My Playboy Fiance

by Katerina Cole

  “I’m not worried, darlin’. I'm going to be fine wherever I go. But I have loved this team since I was a kid, and I'd hate to see it fall apart. I have Warrior blood. It runs through my veins.”

  He rose from his seat and my eyes followed the chiseled lines of his body. God, he was unbelievable. In a dangerous way.

  “Me too,” I replied softly. At least that was the truth.

  I had to shake the haze.

  “Thank you for stopping by, Dylan. I appreciate your input. I’ll have an update for the team soon. I have several meetings this afternoon and the rest of the week. It’s going to take a little time, that’s all.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince.

  He flashed a smile showing his beautiful white teeth. And winked. That tingle between my legs sparked as he walked away.

  “Good to know.” He slapped the doorframe as he walked out of my office. “I look forward to hearing from you, Vanessa.”

  7

  Vanessa

  I stared at the empty doorway. What just happened?

  I wasn’t ready for the emotions that spilled through me from every direction. I was excited. Thrilled a man like Dylan James had flirted with me. At least, it seemed like flirting. I chewed my lip, questioning my judgement. Dylan had done something else though—he reminded me I wasn’t cut out for this. There were a hundred men in the locker room who agreed with him.

  No one had faith in me. They didn’t think I was capable of leading the team. And, damn it, I wasn’t.

  My headed dropped to the cool surface of the desk. What was I going to do?

  I jumped when I heard Candy clear her throat. She gleefully held up a white paper bag. “I have lunch,” she announced.

  I pushed back from the desk and plastered on a smile. “Thank you. I'm starving.”

  “No problem.” She placed the paper bag in front of me. I tore into it, hungry for food and a distraction. It was easier to eat than to think about how angry everyone was.

  “I passed Dylan James in the lobby. Did you have a meeting?”

  I could feel the pink on my cheeks. "Yes. He stopped by to discuss a few things.”

  I saw the smile on her lips. It was either wishful thinking, or she knew things about him. I couldn’t tell which.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here to show him in.”

  I spoke through a mouthful of chicken salad. “It’s fine. He let himself in.”

  “Watch out for that one.” She giggled. “He’s a sweet talker.”

  “Oh?” I wanted her to tell me every piece of dirt she knew about the wide receiver.

  She nodded. “He’ll say whatever he has to, to get a girl he wants. Just be careful. He’s only in it for the fun.”

  I blinked. “But you’re ok with that? Right?”

  “Oh yeah. I love fun. He’s great for that, but he’s not exactly boyfriend material.”

  I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. It was completely inappropriate as her boss.

  “I don’t think that will be an issue. I’m not having personal relationships with team members,” I stated it as if that could erase the way I reacted to Dylan and Isaac.

  She shrugged. “That’s your business. But, you only have 15 minutes until Steve Drucker arrives. He's the PR director."

  I shoved chicken salad in my mouth, wishing it was already the end of the day. I didn't know if I could take another round of hearing how awful the Warriors were and how unfairly everyone had been treated.

  “Where’s Charlie? I thought she was my grandfather’s go-to.” She’s had cleaned up more than one mess for this team. No one could believe how she had turned Luke Canton’s career around. She was a miracle worker. I needed one of those right now.

  “Charlie Maine is a freelancer. Want me to call her and see if we can get her in the office this week?”

  “No, it’s all right. I’ll meet with Steve first and go from there.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded. “Let me know when he’s here,” I replied. It wasn’t Candy’s fault I was having a shitty day.

  “I sure will.” She smiled. "And if you have any more meetings with half naked members of the team you can let me know." She winked as she left the room.

  I barely had time to collect my thoughts before the PR meeting.

  The door opened and in walked a short man with a receding hairline and wearing a suit that looked as if he had pulled it from his dad's closet. I pressed the napkin to my lips to stifle a giggle.

  “Ms. McCade, I'm Steve Drucker, the Warriors PR Director.” He shoved his hand across the desk. “Sorry about your grandfather. He’ll be missed around here.”

  I took his hand. He had the kind of handshake that crushed my fingers until they were numb. I tried not to grimace.

  “Thank you. I’ve heard a lot about my grandfather today. Nice to meet you, Steve. I'm anxious to hear your thoughts on the direction of the franchise. I should go ahead and warn you, I'm only gathering information today." It seemed like a good disclaimer to have at this point. “I’ve had a lot thrown at me, and its only lunch.” I tried a softer approach with him, just clinging to the idea that maybe this guy could be my ally in the company.

  He shook his head. “We have to do more than that.” He was frantic. His face was red, and his forehead was dotted with perspiration. "We have to act immediately. There’s really no time."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked. I wasn't in the mood to make any kind of decisions. It felt as if every time I took a breath, more of the floor moved out from under me. I couldn’t catch my footing.

  "Our numbers are in the nightmare range," he explained. "I've never seen them this low." He shoved a piece of paper in front of me scattered with charts and graphs. I tried to read the fine print at the bottom of each bar graph.

  I looked at him. "What does this mean? Why don't you explain it to me?"

  "Ms. McCade, the Warriors are the least popular team in the league. We need to act fast and do something that brings them back into the fans’ hearts."

  "I don't understand." I shook my head. It didn't make sense. The Warriors meant Texas football. People loved Texas football. They grew up either a Warriors or Wranglers fan. There was no way our numbers could be this terrible. He had to be exaggerating.

  His cheeks puffed as he tried to settle his breath. "Ever since your grandfather died, we’ve lost massive amounts of ticket sales. The team is angry. Now that he’s gone, there are stories that have leaked to the press. People know that management isn’t spending money. The players are ready to jump ship. And that doesn’t make any of the fans happy. No player wants to come here and practically all of them want to leave.”

  I stared at him in complete disbelief. The ground shifted again. “Well, do you know a way to fix it? Should we bring Charlie Maine in? I knew my grandfather trusted her and she did such a good job with—”

  He cut me off. “No, we don’t need Charlie.” He looked annoyed. “I have a plan.”

  I felt uneasy. There was nothing reassuring about Steve. At least with Charlie, there was some successful team history. She was tough as nails, but her methods worked.

  “What is the plan you propose?” I asked, skeptical he could fix this with a marketing strategy.

  “It’s a radical idea, but I’m counting on it to work.”

  “Ok. What is it? I’m listening. If there is a way to fix the nightmare, then let's do it. I don't want any of the players to leave. We need them. The season starts in two weeks. We can’t have opening night with an empty bench.”

  Steve looked at me, forming a thin line with his lips. I could tell he was used to living at a frantic pace. Everything he did was quick and fast. All his movements were erratic. Maybe that was the life of a PR director, I didn't know. He made me feel anything but calm. I wondered if working for the Warriors did this to him.

  “I think there is a way to show the fans that the team loves the new ownership. The players are excited about the new changes. It’s
a way that will bring ownership and the team together in an unbelievable way. It’s going to give us great press. Positive stories. Headlines that could last us the entire season.”

  "What is it? I'd love to hear this fantastic idea of yours." At this point I would take any ideas. I didn't have a single one. I had no plan how to rebuild the team my grandfather had run into the ground with his greed. He had reaped all the rewards and benefits while he worked them into exhaustion and hatred.

  I waited for Steve to give me the magical answer.

  “Ms. McCade, you need to get engaged.”

  I had been able to prevent it all morning, but the ground gave way as if there were a gaping hole under the desk. I staggered, grabbing the edge.

  “What are you talking about? Engaged? I’m not even seeing anyone.”

  “Yes. Engaged. I checked into your personal life before this meeting. You’re going to need to up your profile activity on social media by the way. You haven’t posted anything in months.”

  I stared at him. “This has something to do with how many vacation pictures I post?”

  Steve chuckled. “No, sorry—off track. You need to get engaged to one of the Warriors.”

  I felt my heart beat in my chest, pounding wildly. My palms became sweaty. I didn't know if I had enough space in my ribcage to take a full breath. My chest was closing in on me.

  “Are you crazy? That’s your plan? You want me to marry one of the football players? That’s not even possible. I can’t do that. It’s unprofessional. Unethical. No way.”

  He presented another graph. I didn't bother to look at it. Nothing made sense right now. I just had to keep myself from falling through the floor, and sinking deeper into this universe of nonsense he had created.

  “If you look at the numbers here,” he explained. “You'll see that fans react well to interpersonal relationships with the team. And I don’t think interpersonal relationships get any stronger than engagement. You are a young beautiful woman who has just inherited the team. A team that has sent out a clear message of hatred toward ownership. But if one of these guys will agree to be your fiancé, at least through the end of the season, then it will look as if he represents the entire team and that the team is united. They don't hate ownership, they love ownership. Love ownership so much that one of their own is going to marry her."

  “This is the most insane thing I have ever heard.”

  “Just listen, Vanessa. This one man will represent the entire team. You’ll be like their queen bee. And he is the figurehead who says to the world the whole team would marry you if they could.”

  “There’s no way. I have only met a few of them today. And on top of that, I don't want to get married. My grandfather just died. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” I waved my hands in the air, I knew I was acting as erratic as Steve, but it felt like the world was spinning out of control. “I'm not getting married. It's not going to happen.”

  “We can spin this several ways. Think about all the support you need in your time of grief. Falling for someone during that time would make sense to the fans.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not getting married.”

  “Listen, you don't have to actually marry anyone. You only have to be engaged for the season. We need the publicity. And there's nothing better for publicity than a love story,” he assured me.

  “Your love story will change the entire perception of the team. You can turn everything around for the Warriors. It’s your job to protect this corporation. Isn't that what you want?”

  My eyes flashed to his. “Of course that's what I want. I don't want the team to fall apart. But what you are suggesting is a lie. You want us to trick the fans and mislead them. I can't do that.”

  Steve looked agitated. He pressed his palms into the front of my grandfather's desk. The desk that was now mine. I noticed how worn his fingernails were. He was the nervous type. The kind that chewed his nails to the quick when he didn't know what else to do. It was a gross habit. I was starting to dislike him more and more.

  “Vanessa, I have come to you with the perfect solution. This will get the team on your side. This will get the press on your good side. I’d rather roll out a plan for positive press than try to deal with the fallout of a scandal.

  “Think about it this way. Staying in the headlines will lead to the higher paying stations wanting a better schedule for their lineups. Imagine Sunday Night Football. Monday Night Football. They call that money. And money equals higher paid players. Do you see where I'm going with this? It's all connected. The more money you bring in, the more you pay the guys. The more negotiating power you have to find better coaches and trainers. It just keeps getting better, and everyone is happy.” He folded his arms across his chest, remaining still for the first time since I had met him.

  There was something to his argument. As insane and ludicrous as it sounded, I saw where he was going. If the Warriors really were somewhere on this confusing list of spreadsheets and graphs labeled as the most unpopular team in America, I had to do something to get them back on top. I knew that much.

  I might not have wanted to inherit the team, but I did. They were my responsibility now.

  I inhaled. “And if I did go along with this PR stunt, who do you think is going to volunteer to be my fiancé?” I folded my arms to match his. There was no way this would work.

  He grinned. “Why don't we get the team involved? I think they might enjoy it. It could bring a real sense of unity to everyone right now.”

  “I thought you might already have someone in mind. A candidate for fake fiancé status?” I questioned him. “Someone the public would accept immediately.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I think involving the guys will bring a sense of team togetherness they haven’t had in a long time. Could be exactly what they need.”

  I felt my mouth go dry. Was he seriously suggesting that the team decide who was going to play the role of my fiancé?

  “The guys will love a little competition. You'll see. Let me handle the details for you. It's going to work out. It's a brilliant plan.” I watched as he collected the scattered graphs he had strewn next to my lunch.

  “Competition? No way. Absolutely not. I don’t want that,” I argued. I already regretted my decision. Had I actually agreed to go along with this idea?

  “It’s going to work. Let me talk to the guys. It’s going to be fine. I’ll handle everything from here on out.” His words were meant to reassure me, but instead they made me feel sick. I didn't want the future of the team in his hands. What was worse was that I knew my future rested in those grimy palms too.

  8

  Isaac

  I looked sideways at Dylan. I didn’t know why Steve Drucker had called a team meeting. Hell, I didn't know he had the power to call a team meeting. I looked around the room. There were no coaches. There were no trainers or staff members. There were only offensive players. And when I looked at the offense, I realized Sam wasn't here and neither was Ben or Luke. Where was our damn quarter back?

  I shoved Dylan in the ribs with my elbow.

  What do you think is going on here? Where’s Luke?” I asked.

  “Hell if I know,” he responded. “But this is some weird shit.”

  Steve walked to the head of the table and sat. He looked like a dwarf in this room, surrounded by professional athletes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and stared out at us. He cleared his throat.

  “Thanks for coming guys. I have something I need to run by you.”

  I wondered if he was sent in instead of human resources to talk about the ways the team might be cut. How staffing might change. How we could lose some of our trainers, or even more of our equipment. But we were down to the bare-bones. I didn’t see how we could become any more of a skeleton then we already were.

  This was fucked up. We’d had a rough practice. The sun was killer this time of year. If they thought we would sweat and bleed on the field and then come in here to get the crap k
icked out of us, I was going to say something.

  “Here's the deal,” Steve started. “We have a unique situation since Mr. McCade passed away and left the Warriors to his granddaughter Vanessa. Some of you may have met her today. It was her first day in the office. A big day for her. A historic day for the team, certainly.” He looked at each one of us.

  “What I'm going to say in this room must stay in this room from this point forward.” He opened the folder on his desk and retrieved a stack of papers. He began to pass them from player to player.

  I read the title when I received my sheet. It read, nondisclosure agreement. Dylan punched me in the side before I had a chance to hit him.

  “What the fuck is this?” I saw the crease on his forehead.

  I shrugged.

  “Gentlemen, I need you to read every single line, every sentence, every word on this piece of paper before I continue,” Steve directed. “If you do not, or are not willing to sign this NDA then I must ask that you leave the room now before I proceed with the information.”

  Fuck. I didn't know if we were about to join a cult, give away our firstborn, or inherit a chunk of the Warriors’ dividends. The room felt heavy and thick. I could tell everyone was weighing the options. But no one stood to leave. Instead, I watched as my teammates signed the documents and tossed them back to the head of the table where Steve sat. Dylan and I exchanged looks before we each signed on the bottom line.

  Steve clasped his hands together. “Now that that is taken care of, I do want to make sure that you know if you violate the NDA in any way we will come after you with the full force of the Warrior's legal team.”

  I was tired of his bullshit. “Just tell us what the fuck you have to say, Steve,” I barked. “We signed your damn NDA. You can cut the threats.”