silences, and the way he could reduce me to a mass of exposed nerves, but because I was starting to become too preoccupied with what made him tick. If I spent hours at night trying to work out why he was the way he was—a beautiful man who seemed, for all intents and purposes, isolated from the outside world because of his temperament—how much would I do it once I was under his roof?
Illegal Contact (The Barons) Page 9
