Thousand Yard Bride

by Nora Flite

  I tried going out with a few guys after the breakup, but they were internet dates that didn’t go anywhere, and I lost my interest in online dating after just a couple of months. I also got tired of hearing the same thing each time: I was too focused on my career to be ideal girlfriend material.

  The truth is, I had wondered about Hunter before. He was a household name synonymous with sexy. Even women who weren’t into athletes found him to be the object of their desires. It wasn’t hard to understand why, and I admit, I'd ogled his magazine covers.

  Between his warrior-broad shoulders, washboard abs, untamed black hair, and his stats on the field, Hunter Daniels was both formidable athlete and handsome rogue. He could score a touchdown as well as he could melt you with his intense gaze. It didn't hurt that he had mesmerizing golden-amber eyes, a color that was singular to him. There was something about Hunter that made you want to overlook his bad boy ways.

  I mean—everyone else. I'd never overlook them. I was supposed to fix them.

  “I have to admit I’m kinda jealous, Jo,” Lanie said as she grabbed up her gym bag. “He’s fun to watch on the field. Who doesn't love a guy who never misses a pass? It’s incredible."

  “He does seem to have it all,” I agreed. “But I'm here to stop him from losing it all.”

  “Good luck, sis,” Lanie said as she headed towards the exit. “You’ll need it."

  “Nah. I've got this."

  And I really, truly believed that I did. I had no clue what I was getting into.

  When I arrived at the Haven Oaks Country Club to meet Hunter, I felt as prepared as I could be. I’d done my research on every member of the Daniels family; I was always a stickler for due diligence.

  My investigation revealed that Victoria, his mother, was a highly regarded socialite known for hostessing charity events. Billionaire patriarch Hunter Daniels Senior was . . . well, there's no nice way to put it. He was a jackass, still riding the high from being the star quarterback of the Hawks in the early 1980s.

  The first time he was dubbed MVP was the same year he was awarded Rookie of the Year. Prior to being on the team, he’d grown up in the lap of luxury, attending—and getting kicked out of—boarding schools all over the States. There was endless family money to get him out of whatever scrape he found himself in.

  He wasn't much different than his son was, honestly.

  The Daniels name was synonymous with old money. When his son was drafted by the Hawks, he'd used some of that old money to buy the team that he’d played for, that his son was now playing for.

  As for the Hunter I was supposed to watch over, most of my research came from what was widely available online and in grocery store checkout tabloids. You didn't even have to go to a sports website to read about Hunter. He was everywhere. People were obsessed with whatever Hunter was up to, and I was joining the fascination.

  The biggest news, aside from the recent Vegas stripper debacle, was Hunter’s very messy breakup with heiress Poppy Van Hausen. A year before, Hunter and Poppy had dated for six months and been engaged for another six months. They were the it-couple. They were American royalty. Various theories about what caused the breakup surfaced, most of them pointing the finger at a cheating Hunter.

  However, when I examined the timeline of stories, it appeared that Hunter had straightened out during his relationship with Poppy. It was after the breakup that he became hell-bent on living the life of a consummate bad boy, except even worse than before. I searched through the articles to see what might have happened, what changed in Hunter’s world that caused him to lash out. Was it all about the breakup? What was he trying to prove with the self-destructive behavior?

  I didn't have any answers.

  So, I planned to find out from the source itself. This was my strategy when arranging a client’s P.R. campaign. It wasn’t unlike psychology, which was my college minor. In order to help a client navigate the media, you had to understand what drove them in the first place.

  While it might have seemed like Hunter was just doing whatever the hell he wanted, he might actually have had a reason, whether or not he knew it. I needed to figure out what his motivators were before it was too late. I had to figure out what made Hunter tick, to prevent him from being a ticking time bomb.

  It was a full hour before Hunter graced us with his presence. His parents were openly furious about their son's lateness, but I used the opportunity to learn as much as I could about Hunter’s relationship with them, the sort of stuff that you can’t Google or read in press releases.

  Victoria was distant at first, but I could tell that beneath a few layers of socialite armor there was a mother who was legitimately concerned about her son.

  Hunter Sr. was a different story. He was a big man like his namesake. Although he was tanned and fit, his greying hair gave away his age. His demeanor was less than kind, and I noted that he was callous, abrasive, and checked out every woman in the club. I suddenly started to see where my client got it from.

  By the time Hunter waltzed into the room, Victoria and Mr. Daniels had told me that they were prepared to pull their support of their son if he didn't shape up. Hunter Sr., as the owner of the team, actually had the power to kick his son off of the Hawks.

  Hunter’s dad explained it to me. “He thinks he’s the entire team, but the Hawks could still go all the way without him. He might not like to admit it, but the rest of the team could survive just fine. The boy doesn’t understand the meaning of the word team. Hell, I’d take the risk if it meant that he’d get his shit together once and for all.”

  “So, it’s not an idle threat? You’d actually cut him from the team?” I had to clarify this in order to know what I was really up against.

  Without hesitation, Mr. Daniels nodded. “Junior won’t let himself believe that, but you had better drive it through his thick skull.”

  “Duly noted, sir,” I said, attempting to come off as confident as possible. The more I learned about the Daniels family, the more difficult I realized my job would be. I started to get nervous.

  Then I saw him.

  Haven Oaks Country Club might be immaculately decorated with fancy paintings and expensive sculptures, but Hunter was the real masterpiece in the room. Magazine covers and online blurbs did nothing to prepare me for this living, breathing Adonis.

  I'd seen him on TV, but he seemed taller in person. As he sauntered our way I couldn't help but check him out, and as I did so, his amber eyes met mine. I straightened my posture, crossing my legs as if to remind myself I had to behave. This was a professional relationship, strictly professional and nothing more.

  That didn’t do much to calm my heart down. I could tell he was checking me out, too. It was probably out of habit, but his expression remained unreadable. As he kept his eyes on me, I felt his lips when they spread in a smile—a dark promise for what he could do to me.

  Instantly, I pressed my thighs together and fought down a rush of electric ice.

  However, his smile faded quickly after that. Once his parents told him why I was there, his energy towards me became hostile. It hit me that this had been an ambush. His inconsiderate parents had just made my job much more difficult.

  And now we were going to be spending a lot of time together.

  Wonderful.

  Following Hunter out of the club, I worked at the first part of my plan—getting him to warm up to me. “Don’t think of me watching your every move,” I said with forced optimism. “Think of it more like a team effort, where we work together to help reshape the public’s opinion of you, show them how well-rounded you really are.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being shown how well-rounded you are,” he replied, clearly trying to throw me off my game with his blatant flirting. But I only gave him a tight, no-nonsense smile. I was determined to stay focused, smoldering amber eyes notwithstanding. Kicking ass at this job was everything to me right now.

  A limousine pulled up, and a chauffeur opened the door for me. I’d never been in a l
imo before. Hesitating, I scanned the inside, not entering it yet.

  “Mind sliding over?” Hunter asked in my ear.

  Heat slammed into my belly, then my head slammed on the roof. Wincing, I ignored his soft chuckle and scooted across the seat, going as far back as I could—away from him. He kept his distance, thankfully, settling on the seat across from me.

  His attention traced low, making me realize my skirt had pulled up a little bit from sliding across the seat and that Hunter was checking out my thigh. Blushing, I smoothed my skirt over my knees.

  “Too bad,” he said. “I was enjoying the view.” Hunter was determined to give me a hard time. If he thought he was going to break me and make me quit, he was wrong. He’d met his match.

  I could handle him.

  We drove for about an hour to a small airport in New York that I’d never been to—the kind of place where rich people kept their jets. It felt weird to get on a plane without having to wait in all the airport lines. I was extra glad for it, too, since I didn't have to try and make conversation for long before we were heading to our seats.

  When we did talk, I kept up a friendly, neutral, mostly one-sided conversation. It was the only armor I had—be as boring as I could be. Keep things cool and mellow. I had to, otherwise I'd have to dwell on the terrible things my brain wanted to throw at me thanks to Hunter's magnetic pull.

  Every woman on the planet feels this way around Hunter, I reminded myself. Get over it.

  I watched as a blonde bombshell of a flight attendant kept Hunter’s glass full of champagne while he stared out his window, sculpted jaw tense. I wondered what he was thinking about. Did he really hate the idea of having me around that much? Or was he just angry at his parents for controlling his life? I needed him to meet me at least part way, or I would never get through to him.

  “Ever been on a private jet before?” he asked, suddenly turning toward me.

  I jumped in my seat—could he tell I'd been staring at him this whole time? “Can’t say that I have.”

  “What about the mile-high club? I hear that's possible even in coach,” he said with more than just a hint of snark.

  I didn’t take the bait. “Also no, sadly. You?”

  “Well, if I told you, you might think that I’m some kind of bad boy.” He showed off his pearly teeth. I bet he'd never even needed braces as a kid.

  Lifting my eyebrows, I said, “Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

  Leaning back in his seat, he stretched his long legs in front of him. Guys like Hunter were born to fly in private jets, how could he ever fit in coach? “My parents tell you that and you believed them?"

  "Anyone in the world could tell me that, Hunter."

  Chuckling, he considered me from the corner of his eye. "Fair enough. Look, straight up, I'm not a fan of the fact that my parents hired a babysitter for me. Then again, I always had a thing for my sitter when I was a kid. Maybe we could find a way to get along, darling.”

  “How about you just call me Jo, ok?”

  He nodded slowly. “You're already asking me to do things, not a good sign. Don’t be too much of a hard ass, if you don't mind, sweetie.”

  My patience was fading. Just stay the course, reason with him. “Listen, Hunter, I’m not here to ruin your day or to stop you from having fun. I’m here to protect you. You have a lot going for you, and everyone just wants the best for you.”

  “That’s such bullshit,” Hunter said, his temper flaring in an instant like I’d seen back at the club. "I know you’re just another corporate stooge working for my folks. Don’t pretend to be on my side.” He turned to face the window, shoving in his earbuds and blasting his music so loud I could hear it.

  He wanted to ignore me? Fine. Two could play that game. I was glad I’d brought a new book on crisis management in P.R. There was no better way to distract yourself than a good book—for research or otherwise.

  And, normally, I could have zoned in anywhere else and forgotten where I was.

  Who I was with.

  But every time Hunter breathed in, I felt the air shift. It sent waves of heat my way, his scent like a fresh pine tree, like the air next to a forgotten train track. I could feel—Okay, I cut myself off. Now you're getting poetic about a guy because he's making your panties a little warm. Relax, Jo.

  To my relief, the attendant saved me from myself. "Would you like something to eat?" she asked, smiling sweetly. "Cookies, peanuts? They're only three dollars."

  My growling empty-since-breakfast stomach made me blurt out, “We're on a private jet and you're charging me for the snacks?” Immediately I clapped my hand over my mouth, but before I could apologize for my hangry words the flight attendant had already stalked away down the narrow aisle.

  “Someone's entitled,” Hunter snickered from his seat, tilting back the last of his champagne.

  “I'm not,” I shot back, returning to my book and regretting my embarrassing outburst. Now I was humiliated, hungry, and confused by how frustrated I was with how Hunter was ignoring me.

  To my shock, the attendant returned soon with a picture-perfect club on ciabatta, along with a cloth napkin, a bottle of sparkling water, a tiny bowl of green olives, and a bag of kettle chips.

  “You are a goddess,” I thanked the flight attendant, unable to conceal my delight. As I dug into the food with relish I noticed Hunter out of the corner of my eye. He was stifling a small grin at my quiet moans of pleasure.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “I could get used to this,” I said between bites.

  "Hang with me and you'll see what it's like to be pampered," he said, tucking one earbud back in. I was close to feeling regret—he was going to shut me out again—when I realized he'd slid one bud in.

  The other hung in his lap, leaving his ear open to me. Like he wanted to hear me speak.

  Or maybe . . .

  Just hear me moan as I ate my food.

  Either way, I felt better.

  Almost six hours later, we touched down at LAX. As we stepped off the plane, someone handed him a wardrobe bag. He hooked it over his shoulder, leading me out on the tarmac and to yet another limo.

  Hunter said, “You know this event is fancy, right? A dress-to-impress sort of deal? It’s at The Standard.”

  I hadn’t had a chance to pack, not knowing that I was about to be whisked directly from a meeting to an event across the country. It was almost like Hunter’s parents were setting me up to fail.

  Eyeing his wardrobe bag, I grimaced. I didn't know what The Standard was, but he said it was fancy . . . . Figuring the best way to prove myself Hunter’s equal was to appear to be in control at all times, I said, “Don't worry about me. I just need to make a quick stop. I’ll meet you there.”

  He squinted at me dubiously. Even with a wrinkled forehead, he still looked great. "You'll meet me? You're sure?"

  "Of course, it'll be fine!" I put on my best I’ve-got-this-covered smile and even did a silly wink. The instant the limo drove off with Hunter in it, I panic-texted my sister. I tapped out: I AM SO SCREWED. I need a ‘dress to impress’ dress for a party at The Standard, and I have no idea where to look. LOS ANGELES!!! What is my life?

  Lanie texted back: LA? Cool! I just Googled. There’s a trendy boutique near The Standard called Lace Park. It closes in ten minutes, but I just called and the manager says they’ll stay open for an extra half hour. Uber there ASAP.

  I sent her a smiley face. You’re a lifesaver

  Lanie responded: You can do this, Jo. Make sure you pick a good dress. Black, short, and strappy is your friend.

  I kept my fingers crossed that Hunter wouldn’t get into too much trouble during the time I Uber'd to the shop. What could he possibly fuck up in fifteen minutes?

  I decided to hurry, anyway.

  The second I stepped inside, I knew I was out of my element. I didn't feel comfortable in this kind of shop around these kinds of dresses, which were as artfully arranged as museum pieces.

  I
was much more used to department store suits and workout gear for climbing. Most of the dresses in my closet at home were a few years old. I was terribly out of date, my only references were the crazy outfits celebrities wore to Galas and the like.

  I froze in the doorway, breaking into a cold sweat and trying to decide if I should call Lanie in panic mode or just make a run for it. Thankfully, a peppy young shop girl with teak skin, layers of gold jewelry, and the brightest smile I’d ever seen rushed to my aid. “Hey there! Welcome! Are you Jo?”

  “Yes!” I accidentally shouted back in my relief. Then: "Wait, you know who I am?"

  “Your sister called, she said you'd be coming and to look for—what did she say?" She tapped her chin. "Something like 'the woman who looks terrified.'"

  Oh, good ol' Lanie. "That's me," I mumbled.

  "She told us you needed some wardrobe nine-one-one. What’s the occasion?”

  “I need a dress for a fancy cocktail event,” I babbled. “I’ve been told to get something black, short, and strappy. That’s all I know. Help.”

  “It’s your lucky day,” the shop girl continued with enthusiasm. “We just got something perfect in, black silk and just a little bit of lace."

  My rapid pulse finally slowed as I realized what excellent hands I was in. The shop girl whisked herself away and returned with a black, fitted, super sexy number. Before that day, I would have never even considered buying anything like it.

  It was entirely not me. Surely, this girl saw that, too. I waited for her to break out into laughter. I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights again, but the shop girl was on my side. “Trust me, you’re going to rock this,” she said.

  I tried the dress on in the fitting room and looked in the mirror. It was quite a departure from my usual selection that Lanie often called “boring.” While I didn't feel at all myself wearing something so clingy, I knew I had to do whatever it took to be able to stick by Hunter’s side during the event. I had to look the part to make it all happen.