My Playboy Fiance: A Billionaire Fake Marriage Romance

by Katerina Cole

  I didn’t like change. I liked consistency. I counted on it.

  And this was a big one. The kind of news that had the potential to turn everything on its head. Worse than a sack that knocked the wind out of you for days. This was chaos. The kind of shakeup that could ruin the season. Destroy the team. Pit us against each other in the worst fucking way.

  The owner of the Warriors was dead.

  2

  Vanessa

  Two Weeks Later

  I sat in the family box every Sunday. I had for the past twenty-six years. Each and every weekend of the entire football season was planned for me. I was either in Warrior Stadium or on the road wherever the team traveled. It never occurred to me that there might be something else I could do with my time on game day. I’d never had the option.

  That's what it meant to be a McCade. Football was the family life. The family dynasty. It was what kept us together. At least that’s what we wanted people in this town to think. The McCade bloodline breathed nothing but football.

  It ran through our pores, pulsing in our veins as if it kept us alive as oxygen. It was the dominant gene that separated McCades from everyone else.

  But all that changed the night my grandfather died. Everything changed with one final heartbeat.

  I couldn’t let myself relive those moments. The world was watching me. Waiting to see how I handled the next step as if it was the fourth quarter and the Warriors were down by three. The problem was I wasn’t a quarterback. I wasn’t trained to deal with intense pressure and stress. I didn’t feel like someone had handed me the ball in a well-drawn out play with instructions. Instead, I felt as if I was at the bottom of a pile and the weight of twenty men was crushing the air from my lungs.

  I walked into his office. It was the corner room of the executive level in the Warriors’ suite. I remembered when I used to play on the floor as a child. My grandfather didn't want to be bothered with me so he would shoo me into a corner with a box of Warriors’ stationary and tell me to keep quiet during his meetings.

  He would leave me there for hours with a collection of pens and pencils. Sometimes one of his secretaries would bring me juice, or check on me when I was left alone. As I grew, the doodles turned to sketches. Over the years, the sketches turned into a portfolio. That portfolio landed me in Texas’s most prestigious school of art. It was ironic how spending time inside the Warriors’ kingdom shaped my true passion. How my grandfather could dismiss it as a little hobby. A small distraction. Something a girl did to occupy her time.

  If it wasn’t related to football, it wasn’t important. It was a distraction. It was useless and a waste of time. A silly idea.

  I glanced at that corner. It now belonged to me. Everything in this room did.

  The Warriors belonged to me.

  I took slow steps to the worn wooden desk. Behind it was a wall-size canvas of the last winning championship team the Warriors had ever had. It was dusty on top and the edges were worn. Everything in the room felt dated. Stale. As if the windows had never been opened, or it was locked in some sort of time capsule.

  My grandfather liked things that way. He didn’t like progress. He wasn’t the sort of man who evolved and tried new things. He kept them the way they were since the day he bought the team. And now I had to figure out what to do with it next.

  What did I know about running a football team? What did I know about running a business?

  This day was never supposed to come. There were so many reasons I wasn’t supposed to be the one. It was never supposed to be me.

  I was an artist. I had to keep my dreams on a high shelf because they didn't fall in line with the football dynasty my grandfather had created. Maybe if I my half-brother wasn’t an asshole things would be different. He would be the one standing behind the desk right now instead of me. He would know what to do. He would take the reins of the team and lead them to success. To victory. To some sort of championship. But he wasn’t here today. He hadn’t been here for a long time.

  Instead, my knees were shaking, my palms were sweaty, and I didn't know what in the hell I was going to do as the only woman running an organization of several hundred men. I needed help, but I had no idea how to ask for it.

  I looked up when I heard a sharp knock on the door. "Miss McCade, the waiting room is full of people who need to speak to you. Every single one says it’s important."

  I could tell my grandfather's assistant was as nervous and as uncertain as I was.

  The first thing I had to do was end this archaic system. "You can call me Vanessa. I'm not as formal as my grandfather was." It was hard to bring myself to speak of him in the past tense. It had only been two weeks since he had died. And it had taken a while for the attorneys to work through the legal matters that put me in this office.

  Candy smiled nervously. She had bright blue eyes and a short blond haircut. She didn't look much older than me.

  "Ms—I mean Vanessa. Who do you want me to send in first?"

  "Well, what are my options?" I had to pray I would recognize the names she listed.

  "Coach is here. He was the first to arrive this morning. Then there is the head of marketing. The stadium manager. And even some of the players. You have an audience." Her smile was sympathetic.

  “The players?”

  She nodded. "Yes. I overheard some of them talking.”

  “What about?” I asked.

  Candy walked a few steps inside the office and closed the door behind her. I appreciated the extra level of privacy.

  “I think they want to talk to you about their positions.” She leaned into the door. I realized she wanted to make sure none of them were aware she was sharing their conversations with me. “Some of them brought their agents. I’m surprised we don’t have a union rep in the lobby.”

  I felt my stomach role with uneasiness. I didn’t know anything about dealing with agents, let alone the players. I had met Coach Applewhite several times. My grandfather invited him over for dinner here and there. And he seemed the most genuinely distressed at the memorial service. But he was abrasive, and the kind of man who liked to push people around. I guess he needed that skill as a coach. I didn’t look forward to a meeting with him.

  I looked at her for reassurance. “A union rep? They would send one?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not really my area.”

  It was ridiculous for me to lean on her right now. I was expecting too much.

  “Right. Of course not.” I took a deep breath. “What are the players’ names?”

  I knew every single man on the roster. Twenty-six years in the McCade box had taught me that much. I couldn’t help but memorize them. It was an uncanny skill I had. I catalogued names from movies and books. I could tell you the order of kids at my high school graduation. I also remembered the names of the opposing team players. Once I heard them, they just stuck.

  She looked over her shoulder to survey the lineup as if she could see through the door. “Isaac Price was the first one here."

  He was one of the team’s top wide receivers. He was as popular in Austin as Luke Canton, the Warriors’ quarterback. I was slightly relieved she hadn’t mentioned him. He used to be a nightmare.

  I twisted my lips together, thinking about the approach my grandfather would take. I tried to play out how he would handle this situation.

  Then I did the exact opposite.

  “Send Isaac Price in,” I instructed.

  I could tell she was surprised by my selection, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last time. I was like a new baby deer trying to get my footing. I was going to stumble and make mistakes. I was in over my head. I had already known that for the last two weeks. I just couldn’t let everyone else figure it out too.

  3

  Isaac

  Since McCade died, the team was in chaos. I saw grown men panic. It did something to me. Someone had to take charge.

  I’d seen stuff like this happen before. Ownership changed. Teams were bought
and sold. The first one in the door. The first one who had ownership’s ear was the one who pulled the strings. Maybe I was stupid for thinking I could be that person, but someone had to represent the players. Someone had to stick up for the guys on the team.

  It might as well be me. We were a brotherhood. It wasn’t the same bond I had with the guys on my Seal team, but there was something that held us together. I think that happened when we bled and sweated together on the field. I wasn’t going to leave them behind without a fight.

  Candy walked in front of us, straightening her short skirt and lowering her eyes to the chipped floor. The old man had always liked pretty assistants. He didn't seem to care how young they were. Maybe he thought they camouflaged the rest of the office. She opened her pouty lips.

  “Ms. McCade would like to see you, Isaac.”

  “What the hell?” Coach roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “I was here at 7 am. I want to have a meeting with her now. I’ve had to wait two weeks for this.” He pressed his index finger into the center of the coffee table, leaving smudge marks.

  Candy took a step back, almost tripping on her high heels. I lunged forward thinking she was about to fall and grabbed her by the waist. She laughed nervously. “Thank you, Isaac.”

  “No problem, girl.”

  Candy had a reputation for making her way through the team. I had never fucked her, but it didn't mean I hadn’t thought about it. Dylan had a few times, and that meant she was automatically off limits. We shared a lot of things, but never women. I wasn’t going there, no matter how pretty she was, or how many times she offered her bed.

  I let go of her waist. Coach stood, eyeing me sharply. “Let me handle this, Price. I don’t think McCade’s granddaughter knows what she’s doing. I’ll talk to her. Why don’t you head down to the locker room?”

  I scratched the back of my head, feeling the irritation blister through my veins. He might be in charge of me on the field. During practice. And during a game. But this man did not dictate my career, or my paycheck. Like hell if he was getting in there ahead of me. I stepped to the side, moving Candy away from me.

  “Coach, I think I’ll take my meeting.” My eyes bored into his. There were other men who counted on me to be here.

  “Son, I don’t think that’s wise.” Applewhite was at least six inches shorter than me, but the man had a bark. A loud voice that would make women shrink and some men tense up. But I wasn't one of those men. “I don’t think you understand the relationship between the team and ownership runs through me.”

  I respected the man on the field, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him get to ownership first. My contract meant everything to me. This was my legacy. This was the only insurance I had that if I stepped on the field tomorrow and broke a leg, that I could survive the rest of my life on what I had given to this team. He wasn't going to take that away from me.

  “Coach, I'm going to have my meeting. I’ll let you know what ownership says.”I brushed past him, ignoring the glare dripping off him. There might be hell to pay at practice, but I’d pay it.

  I walked down the hall. The florescent light flickered overhead, reminding me just how shit-broke this team really was. I arrived at the door and knocked.

  "Come in." I heard a soft voice on the other side.

  I pushed the door open, widening my shoulders, prepared to take ownership to its knees. Prepared to demand I get everything I wanted. I had a responsibility to my brothers on the team.

  “Hi.” She rose from behind the desk and walked around to the side.

  My eyes made a trail from the red polish on her toes along her thin legs over her curvy hips to her round breasts, and landed in deep pools of blue eyes. Her blond hair hung loosely on one side of her shoulder, showing off the creamy skin of her neck and throat. My ribs tightened against my lungs. My cock twitched with an unexpected shudder.

  She extended her hand toward me. “I know who you are, but we’ve never officially met. ‘'m Vanessa McCade.”

  My cock wanted to do the talking. It was animalistic, the urges running through me. I was used to beautiful assistants running around the corporate office. McCade kept the inventory high. Girls like Candy were all over the place. But I'd never seen a woman like Vanessa. There was a softness. And innocence. I didn't know if it was her long lashes, or the fullness of her lips. I’d never wanted to tell a woman to drop to her knees so fast in my life. I had an instant flash of those perfect lips wrapped around my dick. Sucking and teasing me until I exploded in the deepest part of her throat. What was wrong with me?

  “Isaac? Or do you prefer Price?”

  “Yeah. I-I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.” I needed to say something that didn’t make me look like a complete asshole. Because the truth was I didn't give two shits about that man. “And Isaac is fine.”

  “Thank you," she whispered. “It was a shock to everyone. My grandmother still hasn’t left the house.”

  I shifted from one leg to the other. I wasn’t interested in getting into the McCade personal family business. I had to forget the tits on this woman and the curve of her hips and get down to business. I wanted a $20 million signing business for this season. I had to forget the idea of fucking her. No matter how damn gorgeous she was, no fuck was worth that much money.

  I licked my lips.

  Or was it?

  4

  Vanessa

  I could do this. I had to do this. There had to be a way to pretend I wasn’t completely drawn to Isaac Price. I had to cover every ounce of attraction. The instant my fingertips brushed over his palm, I felt a blaze underneath my skin. It was ridiculous to have such an instant and sudden pull to someone. It wasn’t rational. Was it?

  I took a step away from him, trying to clear the steam that had clouded my head. His broad shoulders and sculpted arms were enough to make any woman’s panties wet. But there was something intoxicating about knowing I owned him. He was on my team. I shook my head. I couldn’t believe I was even thinking something like that.

  “Why don't you have a seat, Isaac and tell me why you wanted to meet this morning.” I tried to sound professional and in control of the situation.

  I pointed to the couch that was tattered on the edges. I was embarrassed this was the furniture in my office. If I lasted past opening night, I would have to hire a decorator to take care of this.

  Isaac settled his heavy frame onto the sofa. I tried not to lick my lips when I saw him stretch his arm over the back. I could see the way his bicep flexed and tightened with every movement.

  “I wanted to have this meeting because I think it's important we began salary negotiations as quickly as possible.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was restless.

  I crossed my legs carefully, realizing my skirt showed off more thigh then I intended. I saw his eyes flash to my skin. I felt another rush of heat in my core. There was no way Isaac thought of me as anything other than ownership, but it didn't mean the fantasy wasn't there. I tried to push it away. I needed to focus on the meeting. I was officially a businesswoman. I needed to act like it.

  “Salary? Don't all the players have contracts?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yes. I need you to consider that I’m here on behalf of a lot of the guys. Some don’t have the skills to negotiate and I don’t want them left behind. I don't know how to say this any other way.” He rubbed the back of his thick dark hair.

  “Go ahead,” I urged. There was something honorable and sweet about how he stood up for his teammates. “I’d like to hear what the players think. I need to gather as much information about the team and organization as I can.” I smiled.

  “Honestly, the Warriors are the lowest paid team in the American Football Association. There’s no justification for it. I can tell you right now, some guys out there have agents. Some have attorneys. And they all want the same thing. Money.” His dark eyes flickered.

  “Oh.” I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed about the sofa, b
ut mortified that if what he said was true, my grandfather had underpaid the entire team. Would Granddad do that? If so, there were things much cheaper in this building than his choice in furniture.

  “I could give you facts and figures,” Isaac continued. “Or I could just tell you, if you don’t pay them what they are worth, they are going to walk. They’re not going to win games for you. You’re not gonna make money this season. And I don’t know how you'll ever have a team. It won’t matter if you get the first-round draft pick and the second and the third. No one wants to be a Warrior when they can go somewhere else and make triple the money.”

  “What about the other wide receivers on the team?” I asked.

  Isaac shook his head. “Same. Dylan James makes less than me. No one on this team brags about the money. Everyone knows it. Everyone in the league. The Warriors used to be the Texas team.”

  I could tell he was on the verge of breaking free. Of breaking out from behind the filter. There was more he wanted to say, but Isaac was a controlled man. He had chosen these words with purpose.

  “Just tell me. It might be my first day in the office. But it’s not my first day with the Warriors. I know more than you might think.” I had to play the charade as long as I could.

  He exhaled heavy breaths. “Fine. Your grandfather was a cheap son of a bitch. This team is a disgrace because he didn’t pay any of us well. The locker room is a shit hole. Our equipment malfunctions. This is no way to be a professional team. Something has to be done, or you’re going to lose the Warriors in this ownership cycle. Someone will buy the team from you for next to nothing.”

  I felt a strange sense of resentment sink into my shoulders. Part of me knew what he was saying was true. I saw it. When we traveled for away games, I saw the facilities the other teams had. I sat in other family boxes. I knew ownership profits on other league teams were distributed into the business. But that's not how my grandfather ran things. The McCabe family fortune was massive. We had more money, land, and houses then we could ever use or need.