by Violet Duke
She did a double take. “Wait, you all think I’ve been using insider information from my interviews to pick the winners on my locks-and-picks site?”
Were they serious? Did none of them understand how picking worked?
“Are you denying the accusation?” came some faceless voice she didn’t even bother trying to identify.
“Hell yes, I’m denying it!” she replied hotly.
Finally, a full-blown smile from Jackson, but she was so worked up, she didn’t need a lifeline. She just needed a bullhorn.
Standing up, she glared at each of those corporate suits frowning at her before starting her tirade. “Now, listen here. I started that site two and a half years ago, and it’s become one of the most popular, well-reviewed locks-and-picks sites out there because of my success rate. A success rate I’ve had before I came to work here.” She made sure to hit each person in that room with the fuming heat of her indignation—well, except for Jackson, but that was because he was the only one in the room smiling. She tried to avoid looking at him so she could hold on to her anger. “Picks and locks are not made by insider information. They’re determined by science and math and years of understanding and experience. I use algorithms that I developed as a part of my graduate thesis, which analyzed decades of data and a number of other variables that I’ve been monitoring for years, long before I even decided to study the topic for my MBA.”
“Wait a minute, you have an MBA?” questioned Perry-something from the PR department with nothing short of shock in his voice.
She sighed and fought hard not to spit on the tiny man. “Yes, I have my MBA. And running this site was part of my thesis. During my research, I developed an algorithm based on data that I gathered over the course of years. My algorithm takes longitudinal player, team, and field stats, along with twenty-two other secret variables, and turns it into data that can determine the likelihood of a win to as small as a minute point spread, in addition to the number of yards a football player is likely going to accumulate in the game, and countless other ‘picks.’ There is absolutely no overlap between my site and my work here at DBC Sports Network.”
“Then why were you hiding it from us?” asked Lloyd, visibly less unreceptive than he’d been a few minutes ago. Probably about when she’d said MBA—seriously, she was now more certain than ever that the man hadn’t even read her résumé before hiring her.
“Are you honestly puzzled as to why I kept my identity a secret?” She studied their clueless expressions before landing on Jackson’s curious one and explaining simply, “Guys, I’m a woman. I guarantee that if Gridiron Locks and Picks Weekly had been run by Leila Jane Hart instead of L. J. Hart, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now because the site would’ve died within months of launch. And not only that, but my gender would’ve turned the entire thing into a circus act. I would’ve made news. And I hate making news. Not for things I didn’t work for—like simply being born without a penis.”
“Okay,” conceded Lloyd, his lips twitching in humor over that. “I get why you didn’t want the public to know. But why not tell us?”
A long tired breath whooshed out of her. “I told you how successful my site is.” At their blank looks, she translated further. “Roughly, I’d estimate that close to fifteen or twenty percent of the folks working in this building have accounts on my site.”
She could hear the silent, collective “Ohs” circling around the room. “If all my co-workers knew I ran that site, and that I was the one giving them picks that may or may not have won them some money in the past—though let’s be honest, it was mostly the former and hardly ever the latter—I’d never hear the end of it. It would’ve been a nightmare to work here.”
“Leila,” began Lloyd.
Progress! Back to first-name interactions.
“Is there any way you can prove that you’ve never used any of the information you’ve come across in your job here to pick your winners?” asked Lloyd, now practically back to his normal self.
With a determined headshake, she pulled out her phone and stalked up to the conference room projector. Syncing up her phone, she directed their attention to the big screen. “This is all the data I keep on my end for every lock and pick I recommend. Each and every one. I can catalog this all in a report for you to prove via timelines and stats that not a single one of my picks and locks since I began here had anything to do with anything I learned on the job. And not just that.” She clicked over to another area of her site with two more secure log-ins. “I keep notes for my records on every single NFL and college pick and lock I recommend. Every single one was based on long-term data and some other formulas I devised during my MBA, as my reports can easily prove.”
A collective breath of relief rippled around the room.
From her as well, though she kept her tough-chick armor on just in case.
“Okay, Leila, for the time being, until you furnish those reports, let’s just say we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt,” said Lloyd. “I’m afraid, however, that you have a big decision to make. You can’t continue to run that site and be employed as our sideline reporter. I’m sorry. But you’re going to have to choose.”
Well, that was easy. She shrugged. “I choose this job.”
Jackson’s smile transformed into a barely smothered, eye-crinkling laugh.
While she loved that laugh—it was one of her favorites, his most affectionate by far—she had to wonder…what the heck was so funny?
“Are you sure, Ms. Hart?” asked Mr. Legal Affairs. “I’ve been crunching some raw numbers and I can already see that we don’t come close to paying you what you’re earning on the site.”
“No doubt,” she agreed. “But it’s just money. I’ve saved up a lot. Paid off all my graduate loans in the first six months, saved up enough for the down payment of my dream home, and invested wisely. I’m okay. Even if you don’t pay me anywhere near what I earned from the site, this job is important to me. I have no problem shutting down glpweekly.com.”
“Okay, then,” declared Lloyd after a roundtable head-nod check. “Just forward us those reports, and we’ll release a press statement after you shut down your site. Given everything, I’m fairly certain this will blow over easily.”
“Hold on—,” spoke up Jackson finally. “I think we ought to spend a little time coming up with a separate action plan to explain things to the coaches and players from the three pro teams on our network. That trust…We need to make sure it’s completely solid.”
For the first time that day, Leila finally saw what the issue was. She’d been looking at it from the perspective of knowing all the facts, understanding the science behind picks that have nothing to do with insider information. But if you weren’t privy to that perspective, then yes, you’d feel quite betrayed…say, for inviting a sideline reporter into an NFL Draft war room.
Leila put both hands on the conference table and directed her attention to the head of PR. “Perry, arrange a half-hour meeting with each team—all the players and coaches. I’ll meet on their turf. A lot of NFL players and some assistant coaches use my site—let’s just leave it at that. So let me prove to them that there was no wrongdoing. They can quiz me to within an inch of my life. And after they’re satisfied that I’ve never used any information I’ve gained as a reporter for any of my picks, I’ll offer my final GLPWeekly picks and locks for free to anyone at that meeting who can get in their request within that half hour.”
Perry smiled. “Genius. Consider it done.”
She exhaled raggedly. “All right, now can I go home? I have an ex-boyfriend I need to verbally de-ball for causing me so much stress and aggravation today.”
A round of chuckles was her only affirmative—and wholly supportive—reply.
Chapter 17
As soon as everyone was cleared out of the conference room, Leila walked right up to Jackson. “Tell me the truth, did you think I was using insider information?”
Jackson held her gaz
e. “Honestly, I didn’t know.”
That stung. Hurt like the dickens, actually.
“I ran every possible scenario I could think of in my head,” he continued. “Unlike the others, I did know that there was a science involved. But without knowing your algorithm parameters, again, I just didn’t know. I did hold on to the belief that there was an explanation, however. And regardless, I still wanted to…protect you if I could.”
At least he was honest. Grant would’ve lied his ass off; she imagined a lot of guys would have.
But not Jackson. “Would you and I have been okay?”
Pain streaked across his face. “No. But that wouldn’t have stopped me from helping you, Leila. Even if you’d been guilty as sin, I still didn’t want you to suffer. The thought of your termination was killing me.”
Yes, she believed that. Even if she did something so heinous that she ripped his trust to shreds, she could see him still showing her mercy. That was very…Jackson.
“When did you know?” she whispered, thinking back to his smiles during the meeting, trying to pinpoint when she’d seen the first of his smiles. Had he believed her when she denied the accusations? Or was it only after she said she could provide evidence to prove herself. She needed to know. “When did you believe that I was innocent?”
His eyes softened…and that’s when she remembered.
“Sunshine, I knew the very second I saw your face when you came in the room.”
Hearing him confirm her thoughts practically stole the ground out from under her. A long emotional breath shot out of her lungs. “Good. That’s good.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more sure before. I don’t want you to think that I—”
She shook her head and cut him off. “No, don’t apologize. This wasn’t a black-and-white situation. I know how it all looked. And if the situations were reversed, I’m sure I would’ve wondered until I saw you as well.”
He directed a weighty gaze her way. “You could’ve told me, you know. I would’ve kept your secret.”
“I know,” she reassured him gently. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you with my secret. I wasn’t keeping it from you at all, really. From everyone else, yes, since I had my family and the success of the site to consider. But with you, it was different. I never had to be L. J. Hart with you. Ever. You were the only person in my life with whom I’ve ever been able to be just me. All the time, just Leila. And I liked it. So it wasn’t something I was keeping from you, it was something that truly didn’t even exist around you. Does that make sense?”
His eyes ran over her face as he nodded. “I’m glad, then. That you didn’t tell me. That you could be just Leila with me.”
Relief washed over her. His understanding meant more than simple blind trust. “That said,” she continued, “I’m sorry that you had to find out like this.”
“No apologies necessary. Honest. Besides, we told each other no deep, dark secrets until we were ready.”
A part of her speculated what his secrets were and how she’d react when, if, she ever discovered what they were.
As if he were wondering that as well, he stood there in his token Jackson silence.
Unsure of what more to say, she turned to leave. She hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. She had grand plans of eviscerating Grant online the second she got home.
Leila got exactly two steps away before she was drawn to a stop by Jackson’s hand clamping shut around hers. “Why did you call me?”
She spun around. “What?”
“Clearly, you didn’t come back early from Utah because of your ex’s video, since you hadn’t even known about it yet. So why did you come back early? And why’d you call me right after you landed?”
Here it was. That classy, non-insane declaration she had to give him.
Taking a deep breath, she said softly, “I called because I missed…talking to you. After months of talking to you nearly every day, I missed hearing your voice.”
She looked up into his eyes. “I missed you.”
—
Heart hammering like a damn drum in his chest, he replayed her whispered confession a few more times in his head to make sure he’d heard it correctly.
Then he dragged her into his arms.
“I missed you too, sunshine. Three longest goddamn days of my life. I kept picturing your ex touching you, upsetting you, hell, breathing the same air as you, and I wanted to strangle the son of a bitch with my bare hands.”
“That can still be arranged,” she muttered in a muffled grouse against his chest, before he felt all the tension drain out of her body.
Her arms wrapped around his torso and she turned to lay her head against his chest, directly over his heart. “Say it again,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “I missed you like hell, Leila. So damn much I honestly think that if the whole video fiasco hadn’t happened, I would’ve caved and jumped on a plane to Utah to see you.”
Her gasp came swift, and he felt her hold it in her chest like a balloon of air.
After a few long moments, he looked down at her, puzzled, worried she was going to turn blue in the face soon. “Sweetheart, what’re you doing?”
With a tremulous smile, she exhaled and confessed, “I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you a question in a classy, non-insane way, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail miserably so I’m trying to keep it to myself.”
Good lord, this woman never failed to do and say things that nailed him square in the chest. “Don’t keep it to yourself. Let me hear your question, baby, exactly as it is in that brilliant, busy little head of yours.”
She took a deep breath, and then whooshed out, “Do you have plans tonight? If not, do you want to have a movie night at my place? I was actually planning on grabbing takeout from that brewpub in your neck of the woods, the one your friend is the co-owner of. You can help me disband my website and send all my regulars into a blind panic before football season.”
It all came out as one long adorable run-on sentence request.
Too focused on finally having her in his arms to be able to answer her just yet, it was all he could do to keep his caveman instincts from throwing her over his shoulder and pulling her into a cave so he could just spend a day kissing her senseless.
Kissing her until she never left him again.
Even the mere idea of kissing her had his arms tightening around her until she squeaked.
But he just couldn’t let her go.
He’d meant what he’d said earlier. It had taken just a single look at her face for him to know she was innocent. He hadn’t needed any of the proof she’d offered them. He’d seen it in her eyes and heard it in her voice.
But more important, he’d felt it in his heart.
So while the rest of the men in the room had been busy quizzing her about her site, Jackson had been busy listening to what his heart had to say.
Essentially, it came down to one thing: He trusted her. More than he’d ever trusted any woman in his life.
It had been a jarring but grounding revelation that, on instant replay now, was provoking yet another pythonlike hug around her perfect little body.
A muffled murmur puffed out against his chest and he grinned at the question, loosening his hold just enough so he could see that smile he’d heard in her question.
“Yes, sunshine,” he replied finally. “Dinner, movie, all of it sounds great.”
Chapter 18
Two weeks later, Jackson was still smiling.
Since the day Leila had asked him over for dinner and a movie at her place, in the sweetest imaginable way possible, they’d landed on a fairly regular agreement to spend nearly every free night they had together.
Casually.
Meaning no let’s-define-the-fact-that-we-snuggle-under-a-blanket-together questions, and likewise, no pressure to do more than just snuggle either…regardless of how many times he’d been tempted to drag her on top of him and slowly wake her up from the steamy cat naps she’d
slip into sometimes mid-movie.
It killed him not to know what exactly she was seeing in her mind when she’d make those sexy little noises that never failed to make him hard as a rock in an instant. Seeing her skin flush, feeling her legs tighten around his on a silent gasp, all in her sleep? Freaking mind-wrecking.
Once, she’d even whispered his name on a heated whimper of arousal that sounded maybe half a breath away from orgasm, and he’d damn near had a coronary.
But despite how spectacularly agonizing the unintentional torture was, he never pushed to move their relationship beyond that. He absolutely refused to treat Leila like any of the women he’d had his strictly-sex arrangements with in the past.
On the flip side, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to stay away from her either.
He told himself that if she’d ever shown an interest in canceling one of their nights together in favor of a date with another man, he wouldn’t stop her. He wanted to believe he was a big enough man to want her to find happiness with someone whose life allowed him to offer her more than just sex. Someone who wouldn’t force himself to leave her with nothing more than a gentle kiss while she slept every night, instead of allowing himself the dangerous pleasure of waking up next to her come morning.
Realistically, however, Jackson would settle for just being a civil enough man not to beat the lucky bastard to a bloody pulp with his bare hands.
Case in point, one night, when they’d all gone out to a bar last week, some slick guy in a suit had started hitting on Leila big-time—asking for her number while frickin’ touching the small of her back, a good deal below her waistband, and shit, even sliding a finger along the strap of her tank-top, right under her collarbone.
It was possible Jackson might’ve threatened the man with disembowelment on the spot, or something a little worse…the details were a bit fuzzy.
