“You planning on doing the same?”
“No. I plan to make a profit and to win.”
He sat back slowly and folded his arms. His face told her nothing, but she got the sense that she wasn’t what he’d been expecting, so that was a point for her side. “Your thoughts?” Tasha asked.
“First, what are your plans for the GM position?”
“That’s up to you, but I’m hoping we can work together.”
“And if we can’t?”
“I replace you.”
Hazel returned with their drinks. Tasha picked up her purse to grab her wallet only to have him say, “I got it.”
“Thank you.” She was accustomed to paying her own way, but she knew when to defer.
They both took a few sips and set the drinks down on the table. He went back to studying her so Tasha picked up the menu. It wasn’t extensive but offered a nice variety of everything from appetizers and sandwiches to full-course entrées. “What’s good here?”
“I’m the owner, so everything.”
She shot him an amused glance over the top of her menu and returned to the selections.
“Scampi’s the special tonight,” he pointed out. “If you’re a seafood lover, you can’t beat it.”
She studied the menu a few moments longer. Once she made her decision, she handed it over to the waiting, cool-eyed Hazel. “I’ll have the scampi.”
Hazel nodded. “What about you, Drew?”
“Same here.”
“I’ll get these in.” Before departing, she gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. Tasha wondered if they were lovers.
Tasha’s statement about replacing him as GM still hung between them like a pass on its way downfield. She figured he’d respond sooner or later so she turned back to the stage. The vocalist was now covering an Anita Baker tune. “She has an excellent voice. Who is she?”
“Lauren Russell.”
“Do you have entertainment every night?”
“Yes. If we don’t have a nationally known performer, we bring in someone local like Lauren. One of the advantages of having a club here in Detroit is that the city’s full of talent.”
“Who runs the club during football season?”
“Hazel. And she does it so well, I don’t even know why I’m here half the time other than to schmooze with the bigwigs.”
“Good employees are a godsend these days.”
“Yeah, they are. You own your own brokerage firm?”
“I do.” She wasn’t surprised he’d checked her out.
“People have issues with you being female?”
“When I first started on the Street, yes, but I’m a Bloom and I can break balls with the best of them. They’ve learned to give me my props.”
His eyebrow rose.
“Just being honest.” She picked up her drink and took another small sip. “Probably one of the reasons my grandfather made that outrageous wedding proposal. Sometimes, I don’t play well with others.”
That brought out his first smile. She was glad to see he knew how to. She was beginning to wonder.
“So, are you planning on breaking mine?”
“Only if you think they need it.”
He shook his head almost imperceptibly and looked away.
“Hopefully, I’m not what you expected.”
“Definitely not.”
She raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to the unexpected.”
Their meals arrived shortly after. Just as he’d promised, the scampi served over pasta was excellent. “You have a great chef, Mr. Davis.”
“Thanks.”
“And while I’m being on my best behavior, I need to get something else out in the open. I really do want us to work together.”
He glanced up from his plate. “Why?”
“You know the game. I saw you in the Super Bowl against Dallas. You had a record-setting day, 427 yards. Five touchdowns. You brought your team back from twenty points down at the half to win by seventeen. Most amazing performance I’d ever seen then or since.”
“You sound like you were there.”
“I was. Owner Bob Giraldi’s box. He and my grandfather were good friends.” She paused for a moment, then said seriously, “If you don’t want to work with me, tell me now so I don’t waste my time or yours.”
Walker Bloom’s granddaughter was definitely not what Drew expected. Instead of the pampered little BAP he’d been anticipating and prepared to dismiss, he was seated across from a blunt, in-your-face babe who looked like a million bucks. From the sleek hair to the classy, skinny-strapped black dress, to the jewel-encrusted sandals that showed off her painted toes, she was a stunner who had no problems calling herself a ballbuster. He supposed her fierce confidence was rooted in how she was raised and who she was raised by. Any man trying to get next to her would get a real run for his money. “So, let’s say that I say, yes. Then what?”
“I say, I need you to be more specific. I don’t deal in what-ifs. You’re either in or out, Mr. Davis.”
Her response left him feeling someplace between offended and amused. “You’re pretty tough.”
She flashed him a gorgeous, man-melting smile. “Thanks.”
Arousal brushed him like the wings of a passing butterfly. Yeah, he thought. A serious run for the money.
“In or out?”
“In. Even if you don’t think you need me.”
“Oh, I need you. I already admitted that.”
It was a statement that could be viewed on several levels. Her shining eyes teased as if she knew that, too. “Are you flirting, Ms. Bloom?”
“Probably not, but I did have a huge crush on you in high school. I don’t know if you remember the day you threw me those passes? Cloud nine for weeks.”
“And now?”
“I’ve grown out of it, of course.”
Just when he thought he had her pegged again, she flipped the script. “You always this honest?”
“In the brokerage business, being dishonest can you get five to fifteen, so I tend to tell the truth.”
Drew didn’t know when he’d lost control of the situation. She’d somehow become the quarterback and he was riding the bench in his street clothes. All arrogance aside, most of the women he encountered tended to be starstruck by his prominence and celebrity and, as a result, either played coy and hard to get or were flat out let’s hit the sheets. He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with this breed of woman. She exuded a come-hither kind of sexiness that had you so dazzled you didn’t see the nine millimeter in her hand until it was hard against your temple. He wondered how many men had lost their balls underestimating her.
Her next question broke into his thoughts. “Besides the salary upgrade, is there anything else you want added to your new contract?”
“Bonus money for making the play-offs and more if we win the league championship.” He thought that might sack her, but it didn’t.
“No problem with that. Do you have some free time this week so we can sit down and talk about that? I also need to hear your take on what the team needs going into the season.”
“What about tomorrow? The sooner we get up to speed, the sooner the team and I’ll know whether you’re serious or just bullshitting.”
If the barb struck bone she didn’t show it. He reminded himself to never play poker with her.
Tasha felt the barb. It was barely a sting, however, because he was right. Both he and the team needed to see results in order to take her seriously.
“Did I offend you?”
“No. Proof’s in the pudding, so do you like yours hot or cold?”
“Cold, always.”
Once again she flashed him her multilayered smile. “So do I.”
He leaned b
ack and folded his arms again. “How many sets of balls are in your collection?”
Tasha was really enjoying keeping him off balance. “Oh, I don’t know. A few dozen maybe. I’m older now, so I don’t have to bring out the gelding sword as often as I used to.”
“Men have a hard time with you, don’t they?”
“Some do, but mostly they’re the ones who want to bag me and put me on their wall. Are you into trophies, Mr. Davis?”
Another loaded question, Drew thought. “At one time, yes. Too old for that now.”
“Good to know.”
She turned her attention back to the stage. He had to admit he found her damn intriguing—but could she manage a team? “So, what’s a good time for your tomorrow?”
“Whatever’s good for you.”
“I don’t usually leave here until three in the morning, so how about noon?”
“That’s fine. Where?”
“We can meet here or I can come out to your place. Your choice.”
“My place. That way we can go over the books, too. I’ll even throw in lunch.”
“Okay. I’ll bring the files I have on the players. Camp opens in a few weeks, so we need to talk about that, too.”
“Sounds good.”
They spent a few silent moments eyeing each other—reevaluating, reassessing and wondering where this might be heading. “Another drink?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Dessert?”
“Think I’ll pass on that, too. I need to get back, but I do want to thank you for a nice evening. Hopefully it’ll be the first of many before we win the championship on New Year’s Day.”
“I like the way you think.”
“Name it and claim it, right?”
He nodded. “How about I walk you out?”
“I’d like that, but excuse me a minute. I need to send the driver a text to come and get me.”
Once that was done, they stood and he walked her down the stairs and back outside.
The two offensive linemen, Donnie and Sammy, were still stationed by the doors. They acknowledged Drew with a nod. They acknowledged her, too, but with the same chilly distance of earlier. She took Reed’s words to heart and didn’t take it personally. Instead she focused on the beautiful starry night. “Nice night. Makes me want to sit outside.”
“I added an outdoor eating area that’ll be open in a few weeks. Maybe we can eat out there the next time you come through.”
“That would be nice.”
Her driver must not have been far away because the town car pulled up just at that moment. Tasha admitted to being disappointed by the prompt arrival. She’d enjoyed crossing swords with Drew Davis. The driver, an older gentleman in a blue suit, stepped out and walked around to open the passenger side door. She moved toward it. “Good night, Mr. Davis. Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You, too.”
As she disappeared inside the car and the driver pulled away, Drew watched until it was out of sight.
“So?”
He turned to see Tommy Reed and his two offensive lineman standing by his side. “She says she wants the team to make a profit and win on New Year’s Day.”
Reed croaked, “She thinks we’re going to the championship game?”
“That’s what the lady said.”
“How much did she have to drink?’ Donnie wanted to know.
Drew smiled.
Sammy King added, “Even if she don’t know a damn thing about the game, she’s the best-looking team owner I’ve ever seen.”
Drew headed back inside. The meeting had gone okay but he wondered why it felt more like a first date.
* * *
Back at her grandfather’s place, Tasha sat in bed with her laptop. It said a lot about her love life or lack thereof that the only thing she’d had in her bed for the past few years was made of silicone and a memory chip, but she ignored that and did another search on Drew Davis. There’d been no wedding ring on his finger—which meant nothing these days—but like any other red-blooded American woman who’d spent the evening with His Gorgeousness, she wanted to nose around in his personal life. The search engine took her to back issues of some celebrity gossip magazines. She knew during his early years as a pro, he’d married one of the team cheerleaders and divorced shortly thereafter. Tasha was unaware that he’d married a second time, to an actress. According to the article, that union also ended in divorce. There was no reference to a third Mrs. Davis, so maybe he’d given up on love, which for Tasha was totally understandable. Although she’d never been deluded enough to actually walk down the aisle, she’d given her heart away a couple of times, only to have it returned to her gutted on a platter. Since then she made it clear to the few men who came into her life that she was only in the relationship for the fun. No commitments. No ties. Of course, there were those who didn’t believe her and wound up having their hearts gutted instead, but in her mind better them than her. Love hurt. Having fun didn’t. She doubted there would be any fun with Davis, though. He was an employee no matter how gorgeous he was, and society frowned on the boss sleeping with the help.
CHAPTER 3
Tasha spent the next morning out on the mansion’s back deck. It was covered by the overhanging roof and looked out onto Lake St. Clair. The calm blue water glistened in the sunlight as if someone sprinkled the surface with diamonds. Gulls circled overhead and the serene scene brought back memories of sun-filled mornings of her youth. Memories that included kite flying, building sand castles and sailing with her grandfather. More than once she caught herself expecting him to walk into the room only to remind herself that he was gone. She’d experienced the same type of anticipation after her parents’ deaths. Even though she’d mentally reconciled herself to their absence, in her heart she still grieved, and she was sure it would be the same with him.
Pulling her way from the melancholy thoughts, she reviewed more of the paperwork tied to the estate’s settlement and when she was done looked over Drew Davis’s contract. There wasn’t much to it. The agreement set out his yearly salary and duties as general manager, and that was it. He was supposed to be responsible for the day-to-day operations of the franchise, but in truth all items pertaining to hours, wages and conditions of employment for the players were handled by her grandfather or his legal representatives. If Davis wanted to reward a player for whatever reason, he couldn’t do so without proper authorization, nor could he purchase equipment or even pay the bills for upkeep on the team’s bus. Working under such strict conditions would’ve made her resentful and frustrated. She wondered if Davis felt the same and if so why he’d stayed on. According to the team’s files, he’d taken over the GM reins three years ago after the old GM quit. Had he stayed out of loyalty to the players or because of her grandfather’s promise? She supposed the answer would be revealed at some point.
Carmen stepped out onto the deck. “Guess who’s here.”
From behind her stepped Montgomery David Taxton the Third, one of Tasha’s oldest and dearest friends. “Monty!”
“Hey, sweet thing.” He hugged her tightly and whispered, “So sorry for your loss. Also sorry I missed the funeral.”
“That’s okay. It’s so good to see you. Sit. Do you want anything?” As always he was the best-dressed male on the planet. His tailored suits and handmade Italian shoes cost him more than some people paid for their cars.
He turned to Carmen. “Can you bring me some coffee, please? I’m jet-lagged like you wouldn’t believe.”
She nodded and went back into the house while Monty settled in one of the empty chairs. “So, how are you?” he asked loosening his tie and removing his suit coat.
“Doing okay, I guess. Missing him, though.”
He responded with a drawl, “You and Car
men are probably the only ones.”
“Stop it,” she laughed. “Where’s your respect for the dead?”
He flashed his hundred-watt grin. “I lost it somewhere over Greenland, but okay, I admit I’ll miss the old fart, too.” Monty was a major player in international investment banking. His irreverence was almost as legendary as his skill with numbers.
“You’ll miss his money.”
“Definitely that.” He handled her grandfather’s investment portfolio. Although Walker constantly belittled Monty’s advice, he’d trusted him more than anyone else in his financial employ. “Again, my apology for not being here. I got tied up in Vienna and my flight schedule after that was shot to hell.”
“It’s okay. Tony and Carmen helped me carry the load.”
He searched her face as only a true friend could. “I worried about you having to do it alone. Not that you weren’t capable, but I still worried.”
“Thanks.” She was glad he’d arrived. Having him around would help her regain some of her equilibrium. It was impossible to stay sad in his presence.
He said, “I brought some files tied to his estate for you to look over, but that’s for later. Right now, I just want to look at you and hear what I missed. I know there had to be drama at the funeral.”
She filled him in on everything from the rainstorm to the shocking revelations surrounding the parentage of the children of the Witch Bitches Barb and Treena.
“Wow! Did anybody else know this?”
“No idea. I certainly didn’t.”
“What about Carmen and Tony?”
“Haven’t asked. You know how those two are. They may have battled with Walker but they’ll take his secrets to the grave, and besides, none of the Witch Bitches have any claims on the estate, so it’s probably best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Amen.”
Carmen came out with a mug of coffee, and while Monty sipped from it, Tasha told him about her surprising inheritance of the Freighters. “I just don’t get why he’d lie to Davis that way.”
You Sang to Me Page 38
