by Cindi Madsen
“Don’t worry, I got it. I break it, I bought it.”
Taylor sighed, but her attention was snagged away by Mitch’s crooked bow tie, so she went to fussing over that.
Aaron nearly tipped backward with the weight of the ball. He flung his arm forward, and the ball soared through the air, straight and low.
Lance bent to catch it, testing the bounds of his snug tuxedo pants. “Nice.” He held out his hand for a high five, and Aaron rushed forward and smacked it. “You’re gonna play football for the Mustangs someday, aren’t you, buddy?”
“Football,” Aaron said, nodding over and over, like a bobblehead doll.
“I decided I’m going to make pretty dresses,” Austin said, loud and proud. “Like the one Miss Charlotte’s wearing.”
Charlotte glanced away from his oldest nephew and up at him, a hint of panic in her eyes. She even moved slightly in front of Austin, as if she might need to block for him. Did she honestly think he’d care?
“Tell you what, buddy,” Lance said, equally as loudly and proudly as Austin had announced his possible career choice, “I’ll be your first customer. I bet by the time you’re blowing everyone away at design school, Miss Charlotte will need a new dress.”
The worry in her features drained. She beamed at him as she straightened.
“Okay, everyone,” Mom said. “Time to go.”
Lance turned to Charlotte. “Oh shoot, I didn’t have time to call the pilot to schedule a pickup for Coach Bryant.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, and can you also—”
“Call Galen Michaels and see if he’d be interested in the defensive coordinator position?”
Earlier she’d thrown out his name as an option, and when he’d informed her the guy didn’t talk to anyone anymore and was hard to reach, she nonchalantly announced that she had his number and they were friends. Evidently back when he’d played for the Mustangs and found out she walked home alone, the huge linebacker had taught her self-defense moves. “Please.”
“I’m on it. Now, go.”
He turned toward the door, sure that any minute Mom would yell at him to stop dilly-dallying. But he only made it one step before he pivoted back around. “You told me that I was on my own, but you were wrong. I have you. You’re my Sam.”
It was the nerdiest fucking thing he’d ever said, but he stood by it. Considering the resulting smile, he should say nerdy things more often.
“Are you calling me a hobbit?” she asked.
“If the shoe fits—”
“Okay, that’s too far. I might be short, but I do not have big hairy feet.”
The hot pink shoes on her tiny feet snagged his attention. The opening across the toe gave him a peek at toenails that were the same bright color. “Fair point.”
She reached out and curled her hand around his elbow. “Thank you. That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
Her touch sent scoring lines up his arm and straight into the center of his chest. He might’ve stood like that forever if his brother didn’t poke his head into the room and shout that if he didn’t get his ass in gear, he was so going to tell Mom on him.
He might call him a juvenile jackass if he weren’t practically skipping toward the door, counting down the hours until he’d be back in the room with Charlotte again.
Chapter Thirteen
The words on the page blurred together, and Charlotte took off her glasses, blinked, then put them on and lifted the résumé closer. It was only four thirty p.m., and her eyes couldn’t crap out on her already. She and Lance still had a lot of pressing items to discuss as soon as he got back from the photo shoot he’d left for about an hour and a half ago.
Her inbox chimed, and she lifted her phone. The pilot had emailed her an itinerary as she’d requested, and she copied it into a blank email and added a short personal note to it before sending it on to Sean Bryant.
From there she went into the calendar she’d set up for her and Lance and added the meeting with him, along with a couple of alerts. It made her a little sad to think of being in the office by Monday, yet she also needed it to come faster.
Every day—no, every hour—she spent with Lance made her soften toward him. Made her feel other things besides softening. When Austin had said the thing about designing dresses, she’d been so scared Lance was going to tell him it wasn’t a job for boys, or that he’d huff and tell him they were a football family. As a girl who’d been obsessed with football, she’d been told she shouldn’t be plenty, even in Texas. Or like with the dating thing, where guys would quiz her because her brain couldn’t possibly retain football rules or stats. Since she’d had too much experience with that kind of thing, she wanted to protect Austin, and the fact that there’d been no need had sent relief through her.
Along with way too much affection. Then Lance had said that thing about her being his Sam, and her heart had swelled so much she thought she might float right up to the ceiling.
You’re slipping again. Thinking things you shouldn’t. About a guy who doesn’t even want a relationship.
Not that she did, either. Except over the past few days, it felt like she kept trying to convince herself of that more than actually believing it. It was the wedding, all that love in the air, infecting her and making her forget about what happened when the tingly vibes faded.
They haven’t faded for Stacy and Mitch.
Or Maribelle and Chuck.
Or Taylor and Scott.
But that didn’t mean that things would work out for her. Maybe she was one of those people who was going to be single forever. Because that wasn’t a tad depressing to think about.
Shannon had been far from helpful when Charlotte had called her last night in desperation. Instead of telling her to keep it in her pants, her roommate told her she only lived once and that she should strap on some spurs, hop in that saddle, and enjoy hot sex with the former quarterback tons of women had crushed on—and still were.
“Once more people see that most eligible bachelor list and watch games with him sitting up in the owner’s box, tons of women will be vying for his attention—like those aggressive ones in that comment thread—and you’ll lose your chance. Do you really want to regret not taking it?”
Charlotte knew Shannon didn’t meant it in the way she’d heard it—that if any other women were around, he’d be showing them attention over her. Unfortunately, it was one of her worries about crossing lines.
At first she’d been sure she was the only one experiencing attraction vibes. But right before Lance had left today, looking insanely hot in his fitted tux, she swore there was something in his eyes. Maybe.
Say there was, though. How could they have sex and then just show up at the office and nod at each other? How could she sit across from him without thinking about how he’d seen her naked—she’d had a hard enough time meeting his eyes after he’d seen her in a bikini last night. In the dim light.
And then she’d have to feel jealous over every beautiful woman he dated after.
Hell, she already felt jealous, her gut pitching and roiling every time she thought of all the beautiful women who’d be happy to be on his arm for a night or more. Of the famous women people were already matching him up with.
It’d be good publicity, having him seen out and about in the city. Especially if he did date an actress or an athlete. Every photo they took of the handsome bachelor who owned the Mustangs would mean a mention of the team, and they needed to fill the stadium seats in order to keep their income high and their team continuously growing.
Early draft picks meant jack if they lost seasoned key players because they could get paid better somewhere else.
The knock on the door made her freeze. Who’d be knocking? Lance had a key, and it was his room. Maybe it was one of his family members. Or maybe it was one of those women his mom wanted to set him up with.
Okay, now you’re letting your imagination get carried away.
Charlotte set her stack of marked-up papers aside and padded over to the door, then cursed not stepping into her shoes—the peephole was too damn high. “Who is it?” she asked through the door.
“Room service.”
If this were a movie, this was where the bad guys charged inside because she was stupid enough to believe room service had been sent without her ordering anything.
Yes, because logically, you’d be a huge target.
It was official. She needed more caffeine—clearly her brain wasn’t functioning at maximum capacity. Or even minimum capacity. Obviously thinking about unattainable guys zapped too many brain cells, on top of leaving you slightly depressed.
Finally she opened the door, a crack at first, and then wider when she saw the man with the silver tray and matching pitcher on the other side. The scent of dark roasted beans filled the air, and if she was going to go down over anything, caffeinated seemed like a good way to go.
“Mr. Quaid called and asked us to deliver coffee and pastries. He also insisted we run to the store for this.” He tapped the large bottle of Southern butter pecan creamer.
Her heart went all squishy on her. He remembered her special creamer and paid who knew how much to ensure they’d deliver it with the coffee—amazing, blessed coffee. “Do I need to sign or…?”
The guy swiped a hand through the air. “Mr. Quaid already took care of it.”
Charlotte thanked him and closed the door behind him. Since she had her priorities in order, she doctored a cup, sighing when the coffee hit her tongue. No surprise, this fancy resort had the good stuff. Good enough she probably didn’t even need her special creamer, but after going without it, she could fully attest that it was so much better with it.
For a couple of seconds, she debated waiting to thank Lance until after he returned. But sometimes it was easier to thank someone over the phone, where his big, oxygen-stealing presence couldn’t twist up her thoughts and her tongue.
She took an Instagram-worthy picture of the mug, the pretty silver pitcher, and the creamer. She typed out THANK YOU!!!! in screaming caps with an inordinate amount of exclamation points. She added a heart. Deleted the heart. Added the two smaller pink hearts. Deleted them. Settled on a smiley face.
When her phone rang instead of chimed, she nearly dropped it. Of course he’d call—he was forever on the phone, so maybe he had something against texts.
“Hey,” she said. “Seriously, thank you so much.”
“Really it’s selfish on my part,” he said in that rich voice that caressed her skin and settled deep in her bones. “I’ve gotta keep you going.”
She didn’t buy it, but she smiled all the same. The cherry Danish was calling her name, so she plucked it off the tray and took a bite. It was so delicious she had to suppress a groan.
“I also need to warn you about something,” he said, and she tensed. “My mother has your phone number. I tried to tell her I could pass on a message, but she insisted and gave me the Mom Glare, and I’m not proud to admit it, but I totally caved.” She could picture him grinning and pacing, the phone held against his ear. “This is why I needed you here as a shield—she’s relentless, and I end up agreeing to crazy things. God only knows how many horrible dates I would’ve been forced to endure.”
Now she was glad she was here, too, only she was more worried the dates would’ve been good, and what was wrong with her? The guy had coffee, creamer, and pastries delivered, and suddenly she was ready to claim him as her own?
“Anyway, you can expect a call or text from her shortly. We just wrapped up the photo shoot, if you can believe it, but we ended up way down the beach so we could get a picture in the historic gazebo, and traffic’s horrible because of some parade.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t pacing but sitting in the back of a car. “The boys are upset they can’t get out to watch, but Taylor’s afraid they’ll ruin their tuxes, and it’s a whole thing, so now we’re eating chicken nuggets in the car in our undershirts.”
That was quite the picture, and not a sentence she ever imagined him uttering. Before coming here and seeing him with his family, it wouldn’t have computed at all, and she liked that she got to see this other side of him. Even if it also put her weak-willed heart in danger.
“Hopefully I’ll be back within the hour,” he said.
“I’ll keep guzzling the coffee, then.”
“If you need anything else, just order it and tell them to charge the room.” Voices sounded in the background, growing louder and louder. “Apparently someone’s trying to use ketchup, and my tackling skills are required. Heaven help us all.”
She was still giggling over the idea of a bunch of grown-ups attempting to wrestle ketchup packets from toddlers in the back of a car when her phone pinged. Sure enough, Maribelle had her number and wasn’t afraid to use it. She invited Charlotte to go with the girls for manis and pedis tomorrow and added that Stacy was hoping she’d also attend the bachelorette party with her and her friends tomorrow night.
Longing rose up, even as her pulse hitched. She wanted to go—whenever she’d seen movies where the characters took part in those sorts of girly outings, she’d thought about how fun they looked and how much she’d like to take part in them if she ever got the chance. But was she getting too tangled up in these people she’d most likely never see again?
On the other hand, it’d give her some time away from Lance, which meant less chance of her accidentally getting more attached to him.
On the other other hand, spending time with his family also made her quickly growing feelings for him that much stronger. This entire trip was acting as a catalyst, making everything bigger and faster, and she told herself it would calm down once they were back in the real world.
Besides, she might never get another chance to take part in all the pre-wedding fun, and she was already here. She didn’t want to let her worries stop her from enjoying herself.
With the girls.
Lance was a whole different story, because even after this week ended, they’d still have to be around each other in the office.
Charlotte: Of course I’ll go, as long as my boss okays it. LOL
Maribelle: He will or else :)
Charlotte sat back with a happy sigh, thinking today was a good day.
A loud ping sounded, her inbox letting her know it had a new message. A closer look revealed it was marked urgent.
The former coach had compiled a list of reasons to support his belief that he was wrongfully terminated and was asking for an outlandish amount of severance pay. The team’s lawyer had added a note, asking her to disprove or verify the items. Naturally, she wanted her to find ways to disprove them.
Just like that, the afternoon went downhill at a rapid pace, and Charlotte was the one with her phone permanently glued to her ear.
By the time Lance arrived, Charlotte had drained every last drop of coffee. She’d burned through the caffeine boost way too quickly, and her limbs were dragging, along with her thoughts.
“Just got off the phone with our lawyer,” Lance said, ditching his tuxedo coat. “She brought me up to speed on the situation with Coach Hurst. You said things were bigger in Texas, and he definitely gets the award for biggest baby.”
In the office she might point out that those kinds of comments would only exacerbate the situation, but since they were in a more casual setting and he obviously needed to vent, she decided to let it go. “I was afraid he’d be bitter enough to do something like this.” She was pretty sure the guy had convinced himself Mr. Price might leave at least part of the team to him because they’d worked together for so long, and his disappointment had been palpable after the funeral.
“She said you were already compiling information to help with the counterclaim. Any progress?”
“I printed out his contract and tabbed and highlighted places we can cite where he didn’t completely fulfill his end.” She pointed at the twenty-eight-page document. “Since he never had an official warning about them, it�
�s going to make it that much harder to prove. I’ve also gone over all the forms and documents I’ve kept, including what few complaints I did receive about him—now might be a good time to thank me for being so thorough.”
“Thank you,” he said, sitting on the couch next to her. “I mean it. Does that mean there’s good news?”
She wobbled her head back and forth. “Some of his claims are outrageous, and we can easily dispute them. Others… Well, it gets tricky. He asserts that he and your grandfather had a plan, and that Mr. Price gave him his word his position was safe for at least two more years while he put it into effect, which is ludicrous—no one gets that kind of a guarantee in this industry. And I have notes from several meetings that show how many times I insisted Mr. Price draw up addendums for every agreement; regardless of his opinion, his word was his bond, and everyone else’s should be, too. It might be enough to fight it, but it’ll be a messy, drawn-out process and might cost more than paying him off.”
“Can we afford it? Either way?”
“That’s a question for the CFO.”
“We don’t currently have one of those.”
“I realize.” Charlotte bit her lip. She’d gone back and forth on bringing up this subject, but in theory he appreciated how she always spoke her mind. He might change his stance on that here in a second, because he wasn’t going to like this. “John was a really good CFO. The other guys never listened to his advice and put him in situations he’d have to dig us out of, but he did always manage to dig us out. I think it was…a bit hasty to lump him in with the rest and fire him.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, offense simmering under the surface. “You think it was a mistake.”
She expelled a breath and lifted her chin, no backing down now that it was out there. Honestly, it’d bothered her since that meeting where the shit hit the fan. “I do. Like I said, I could see the others had gotten sloppy and weren’t willing to change. But we could really use John right now.”
