by Amy Brent
Allie Winston was unlike any woman I had ever met.
She was beautiful, strong, independent, smart, funny… and right at the top of my “Best Sex Ever” list. Yes, men keep track of such things. And hitting Number One was no small feat, given the number of women I’d had sex with.
We spent the rest of the weekend eating, drinking, swimming, sunning, and fucking. We did not leave the house, except to take a moonlight skinny dip in the ocean, which resulted in moonlight sex on the beach.
And we didn’t bother putting on clothes until it was time to leave on Monday. There was no need. As fast as we’d put clothes on, we would just rip them off again.
It was an incredibly wonderful, incredibly exhausting weekend. I truly liked Allie. A lot. So much so, that I wanted to spend more time with her when we got back home. There was a spark there that neither of us could deny. I couldn’t believe that I, the eternal bachelor and commitment-phobe, was wondering if we might someday be something more than weekend lovers.
I had to head back to Atlanta on Monday afternoon, so I left that the morning. Allie didn’t have to be back at work until Tuesday, so she was going to lounge around for a few more hours before heading home.
“I had a lovely weekend,” she said as I tossed my bag into the back seat of the Land Rover. I closed the door and took her into my arms.
“So did I,” I said with a smile. I kissed the tip of her nose. “Who knew that the bitchy girl who served me frozen pizza would turn out to be so fucking nice?”
She gave me a scolding look. “And who knew that the obnoxious guy with the big bulge in his gym shorts would turn out to be so fucking nice?”
“Guess we’re both a little in shock,” I said, pulling her close. “Can I see you when you get back in the city?”
“Just try to avoid me,” she said. She put her arms around my neck and pulled my lips to hers. She gave me a gentle goodbye kiss and slowly pulled away.
She said “I’ll also text you about the interview for Sports Illustrated. Maybe we can do that on Tuesday afternoon.”
“Works for me,” I said. I opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel. I paused to smile at her.
“Bye, Allie Winston.”
“Bye, Sam Carson.”
She leaned in through the open window and kissed me again, then gave a little wave as I drove away.
Allie
I forced a smile as I watched Sam drive away. When the Land Rover was out of site, I clenched my fists and shook them at the blue sky.
“Fuck!” I screamed. “Jesus, Allie, what the fuck are you thinking?”
I shook my head as I went back inside the house. I had to be insane, getting involved with the man my dad was using as a pawn; a man that I had developed strong feelings for in a very short time.
I wasn’t falling for Sam Carson, but I liked him.
A lot.
He really was a nice guy. He was also charming and funny and sexy and amazing in bed. I’d had my share of lovers, but no one had ever made me feel like Sam made me feel. It made me sad, knowing that our romance would be short-lived. When Sam found out that I was helping my dad, he would probably never speak to me again.
Two days ago, that wouldn’t have bothered me in the least.
But now, after two days in his arms, the thought of Sam never speaking to me again was enough to make me cry.
Allie
I sat in the back of the training room fiddling with my phone while the writer interviewed Sam for the blog piece we’d push out across all media later in the day. I had briefed the writer, who was being paid to write exactly what I told him to.
It would be a puff piece about the handsome, former Pro Bowler and quarterback’s coach who had gotten the top job as the Trojans’ head coach despite fierce competition and little experience. The piece would completely ignore Sam’s notoriety as a bad boy womanizer and hard drinker. It was an old PR trick: bury the bad, promote the good, and rely on the short attention span of the American public to believe what you tell them to.
There would be a quote full of clichés from my dad about injecting new blood into the team, taking a fresh approach, and the desire to lead the team in a new direction (since the old one hadn’t worked in years).
The photographer took candid shots during the interview, then took a posed shot of Sam standing in front of the Trojans logo on the wall, holding a football between his hands. He looked strong and handsome, confident, like Hector standing at the gates of Troy; ready to defend his kingdom against Achilles and all comers. Sadly, Hector did not live to see victory. I took a deep breath and pushed the analogy from my mind.
“All done, Allie,” the writer said as he and the photographer came my way.
“Did you get everything you need?” I asked.
“Yes. I have the quote from your father and the notes you sent over. I’ll get this written up immediately and sent to you for approval.”
“Great,” I said with a sigh. “I’d like to have it go out as soon as possible.” I looked past the writer at Sam. He was standing at the front of the room chatting with two of the assistant coaches left over from the old regime. Sam was smiling and laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.
He had no clue that the interview he’d just done would probably be seen as the obituary for his career.
Sam
“Did you see the piece on the Sports Insider website?” Allie asked. Her pretty face loomed large on the big computer monitor on my desk. “They posted it last night and they already have over fifty-thousand hits.”
“What are you wearing?” I asked, leaning in and pretending to peep down the front of the screen. I flexed my eyebrows at the webcam. “Come on, show me your tits.”
“You’re awful,” she said with a smile. “I’m at my office and there’s a strict no flashing rule. Sorry.”
“Come on, you show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” I said.
“I don’t think yours would fit on my screen,” she said with a devilish grin.
I smiled; something I’d found myself doing a lot since meeting her. I asked, “Do you wanna grab dinner tonight?”
“Just dinner?” she asked.
“Now who’s awful.” The office phone on my desk buzzed. The caller ID read: Ben Winston. “Hey, let me call you back. I have a call coming in.”
“Okay, sounds good,” she said. She gave me a smile, but there was a touch of tension in her voice. “Sam?”
“Yes.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Nothing. I’ll see you tonight.”
“You got it.” I turned off the monitor and pressed the button to answer the desk phone. It was Ben Winston’s secretary; the one I had thought about screwing when I got back in town. Crap, I was going to have to let her down easy. I was only interested in screwing one woman now. And it wasn’t her.
“Sam, Mr. Winston would like to see you right away in his office,” she said formally. There was no hint of flirtation in her voice. Maybe I had misread the signals. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.
I said, “Sure, I’ll be right there.”
I hung up the phone and whistled happily as I walked to the elevator that would take me up three floors to the executive suites. Ben must have seen the interview and wanted to congratulate me in person. I was the new face of his team. I was sure he just wanted to hear that I was going to do my best not to let him down.
I sighed happily as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button. Life was pretty damn good.
New job, new girl, new day.
Maybe I wasn’t going to fuck things up after all.
“You can go right in,” the secretary said without looking me in the eye. She nodded at the closed door that had Ben Winston’s name on it. I didn’t bother knocking. I opened the door and breezed in like I didn’t have a care in the world.
“Sam, thanks for coming up so quickly,” Ben said, coming around the desk with his hand extended. He shook my hand and motioned m
e to sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. There was a skinny man in an expensive suit in the other chair. He stood up and held out his hand.
“Sam, do you know Earl Holly, our in-house legal counsel?”
“No, nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Likewise,” he said.
We both sat down as Ben went back around the desk and lowered himself into the high-backed leather chair. He laced his fingers together on the desk and gave me a smile.
Allie must have gotten her looks from her mother, because she looked nothing like her father, thank god. He was a big man with a ruddy complexion and salt and pepper hair that he wore slicked back like a mobster. He had deep set, dark eyes that closed when he smiled.
He cleared his throat and said, “So, Sam, the reason we called you up here is to let you know that something has come up and we’re going to need to make a change.”
“A change?” I glanced sideways at the lawyer for a moment. Any time there was a lawyer in the room I got nervous. “What kind of change?”
Ben took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Well, to be blunt, Sam, we’ve decided to hire Dan Bradford to head coach the team this year.”
I blinked at him. “Um, didn’t you already hire me for that job?”
“The contract was never finalized,” the lawyer said in a nasally voice that sounded almost like a cartoon character.
I frowned at him. “What does that mean exactly?”
“It means that the contract was sent to your agent for you to sign, but was never returned to us, therefore, the contract is invalid.”
“I signed the contract,” I said.
“Are you sure?” the lawyer asked.
“I…” No, I wasn’t sure. I vaguely remembered a voicemail from my agent about getting my signature on something… Shit.
“Anyway, Sam, it’s a moot point. The contract was never returned to us, so the contract is invalid.”
“So, you’re firing me?” I said it calmly, but my insides were churning. My fingers gripped the arms of the chair. I was losing another job before even having the chance to step onto the practice field.
“Technically, you’re not being fired because you were never hired,” Ben said with a shrug. “We’ve been after Dan Bradford for a while now and he decided this morning that he’d like to come to Atlanta. He’s tired of the weather in Minnesota.”
“Dan Bradford is taking my job.” I said it quietly to myself.
“Technically, it was never your job,” the lawyer echoed.
I shot him a look that made his mouth snap shut. One good elbow would drive his nose into his face and send him reeling. He seemed to read my thoughts. He shut his mouth and looked to Ben for help.
“The good news is that Dan would like to talk to you about coaching his quarterbacks if you’re interested in staying on with the team.” Ben gave me a placating smile that made my blood boil. “We could discuss salary if Dan decides to bring you on.”
I looked him in the eye and nodded slowly. “I appreciate that, but I think I’ll pass.”
Ben held out his hands. “Well, that’s certainly your call.”
I was still nodding, thinking. “Funny, the timing of all this.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean?”
“I mean you make the offer to me two weeks ago, but you just said you’d been after Dan Bradford for a while.”
Ben glanced at the lawyer, then back at me.
He said, “Yes. So?”
“Then the interview about me being the new head coach gets blasted all over the internet, then Dan decides to come to work for you the next day.”
Ben shrugged it off. “Coincidence. Timing. Call it what you will. Either way, we’re not going to be needing your services.”
“I understand.” It was clear by the tone of his voice that it was a done deal and there was no point in arguing. The question I had was, who else was in on the deal?
“You used me,” I said quietly. I fixed my eyes on his. “You used me to get Dan Bradford to sign with you.”
“There is the matter of severance,” the lawyer said.
“Ah, yes.” Ben reached inside his jacket and brought out an envelope. He slid it across the desk to me. “That’s for you.”
I picked up the envelope and looked inside. There was a check for one million dollars. The check wasn’t signed. I held it up. “What’s this for?”
“We’ll need you to sign a document that states, once you accept this check, you’ll pursue no other legal recourse against the Trojans.”
“Legal recourse?” I cut my eyes between them. “If my contract was invalid as you say, I have no legal recourse. So, why are you paying me off?”
“It’s not a payoff, Sam,” Ben said, holding up a hand to cut the lawyer off. “Let’s just say I feel terrible about how things have ended up. That’s just my way of showing you my gratitude. Once you sign the document, which is merely to tie up loose ends, I will sign that check and you can be on your way.”
“I see.” I nodded slowly and tucked the check back into the envelope. I asked the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind. “Did your daughter know what you were doing?”
Ben’s forehead furrowed. “Allie?”
“Yes, Allie.” I set the envelope on his desk. “She seemed a little distracted when I was talking to her earlier in the day. I sensed something was up. I’m just wondering if she knew what you were up to.”
He shrugged. “Allie and I work very closely together.”
“If you want me to sign that paper saying that I won’t for breach of contract, you’ll answer my question,” I said. “Did Allie know that you were using me to get Dan Bradford?”
Ben exchanged a glance with the lawyer. He nodded and the lawyer gave me the document to sign. Then he gave me a pen. I set the document on the desk and held the pen to the signature line. I stared at Ben.
I asked again, praying that he wasn’t going to confirm my suspicions. “Did she know?”
Ben blew out his cheeks and spread his hands. “As I said, my daughter and I work very closely together. Of course, she knew.”
I pushed the check at him. He took it out of the envelope and we signed at the same time.
I slid the signed document across the desk and he handed me the signed check.
And with that, my brief career as the head coach of an AFL team came to an end.
And so did my brief infatuation with Allie Winston.
Allie
“Allie, turn on ESPN, quick!”
I looked up to find Darcy, my personal assistant, standing in my office door with an alarmed look on her face. I picked up the TV remote from the desk and aimed it at the flat screen mounted to the wall.
“Breaking news out of Atlanta today,” the Playboy model turned ESPN anchor said, doing her best to put a serious look on her perfect face. “Sam Carson has been let go as the Trojans head coach after only two weeks on the job. Taking his place, legendary coach Dan Bradford, who will become the highest paid AFL coach at a reported salary of seven-million dollars a year. Trojans owner Ben Winston has scheduled a press conference for three o’clock eastern time today. We will of course carry that press conference live here on ESPN.”
I watched the report with my mouth hanging open. I knew it was coming, but I was still dumbfounded.
Darcy gawked at me. “Did you know?”
I gave her a little nod. “Yes.”
“Wow, poor Sam Carson,” she said. “Do you want me to get your dad on the phone? I’m sure he’ll want you at the press conference.”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll call him.” I forced a smile. “Thanks. Please close my door.”
I waited until she left to start crying. I didn’t need to talk to my father. I needed to talk to Sam. I could only imagine how he must be feeling. Especially if my father told him that I knew about his nefarious plan all along.
I called Sam’s cell, but it went straight to
voicemail.
I called his agent, Alan Dunleavy, but his secretary said Alan was in meetings all day and wasn’t taking calls. I left a message, but knew that my call would never be returned.
Sam hadn’t been in town long enough to find a place to live, so he was staying at the Atlanta Marriott downtown. I called and asked to be connected to his room. The desk clerk told me that he had checked out and hour before.
My cellphone buzzed on the desk. It was my dad, probably calling to see if I was coming to the press conference. I let it go to voicemail. At this point, I didn’t know what I was going to do.
I pushed myself away from the desk and went to stand at the wall of windows that looked out over downtown Atlanta. I had tears in my eyes. My view was blurry. Sam Carson was out there somewhere, but I had no idea where. I just knew that no matter where he was, I was probably the last person on earth he wanted to talk to.
Sam
I was born and raised in Tipton, Nebraska, a nondescript little town on the outskirts of Lincoln. My mom still lived there in the same house I grew up in; a hundred-year-old farmhouse in the middle of three hundred acres of corn. My family didn’t grow corn anymore, not since mom’s dad died. She leased the land to neighboring farmers who worked it. I think she often regretted not marrying a farmer who would stay home and raise crops. Instead, she married a football man who was never home and raised hell.
I had offered many times to buy her a new house anywhere on the planet, but she always refused. Her roots ran deep in Tipton, she said. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She never said anything, but I know she was disappointed that I’d severed those roots so easily and never looked back.
My dad technically still lived there, too, but he was rarely home. He had been a coach for four decades, and that meant he had to go where the job took him. He was home a few months a year. The rest of the time, he was on the road.
