Love Irresistibly (FBI/U.S. Attorney)

by Julie James

  No need to go diving down into the deeper, murkier waters below.

  Twenty

  ON TUESDAY, IAN dropped by Brooke’s office after she’d gotten back from the day’s EEO training session. He appeared extremely pleased.

  “I got your message about the meeting with Curt Emery.” He gave her an approving nod. “Nice job.”

  “I wouldn’t get too excited yet. It’s a long shot,” Brooke cautioned him. Although, yes, she was kicking ass and taking names these days. In addition to finalizing all the employment and service agreements for the Staples Center, and overseeing the anti-harassment training sessions at the restaurants, she had, in her few free minutes, taken it upon herself to call Curt Emery, the director of food service of the Chicago Bears, and left a message asking for the opportunity to meet with him to talk about Sterling Restaurants’ sports and entertainment division.

  He’d shocked her by calling back that morning to say yes.

  Brooke had done her research, so she knew what she was up against. For the last fifteen years, Spectrum Group—the world’s largest contract food service provider—had been in business with Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears. Spectrum’s North American division alone had revenues of nearly eleven billion dollars the previous year, providing food service management for everything from corporate cafés, college and university cafeterias, special events catering like the U.S. Open, and sports and entertainment arenas.

  As it so happened, over the last two years, Brooke—along with Micah and Tony, the other two members of Ian’s “dream team”—had snagged three of Spectrum North America’s largest sports clients: Cowboys Stadium, the United Center, and the Staples Center. And while Sterling still didn’t hold a candle in either size or revenue to the Goliath corporation that was Spectrum, Brooke had no doubt that people were paying attention.

  Now that Sterling had contracts with both the Chicago Cubs and Bulls, it made sense for her to pitch to the city’s football team, too. She’d heard through the grapevine that the Bears’ relationship with Spectrum had started via a personal connection—somebody at Spectrum played golf with the cousin of one of the Bears’ corporate directors or something—but she had no idea whether that personal relationship still existed, or whether Curt Emery, director of food service, might be willing to consider other options.

  Only one way to find out.

  Ian took a seat in front of her desk, stretching out comfortably. “What do you make of the fact that Emery asked to meet only with you?”

  Brooke had initially paused over that as well. When the Bears’ director had left his message, he’d specifically said he was willing to meet with her, but only her. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for her, Micah, or Tony to take meetings alone—particularly when first meeting a potential new client. “I’m guessing it means that the Bears have another year, maybe two, left on their contract with Spectrum. So while Emery may be interested in making a change down the road, he wants to keep this preliminary meet and greet casual.”

  “Regardless, it’s a great first step,” Ian said. “When’s the meeting?”

  “Two weeks from Monday. At the Bears’ corporate office up in Lake Forest.”

  “Ooh, you get to hang out at Halas Hall. Very cool.” Ian rested his hands behind his head. “I’m already picturing myself in the Sterling luxury suite at Soldier Field, right above the fifty-yard line.”

  Both the lawyer and pragmatic woman in Brooke felt the need to manage her CEO’s expectations. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself here, Ian. In fact, I think you just lapped yourself.”

  “A man can dream, Brooke.”

  She chuckled. “Who are you kidding? You barely use our suites at Wrigley Field and the United Center.”

  He waved this off. “Yeah, but football’s different. If we get this deal with the Bears, you better believe my butt will be at Soldier Field for every home game.” He saw her fighting back a grin. “What?”

  “I just wonder what it is about men and football,” Brooke said. Sure, because of her job she could hold her own when it came to talking sports, but—wow—had her eyes been opened when she’d been down in Dallas, negotiating the Cowboys deal. Those men didn’t just love football, they lived football. “Is it a warrior-metaphor kind of thing? The idea that the strongest, toughest men of the region strap on their armor and step onto the battlefield to face off against the strongest, toughest opponents?”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what it is.”

  “I see. And remind me: in what century did it become customary for one’s army to be attended at the battle ground by hot girls with spanky pants and pom-poms? Was that a tradition Napoleon started?” Brooke pretended to muse. “Or maybe it was Genghis Khan.”

  “You scoff at America’s sport. I have fired people for less.”

  Brooke threw Ian a get-real look. “No, you haven’t. You don’t fire anyone without trotting down to my office and asking me first whether you’ll get sued. And then I’m always the one that has to fire them, anyway.”

  “Because you do it with such charm,” Ian said with a grin. He knew she spoke the truth. “You know I’d never get by without you, right?”

  “You remember that the next time I’m up for a raise and I hand you another sixteen-page report with charts and graphs.”

  “I can hardly wait.” With a wink, Ian got up from the chair to leave. He paused in the doorway, and then turned back to her with a thoughtful expression. “It’s because it reminds me of some of the best moments I’ve had with my father.”

  Brooke cocked her head, not following. “I’m sorry?”

  “You asked what it is about football,” he explained. “I knew I was gay by the time I was thirteen. And so did my father. But that wasn’t something we could talk about back then. In fact, for about five years, we didn’t talk much at all. But for three hours every Sunday, while watching a game, we could hang out and yell and cheer and just be a father and son again.” He paused, with a slight smile at the memory. “I don’t know about other men, but that’s what football means to me.”

  * * *

  IAN’S WORDS HUNG in the air after he left, giving Brooke plenty of food for thought. Admittedly, she’d never paid too much attention to football—possibly because she had a teeny, tiny bias against the sport. Growing up, like in many towns, the most popular kids in her high school had been the football players and cheerleaders, and since she definitely hadn’t been part of that crowd, she’d dismissed the whole scene as too clique-ish.

  But now she thought back to that day at the Cubs game, and the way Ford, Tucker, and Charlie had nearly swooned when Cade had walked into the skybox. They’d gone on and on about Cade’s college football days, particularly his Rose Bowl victory, yet it was a part of his life that Brooke herself knew very little about.

  And maybe that was a good thing. Since she didn’t want to get too close emotionally, then it was probably better that she didn’t know all about Cade’s past experiences, the things that had shaped him to be the man he’d become.

  That settled, she went back to work. But she heard Ford’s voice in her head, distracting her.

  It’s only one of the most famous moments in college football history.

  On the other hand . . .

  She did work with sports teams all the time as part of her job. If Cade’s Rose Bowl win was that big of a deal, then she probably should know more about it. It was research, really. Besides, it was one football game—it wasn’t as if she was going to get weak in the knees from watching him throw a few nice passes.

  That decided, Brooke got up from her desk and shut her office door. She grabbed her iPad out of her briefcase, then took a seat and fired up Google. She searched “Cade Morgan Rose Bowl,” and clicked on “videos.”

  Voilà.

  She scrolled through the various YouTube clips, clicked on the link that looked most promising, and settled in at her desk. It was a fourteen-minute highlight clip, beginning with all sorts o
f pomp and circumstance and an announcer talking over swelling marching band music: “We’re live in Pasadena, where the dreams, the blood, sweat, and tears, the perseverance, and the anticipation, have all come down to this: the 2001 Rose Bowl, presented by . . .”

  Blah, blah, blah . . . Come on people, I’m a busy woman, let’s get to the good stuff.

  Finally, things shifted to the actual game footage, and—

  There he was. Twenty-one-year-old Cade, wearing his purple Wildcats uniform—helmet, shoulder pads, and all—with “Morgan” blazed proudly across the back of his jersey.

  So cute.

  Brooke watched a montage that covered the big moments in the first half of the game, plays in which Cade dropped back out of the pocket and dodged and weaved and ran and passed the ball, and then right before halftime he did this thing where he fought off one lineman and spun around and charged through another guy to get to the end zone and tie the game, and—

  Holy crap, he was awesome.

  In the third quarter, they cut to a shot of Cade standing on the sidelines, watching while the refs did a measurement to see if Northwestern had stopped a key first down. It was the first time during the highlights clip that they had shown him with his helmet off, and Brooke smiled when she saw Cade, all sweaty and dirty, with his dark brown hair mussed and shorter than he wore it today.

  The video went on, featuring clip after clip of Cade in action. There could be no doubt that he was the star of the game—but as Brooke continued to watch, her heart began to beat faster with nervousness.

  Because, unlike anyone who’d been watching that game live, she knew how it was going to end.

  As the highlights from the fourth quarter flew by, her anticipation grew. Finally, with fifteen seconds left on the clock and Northwestern down by four points, that purple Morgan jersey got behind the offensive line for what Brooke knew was Cade’s last time playing on a football field.

  She held her breath as the center snapped the ball.

  Cade dropped back, skillfully moving into position and setting up for the pass—no desperate Hail Mary here—and Brooke saw the linebacker charging around the line, heading right for Cade, and she had no doubt that Cade saw him, too, yet he never wavered as he pulled back and threw a perfect, beautiful, sixty-five-yard pass right into the hands of the wide receiver waiting in the end zone.

  The crowd went absolutely wild.

  What everyone failed to see at the time—the entire stadium’s eyes had been on the ball and the wide receiver—but what Brooke saw in a slow-motion replay from a different camera angle, was that the linebacker had tackled Cade a split second after he’d released the ball. They hit the ground hard together, all that force and weight landing on Cade’s right shoulder.

  Brooke watched the replay with no small amount of awe as Cade used one arm, the one not injured, to shove the linebacker off of him so he could see if the pass was complete. The instant the ball dropped into the wide receiver’s hands, he rolled onto his back on the field, one fist raised in victory.

  Seconds later, a mob of his ecstatic teammates fell on him, one piling on top of the other in the excitement.

  Brooke saw it in their faces, the moment his teammates knew something was wrong. The raucous celebration gave way to frantic shouts for the trainer and concerned expressions as everyone cleared out of the way to give Cade space. He remained on the field for some time, talking to the coach and the trainers as they looked him over. When they finally helped Cade up and he walked off the field, the whole stadium, previously quiet, broke into thunderous applause and cheers.

  The video ended after that.

  Brooke leaned back in her chair, blinking back an unexpected swell of emotion.

  Probably, if she and Cade had been dating seriously, she would want to know what he’d been thinking while lying on that field. Undoubtedly, she’d also want to know why he never brought up the subject of football, and whether he missed that part of his life. And, if they’d been in a real relationship, it wouldn’t just be the past she’d be curious about. She’d also want to know about whatever was going on in his personal life, and whether he was okay, and whether, maybe, there was something she could do to help.

  Good thing, then, that they weren’t serious.

  Because that was a lot of questions for two people who, as Cade had once put it, could probably go their entire relationship without ever saying anything meaningful at all to each other.

  Someone knocked at her door, interrupting Brooke’s thoughts. “Come in.”

  Tony, the VP of sales, stuck his head inside her office.

  “I heard about your meeting with the Bears,” he said. “Nicely done. Got a few minutes to chat?”

  “Sure.” She clicked off her iPad.

  Tony pointed. “I can come back if you’re in the middle of something.”

  Brooke waved this off. “I was just messing around on the Internet.” She shoved the iPad back into her briefcase, and then turned back to Tony. “So. Soldier Field. Given the gleam in your eye, it’s probably best if I give you the same long-shot speech I just gave Ian.”

  Duty called once again.

  Twenty-one

  “ARE YOU SURE you should be doing this?”

  Standing a few feet away, Cade brushed off Zach’s question. Although, as a matter of fact, he probably should not be doing this. “Stop worrying about my shoulder. Focus instead on those slow feet of yours.”

  They’d commandeered a deserted field behind a warehouse, where Zach apparently scrimmaged during the off-season with his football buddies. Staying true to his word, Cade had suggested they hang out someplace closer to his brother’s neighborhood this time—after not so subtly extracting a guarantee from Zach that Noah wouldn’t be there.

  Deep down Cade knew, as his relationship with Zach grew, that one day he would have to face his father. But that day was still a long way out. For now, he wanted to focus on Zach. His brother lived on the south side of the city, in a neighborhood of modest homes that had been built right after World War II. Cade was familiar enough with the area to know that it was relatively safe, and that the football team at the public high school Zach attended was one of the best in Chicago. He’d bet that was one of the reasons Noah had chosen this particular neighborhood.

  Cade stood midfield, waiting for Zach to take his place at the line of scrimmage.

  “When’s the last time you threw a football?” Zach asked worriedly.

  Aside from the few times Cade had tossed one around casually with friends, a long time. “About twelve years.”

  Zach threw him a panicked look.

  “I won’t push it,” Cade said. It wasn’t as if his shoulder was entirely unusable; in fact, on a daily basis it didn’t bother him at all. His rotator cuff simply couldn’t withstand the repetitive stress of competitive football. “I just want to see what I can do.” He pointed emphatically. “And if the answer is ‘not much,’ you better not tell a soul. I’ve got a reputation to uphold here.”

  Zach smiled, loosening up. “All right. I don’t want to stand in the way of you reliving your glory days or whatever.”

  “Good. But in case this all goes south, my car keys are in the outside pocket of my duffle bag. When you drive me to the emergency room, if I’m too busy mumbling incoherently from the pain, just tell them I’ve got Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance.”

  Zach’s eyes went wide.

  “I’m kidding, Zach. Now get moving.”

  They started with shorter routes, with Cade faking the hike and dropping back while Zach sprinted for the pass. He pushed Zach hard that morning, just like every coach had ever pushed him, but he knew the kid could take it. He saw how good Zach was—so much so, that it got Cade’s own competitive juices flowing. Luckily, he’d kept in shape over the years, lifting weights, swimming, and running, so he was primed to be back on that field, every muscle in his body ready and raring to go.

  Save one.

  After an hour or so, Cade felt th
e soreness creeping into his right shoulder. “Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested to Zach.

  They grabbed a couple of bottled waters from Cade’s duffle bag and sat in the grass. The field they were playing on that morning wasn’t much to speak of, with its view of the warehouse and the adjacent empty parking lot, but there was open space and lots of grass. Two guys playing football on a Saturday afternoon didn’t need much more.

  “How long have you lived in this neighborhood?” he asked.

  “Since I was five,” Zach said. “We’d been living in an apartment on the west side before that, but then my dad got a new job that paid enough for us to buy a house here.”

  Cade debated where he wanted to take the conversation from there. He looked across the field, keeping his tone casual. “What does Noah do for a living these days?”

  “He’s a night security guard at Water Tower Place. My mom also works, as a customer service rep for ComEd.” Zach plucked at the grass. “I told her about you.”

  Cade tried to picture this unknown woman for whom Noah had apparently settled down. He felt a flash of protectiveness toward his own mother, who’d had to do everything on her own. “How’d that go over?”

  “She thought it was great that you and I were spending time together.” Zach paused. “She’d like to meet you.”

  Cade took another sip of water, grateful that the sunglasses he wore hid the uncertainty he felt. He deliberately kept his voice cool. “Does Noah know we’re talking?”

  “No. But I know he’d like to see you, too,” Zach added quietly.

  Cade looked out at the field again, having serious doubts about that one. He deliberately changed the subject. “How are things going with Paige?”

  A flicker of disappointment crossed Zach’s face. Probably, he’d been hoping to talk more about their father. But despite the fact that Cade was quickly growing closer to Zach, there were limits on how far he was willing to go when it came to Noah Garrity.