INHERITANCE GOALS
by MCKENNA JAMES
COPYRIGHT© 2019 Inheritance Goals by Mckenna James
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
COPYRIGHT© 2019 Inheritance Goals by Mckenna James
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Also by Mckenna James
MEET MCKENNA
CHAPTER ONE
Madison
I smiled with a sense of accomplishment as I approached the Orlando Hurricanes' training facility. Things were finally looking up, finally moving in the direction my life deserved.
“Miss, are you the Madison Charles?” the security guard questioned as he examined my new ID. He rolled his eyes upward to glance at me, and I flashed him a gleaming smile, noticing his name badge read Carson.
“The one and only.”
Carson smirked and handed the ID card. “Have a great day, Ms. Charles.
I pulled forward into the shadow of Hurricane Stadium and was greeted by the building-sized banner of my ex-boyfriend, Bryce Willheight.
Bryce was one of the final two obstacles I had left to face before owning the Hurricanes. The other, of course, was the Board of Trustees. Three crusty old men who believed a woman’s place was nowhere near a football field. But my father, who passed away a few months ago, had other ideas. His plan? For me to run the team.
I glanced in the back seat at the framed law degree and the newly framed MBA diploma and felt a sense of pride much larger than anything I had ever experienced in life. The MBA had been at the top of my father’s unspoken list of things that made an owner successful. It had been the cherry atop the law degree.
Before Dad passed away, he made it perfectly clear to the trustees who would be running the team and that his daughter, assuming she was responsible enough and had shown the wherewithal to run a professional team, would take over management of the Hurricanes. And there I was, ready to do so. Though they had yet to turn over the reins, instead giving me a vice president of blah blah blah job. There was another vote today, just like there had been every two weeks.
“Of course!” I hit the steering wheel to release my immediate frustration as I glared at the car parked in the spot reserved for the team’s owner. The personalized license plate left no doubt who the Mercedes-Benz McLaren belonged to. Bryce.
My contract with the team clearly stated there would be no personal involvement with any player, staff, or cheerleader. Everyone who worked for the organization had to sign the same agreement, so I wasn’t special in that sense. Except not everyone in the organization had dated the star player back in college.
I snarled at Bryce’s Mercedes and pulled into a visitor parking spot, grabbed my purse and bag, and got out just as Gus Margoles was exiting the training facility. Gus, a grandfatherly-looking man, waved and hurried to my car. He was in bad need of a treadmill and low-carb diet. Dad often spoke of Gus’ poor health and lifestyle. But they were best friends, so Dad chose to say nothing.
“Hey, Gus,” I said and locked the car. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” I felt sure it would be the day the trustees awarded me the team, removing the V.P. title and allowing my father’s wishes to be granted.
“Supposed to rain,” he said grumpily. “Tomorrow too.”
Gus knew exactly how to take someone’s wind out of their sails. I’d known him as long as I could remember. My father, George, and Gus grew up best friends. They went to school high school together, attended college together, and Dad always made sure Gus had a job. I couldn't count the number of Christmases and Thanksgivings we spent with Gus’ family at our house. But even though Gus and my father were best friends before he died, I knew Gus didn’t want to relinquish the management of the team. He also reported to the trustees. Next to Bryce being the star quarterback, this obstacle was a close second.
“You’ll have an office in both the training facility and the stadium,” Gus said. He coughed and cleared his throat. I figured Gus wasn’t far behind my father. He checked his watch and grumbled, “Can never get the tight-ends and receivers here when they’re supposed to be. Bunch of divas.”
“Thought it was voluntary workouts for two weeks,” I said.
“Yeah, and they need the most help. Come on.”
We entered the single-story facility together, and my attention was quickly stolen. Immediately inside the entrance was a life-size image of Bryce, in his uniform, football in hand and ready to throw. Even through the facemask, you could see his pearly white teeth, perfect smile, and gorgeous eyes. His biceps bulged, and as my eyes trailed down his body, I noticed other things bulging as well. I was sure he enjoyed the sight of himself.
“Madison,” Gus said. “Madison?”
“Sorry, Gus.” I fanned my hand over my face as I lied. “Must be the heat.” Yeah, the thousand degrees of hotness coming off Bryce’s picture. Shunning him from my mind was going to be the most difficult challenge I’d ever faced.
“Uh-huh,” Gus said. He pointed at Bryce’s image. “That going to be a problem? You know what your contract says.” Gus’ tone was pointed and direct, telling in no certain words that employee fraternization would not be tolerated.
“That”—I pointed to the banner—“hasn’t been a problem in years.” I was irritated that Gus would even assume such a thing. “My father’s intentions were clear, Gus. He wanted me to run this team in a professional manner, and that’s what I plan to do. Bryce and I are in the past. We both have a job to do. I’m sure he has moved on anyway.” You can do this. Ignore Bryce and show these Neanderthals what you’re capable of.
Dismissing my explanation, Gus glanced down at his watch as if he were bored or impatient—I wasn’t sure which, and replied, “I’ve got a meeting with the board in five,” as he pulled a map from his pocket. “We’ve moved some things around. Take the next hour and familiarize yourself with the new layout. Introduce yourself to the staff. Most know who you are and that someday you’ll be their boss.”
I liked the sound of that, but it didn’t answer the question. “When?” I asked abruptly. It wouldn’t be the last time I questioned the board’s, or Gus’, decision making.
Gus shook his head. I knew he hated the position he was in. I hated it for him. But I kept my side of the bargain with my father. “When the board thinks you’re ready.” He shook his head, obviously aggravated.
“I am ready, Gus. You know that. And you know Dad wanted for me to take my rightful place as president of the Hurricanes sooner rather than later. I’ve shown you and those assholes on the board that I’m capable.”
“There are a lot of things to consider, Madison. You have a five-year-old brother, remember?”
I wanted to scream. Not because of my little brother, but because they always had excuses as to why they wouldn’t promote me. When it did happen, when I was finally promoted as president, I would dissolve the board and create my own. “A brother I love dearly. And a brother who will take over someday when I have this team running the way it should.” I cringed as I bit my lower lip and then looked away, knowing Gus was doing everything possible to make the Hurricanes professional football’s shining star. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just know that I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do, and all I get is V.P. of Employee Relations. A made-up title to try to appease me. Your job will always be safe with me, Gus.”
“Take a look around the facility, and we’ll meet up in a few hours to talk. I’ll let you know what the trustees say.” Gus shoved his sunglasses over his large nose and fiddled with his watch, a habit he had whenever he felt nervous.
“I look forward to it, Gus.” I kissed him on the cheek and watched him leave. Part of me felt sorry for Gus for being put in this position. The trustees had him by the balls, and he had turned into a yes man. I almost thought he enjoyed managing the team a little too much.
I kissed him on the cheek and watched him leave. When I turned, a staff member walked by, carrying a life-size cardboard cutout of Bryce. “Perfect,” I muttered. The employee left the building, and I continued down the hall, hoping that to be the last image of Bryce I had to see for the day. Of course, I knew I'd see his image all over the property and, eventually, him, but I had no idea how hard it would be when our paths would finally cross. I had both dread and excitement at the thought of seeing him.
I entered the first room on the left and moved to the windows overlooking the training field. The turf, thick and dark-green, had a large Hurricane logo in the center. Shirtless men built like Roman gods ran sprints and threw footballs. Sweat and tight pants filled my entire view. I was almost the owner of sixty hard bodies. It made me smile until I looked around and noticed an absence … Bryce.
I’d spent half my college life watching Bryce practice at Alabama Tech. Of course, I had books and notes to study to keep myself busy, but Bryce had the body and charm that made you want to stare at him for hours at a time. I clenched my fists and tried to erase the image from my mind. If I wanted to someday own the team and follow in my father’s footsteps, there were certain things I had to do after I left college. One of those things was to break it off with Bryce and head to Harvard to finish a law degree. I needed to keep that at the forefront of my mind.
Everyone was sure Bryce would be taken in the first round of the draft, and then he would end up spending all his time on the field or in some room with a bunch of guys studying football plays. I talked myself into the fact that things were probably going to fall apart anyway. So, I did it. After the last game had been played, we went out for a romantic dinner. Bryce knew exactly how to swoon a woman. He knew every button to push. He also knew his way around a woman’s body. One advantage of breaking it off with him was that I didn’t have to worry about the competition anymore.
“You guys should have won,” I said and sipped my drink, Sex on the Beach, slurping up all the alcohol that had drifted to the bottom. A lightweight when it came to drinking, I instantly felt a bit tipsy even before I finished the first glass. But tipsy meant breaking the news would numb my pain. Unlike mine, Bryce’s future was secure. The pros had him on their radar. He would be fine.
“Yeah,” Bryce said. “One shitty call by the referees killed us. I had a good game, though.” He reached across the table and held my hand, his thumb pressing into my palm, a signal we’d be making love after dinner. He shot me the shit-eating grin that melted my heart every time he smiled. “My agent thinks I'll be a top-three pick. Know what that means?”
I shrugged and looked away. Of course, I knew what it meant. It meant Bryce would be on top of the world. Fame and fortune. He would be okay without me. Everything would be okay.
“It means we start the dream we always talked about. A big house, nice cars, a couple of kids. If we have a boy, we’ll name him Bryce Junior.” Bryce smiled, but I didn’t. I was about to rip his heart out. “Why’re you acting all weird? You haven’t said two words since we left school. Are you pregnant? Cause if you are, we’ll have plenty of money.” The smirk on his face was full of pride.
One thing about Bryce, he accepted responsibility for all his actions no matter how admiral or negative they were. Nobody ever doubted the kind of person he was. “Bryce,” I said. “We need to talk.”
He let go of my hand; his eyes already knew what my lips were about to utter. “What’s up, Mads?” Mads was his pet name for me that is typically only used with an air of hindrance. If he thought a serious conversation was about to ensue, or when he thought I was upset with him over something, which wasn’t very often.
“You know I want to run the Hurricanes,” I said. It was all I ever talked about. Of course he knew. “And with my father’s ailing health, I need to do everything I can to make that happen.”
“So what’re you saying, Mads?” His left eye twitched as he strummed his fingers on the table.
I glanced around at the other people lost in conversation. Bryce had a temper, and as soon as I told him I was leaving, there was no telling what his reaction would be. He’d never been abusive or called me names, but on the field, he was a stick of dynamite waiting to explode.
“I’ve been accepted to Harvard.” I waited for it to sink in. He noticed me picking my nails, which was a nervous habit I had.
“Online classes?” Bryce asked, hopeful. He stopped strumming.
“Of course not, Bryce. I’m moving to Boston. I have to.” I paused again, this time ready to cry.
Bryce crossed his arms and stared across the table. His eyes narrowed, and his jaws clenched. “You can’t. We have plans, Mads, remember?” He clasped his hands together and squeezed, hard.
“I am,” I said. “I leave tomorrow. There are things I need to do before classes begin.”
“You can go to school in the city that drafts me,” he said solemnly. “There are good graduate schools all over the country. My agent thinks I’ll end up in Cali or even on a Florida team. Hell, maybe your father will draft me.”
The Hurricanes had the twelfth pick in the draft. Bryce would be gone by the time the Hurricanes selected a player. “No,” I said. “I need to do this right. I need to guarantee my spot as the owner because of my accomplishments and not because of my father. Every decision I make will be scrutinized, Bryce. Everyone in the league will be watching my rise to ownership. And as they watch, they will also be looking for ways to tear me down.”
Bryce shook his head as he cleared his throat, swallowing down the anger he couldn't express. He stood, refusing to look at me as he tossed his napkin on the table and grabbed the waiter’s arm when he passed by. He handed the waiter a hundred-dollar bill and then left the restaurant. He never spoke to me again.
“Ma’am?”
I turned from the window and sighed. If I kept letting my emotions drag me back to the college days, I would never get the team. I thought about the relaxation app on my phone. I could really use the sounds of birds and water and the wind rustling trees. It was my go-to when anxiety started to rear its ugly head. I had a lot of money, but not even the money could chase away worry.
“Miss Charles, it’s good to see you.” The woman’s smile lit up the room.
I stared at the woman for a long moment, and then the lightbulb in my mind came on. “May Nells? Damn.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s so good to see you,” May said. “I hear you’re our new V.P. of Employee Relations
.” She rolled her eyes. For some reason, I knew it was in defense of me and not a jab.
I nodded and glanced at the stack of papers in May’s hands. I looked at May’s name badge. “Player coordination?” I asked. “What happened?
May nodded. “Shortly after your father died, the board demoted me. Said they needed fresh blood in the front office with Gus. What they meant to say was that they wanted a young blonde with big breasts, a nice ass, and legs that never stayed closed.” She saw the sad look on my face. “It’s okay; I saw it coming. They didn’t cut my pay, thankfully. I thought they realized I knew a little too much to get rid of me.” She smiled again. “Your father was a good man. You’ll be a fine owner someday.”
“You being demoted is bullshit.” I took a handful of copies from May and helped her place them on the desks in the room. “Once I’m running the team, you’ll be back in the front office, May.”
May laid out the last copy and took a seat at one of the small desks, her hips barely squeezing into the chair. “It really doesn’t matter. I’ll be retiring soon.” She leaned toward me as I took a seat. “You know those old bastards don’t want to give up control of the team. Especially to a woman.”
“Especially to a woman,” I repeated. “Too fucking bad. Nobody is going to stand in my way. I’ve worked too hard to not follow in my father’s footsteps.”
“What are you smiling about, Miss Charles?” May asked curiously.
I glanced at the closed door. Voices echoed from down the hallway. “I think we can help each other out. You game?”
“Bet your britches,” May said.
“I’ll be in touch.” I stood and approached the door. “May?” She nodded. “Your title is bullshit too. And I promise to change that.” I left the room as the first group of sweaty men approached the door. Luckily, none of them were Bryce.
I continued down the hall, looking into empty rooms where I could see through the windows that some players were still out on the practice field. Still no Bryce. An injury? Stayed out late last night at one of the clubs several of the players hit nightly? I passed the locker-room entrance and stopped, backing up and stopping again. I glanced up and down the empty hallway and then pushed open the entrance, stepping inside what was generally the men's only club.
Inheritance Goals: A Sports Romance Page 1
