by Cindi Madsen
“We both are. Just like we’re both looking for more accessible guys, ones who want the same things we do. And you have that no-football-guys rule, although I still don’t really understand it. Shouldn’t you have similar hobbies?”
“It’s a precise system. They can enjoy watching a football game now and then, but if they go all starry-eyed when they find out I work for a team or if they start prodding me for insider information, I walk away. No more thinking that eventually they’ll understand I can’t get them access to the players, the field, or what I know about the games before they go down.” It wasn’t easy, trying to find guys not obsessed with football in Texas. Even the ones who were Cowboys or Texans fans weren’t immune to the idea of a behind-the-scenes tour or tickets to games when their teams played. As if she could date a guy who cheered against her team.
“Oh yeah. Makes perfect sense now.” Shannon glanced at her phone. “Eight minutes.”
The last of her drink hit the back of Charlotte’s throat, and as her pulse skittered under her skin, she debated going back on her decision to only have one. It’d help with speed dating but might also not so much help, and she needed to be fresh for work tomorrow and ugh. “How about we go speed walking in the park and see if we can meet a nice serial killer instead? That sounds like more fun to me.”
“You promised to be my wing woman,” Shannon reminded her, and Charlotte groaned. Her roommate’s decision to take more risks and meet more people would’ve been fine if Charlotte didn’t have to go along for the painful ride.
“Painful” was also a good word to describe her last relationship, and it definitely fit how it’d ended. After her year-long relationship had crashed and burned over issues she should’ve realized were too big to overcome, she’d had a hard time convincing herself that love—the true, intense kind she used to dream of as a little girl when spending far too much time alone—existed.
Everyone always wanted something. Wanted you for what you could do for them. Each relationship had taken a piece of her, and thanks to the way she’d grown up, she didn’t have that many to give. Her first boyfriend took another piece, and Ian had taken more than one.
Right now she was using the leftovers to help keep Dad afloat.
Maybe after she’d had more time to heal and Dad was on steady ground, she could find a bit of that shiny optimism she used to have. Maybe then she’d be ready to sincerely date.
But thirty minutes later, as she was sitting across from a guy, not nearly buzzed enough, she thought she’d rather go back to Lance’s office. Regardless of it meaning he’d be over her shoulder, watching her post job listings and insisting on different word choices, as if that would make the best coaches and general managers leap at the chance to work for a team that hadn’t won in so long that most of their fans and even some of their own players had given up.
…
Lance tossed his keys on the counter of his penthouse apartment. It’d been his grandfather’s as well, and he recalled all the times he and his brother, Mitch, had been scolded for running through the halls, both from Mom and his older sister, Taylor, who’d often thought she was the boss of them growing up. The five bedrooms and two floors had been convenient whenever they visited and needed a place to stay but seemed extravagant now that Lance was living here alone.
All the space accented how alone he was, too, and he wondered if it’d gotten to his grandpa during those past few years, after Grandma Price had passed away.
Maybe after Mitch and Stacy get married, they’ll come visit. Taylor can bring her kids, too, so they can help breathe some life into the place.
Added bonus, he could teach his nephews to race through the house. He chuckled to himself as he thought about how Taylor would have to retrain them after they returned home. Kids should be kids, after all.
Lance walked over to the couch, shed his suit coat, and yanked off his tie, glad to be rid of both. For now he’d dress up and look the part of an office flunky, but before long, he was going to loosen the dress code.
Something Charlotte James would undoubtedly take issue with. She’d probably even tell him exactly which section of the employee handbook it violated. A smile crept across his face as he thought about the way she sighed when he was telling her to reword the job postings.
For a rule follower, she certainly was feisty. Honestly, he was just glad he’d have help to sort through the mess, which yes, he’d made himself. Though really, his grandfather had let things slide these past few years, too worried about keeping up appearances to let show that he was tired and rundown, and he forgot things now and again, ones that made running the team difficult.
Not even the family had known the extent of it.
Obviously they’d known the best decisions weren’t being made as far as the team went, but Lance could still remember voicing his opinion about a player they’d traded when he was a sophomore in college, and how Grandpa had told him that it was his team and he’d damn well do what he wanted. He’d added that when Lance ran the team, he could do the same.
It was something he’d occasionally dropped into their conversations, but Lance never thought he’d be running the team so soon. At one point he’d actually thought he’d pass. That was back when he figured he’d be playing quarterback into his early forties and maybe coach a while before Grandpa passed away.
But between Lance’s second knee injury and his grandpa’s stroke, life made it clear that it didn’t respect set plans. Things happened, and you had to read the field again and come up with a new play.
Right now he was searching for open players for his staff, trying to determine who’d be able to catch the ball and help lead his team to victory. He sure as hell wasn’t going to deal with a bunch of babies who’d go crying to HR if he raised his voice or swore over an incompetent move. If he’d done that back when he’d been playing ball, he would’ve been dropped in a hot minute.
I hope the Stangs players haven’t grown soft along with the staff.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw his brother’s name.
Mitch: I hope you’re not getting a big head now that the Locker Room Report has given you most eligible bachelor status. I’m gonna be a total diva about you stealing the spotlight during my special time.
Lance huffed a laugh. He’d heard about the article from one of the PR people who was safe for the time being, but he didn’t put any weight to it. Since his athletic glory days had been a study in how little control he had over what journalists said about him, he simply hoped it’d be good for the team. Maybe extra publicity would make it easier to rebuild.
Sure. He’d grasp at any straws right now.
His phone vibrated again, the ring splitting the quiet. He moved his thumb over the decline button but didn’t tap it when he saw it was his mom. You didn’t ignore calls from Mama Quaid, especially since she’d just keep on calling.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You haven’t responded to my texts about the wedding.” Mitch’s wedding was a week and a half away, which was why he’d joked about his “special time.” And boy was he taking a lot of it, milking the event for all it was worth—he’d expect nothing less from his baby brother, though, and he was happy for him. He just wished the timing was better.
“I’ve been busy.”
“We’re all busy,” she replied. He had no doubt she was overloaded with the endless wedding planning stuff, and there wasn’t any point in arguing his busy—trying to rebuild a team—was a different kind. “We’ve been planning this for a long time, and I expect you to arrive the same day the rest of us do.”
He plopped onto the couch and leaned back against the cushions. No one knew how to throw a celebration like his family, which meant it wasn’t just a wedding but a destination wedding with events starting the Monday before the ceremony.
“I understand that, but there are things you can’t plan for.” Like Grandpa’s death, but he didn’t say that. Not when it’d been her father and she’
d had such a hard time saying goodbye—she’d cried for a week straight, the funeral bringing on a wave of tears he’d never seen from her before. The upcoming happy event was most likely what was helping her hold it together, so he’d go along with anything she wanted.
“And there are things you’ll regret missing for the rest of your life. Now, as for your plus one…”
Make that almost anything she wanted. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you I’d be married to my job for the foreseeable future,” he said. “That’s going to be my priority for the next year at least.”
“Pish posh. Your brother managed to get engaged during the season, when he was traveling nonstop for games.” Their parents were college sweethearts who’d been married for almost forty years, and his mom had been obsessed with marrying off her children since the time they hit twenty. Taylor made her happy by getting married shortly after college and immediately popping out a few kids, and now Mitch was ten days away from joining the land of the wed. Lance wasn’t anywhere near there, nor did he want to be. You’d think after ten years she’d give up, but nope. “You don’t want your life to be empty, do you?”
He had way too much experience with empty days, ones where he looked around and found that everyone he’d thought were his friends were long gone.
Maybe that was why he was having trouble adjusting to the giant penthouse in a mostly unfamiliar city. He’d grown up in Raleigh, played for the Tarheels, and then was drafted by the Titans. While there’d been plenty of busy months he’d hardly seen his family, he’d never lived quite so far from them.
“You have to try again someday,” Mom added, as if he needed a reminder of how close he’d been to being engaged before he’d been injured and every single part of his life fell apart. “If you need a push, I’m happy to provide it. Along with the names of a few lovely ladies who’d be happy to attend the wedding with you.”
“Oh, so I get a plus two?”
She clucked her tongue at him, but she was also trying not to laugh, he could tell. At least he’d managed to add a smidge of happy to her night—he honestly was worried about how she was coping with her grief, and what would happen once the wedding stuff wasn’t there to distract her anymore. “How about I give you their phone numbers and you can call them up and see if you click with one of them? Then we can take it from there.”
Saying he didn’t have time to chat up anyone between calls that involved rebuilding the Mustangs was useless. Mom wouldn’t hear it or believe it. Even now, this conversation was cutting into time he should be dialing up associates.
For his mom, he’d take the time.
Cold-calling girls she thought would be perfect for him and getting stuck in awkward, too-long phone conversations? Not so much.
He could only imagine how much worse it’d be when he arrived back in North Carolina, where his entire family would also be “helping” to set him up. His family had always been close, but sometimes they were close to the point of being intrusive.
If he were smart, he’d find a nice girl to take with him so he could skip all the painful forced interactions with women they were definitely planning on springing on him. Then at least he’d get a choice.
Of course he hadn’t been on a date in months, and asking a woman to travel with you on a first date—to a wedding, no less—seemed either crazy or desperate. Or both.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said.
“Not an option. It’s a mom thing that never goes away.”
He smiled, in spite of it meaning she wouldn’t be giving up her matchmaking attempts. “I’ll see you on Monday, Mom. Just don’t book too many activities. I’ll have to do a lot of work while I’m at the hotel.”
“I’ll talk you out of that when you get to the beach,” she said with a laugh, and he shook his head, even as affection wound through his chest.
You’d think his family would understand, what with their football legacy, but like the staff he’d recently fired, they’d grown complacent. Too comfortable. And he wanted that for his family.
But for himself…he wanted something more. He wanted to take control of that legacy and not only return it to its former glory, but to prove he was more than a washed-up quarterback whose career ended way too short.
If he couldn’t break any more records on the field, he’d do whatever it took to ensure the team he’d just inherited did it on his behalf.
Chapter Three
Charlotte reached for her coffee cup, only to find it empty already. Her voicemail was completely filled, and her email inbox was spilling over as well. On top of all that, she was tired, her speed dating night to blame for the exhaustion and residual grumpiness. You’d think by now she’d be used to it. How almost any time a guy found out she worked for the Mustangs, they decided to quiz her on football facts, as if to test how well she actually knew the game.
She always passed; they did not.
Why, oh why, did I let Shannon talk me into going along?
At least she got two numbers for prospective hopefuls.
Since her brain made it clear it’d be on strike until it received more caffeine, Charlotte grabbed her mug and headed to the breakroom. The office was like a ghost town this morning, so many of the rooms dark, and the remaining staff walked around on eggshells, barely speaking above a whisper.
Naturally there was only a splash of coffee left in the gurgling pot, and in spite of the fact it’d be burned and taste like crap, Charlotte poured it in her mug before starting another batch. She downed the sludge, grimacing when the lukewarm substance formerly-known-as-coffee slid down her throat.
So not worth the caffeine.
She grabbed the box of Texas Tasters Buttery Crackers and shoved a handful in her mouth. Breakfast of champions right here. Bonus, they could double for lunch, and she had a feeling they probably would have to with how much work she had to do today. It was sad how often she skipped lunch, and how little effect it had on her tummy and hips.
Unlike Shakira’s, her hips did lie. They said go ahead and eat that, it won’t matter. And then they’d get bigger, and her clothes would get tighter, and with that in mind, she decided to go ahead and believe her lying hips anyway and eat more crackers.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder, freezing when it was Lance.
“There you are,” he said, and she automatically glanced around the room to see if she’d missed someone else’s presence.
She shoved the crackers to one cheek, cursing how dry they’d left her mouth. “Me?”
He cocked his head, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Yes, you. I was looking for you.”
“Why?” she asked—the coffee needed to hurry up with its brewing because she wasn’t alert enough to respond intelligently. Or better yet, keep her internal thoughts inside her head where they belonged.
“We have a lot of work to do.”
“I certainly do. People have been calling nonstop, and the words ‘wrongful termination’ have been tossed around.”
“You can forward those to our lawyer.”
“You didn’t fire her?” Yep. That was another inside thought. What was it about this guy that made it hard to hold back her snark?
“Not yet, but I will if she doesn’t do her job. As I said yesterday afternoon, I’m well within my rights to fire anyone who doesn’t do their job.”
“And as I said yesterday afternoon, there’s a lot of paperwork involved in all the firing you did. Between answering calls and emails, I’ve been compiling it, and I’ll need your help getting it filled out so everything can be properly documented as soon as possible.”
“That can wait. Have any applications come in yet? From the postings we listed?”
“Actually, it can’t wait, because you can’t hire people without completing the paperwork terminating contracts. But yes—that’s the other reason my inbox and voicemail are overflowing. We’ve had a lot of people respond, but I haven’t had the chance to sort through them, so I’
m not sure if we’ve had any qualified applicants. I was going to dig in after I grabbed more coffee.”
“Print it all out and bring it to my office. I’d like to go through them with you.”
Every cell in her body froze. In his office. Where he’d be looking like that, all tall and muscled, a teasing of tanned skin left exposed by the top few undone buttons.
Walking a fine line there, Charlotte.
It’d be impossible not to notice his hotness, but she wouldn’t let herself dwell on it. Before long she was sure she’d get used to the way he looked and how her pulse quickened—part of that was because he was her boss and he’d fired everyone. Yeah. That was the only reason.
“Charlotte?” His deep voice caressed her skin and sent a zip through her core. She didn’t really have a good reason for that, but it wasn’t like she’d act on the misguided hormonal surge.
Focus on how much harder he’s made your job. How he came in here and fired everyone. She cleared her throat. “I’ll print them out—along with the termination forms—and be in your office shortly.”
He gave a quick nod and gestured to the coffeemaker. “Are you going to share?”
The glug, glug, glug slowed, and she glanced at the full pot. “I have a feeling I’ll need about this much to get through the day. But I suppose it’ll get cold and gross before I can drink it all, so I’ll share if…” She raised an eyebrow. “You make the next pot.”
He stepped closer, and her heart pounded harder, the jolt she needed from caffeine coming from his nearness instead. “Deal.” He reached around her for a mug and poured coffee into it, filling her mug as well.
Then he lifted the box of crackers and studied them. “Are these shaped like Texas?”
“What else would they be shaped like?” she asked, as if it was a ridiculous question—which it was.
