I’m sure of it.
The day we sign the contract and the non-disclosure agreement is the most surreal day of my life.
I have to take a couple of hours off of work to make the meeting, which is held in a tall glass high-rise in the middle of downtown. When I get to the suite number that Mason’s agent texted me the day before, I see it’s a large corporate law office. When I get to the suite, I give my name to the woman at the reception, and she immediately stands and leads me down a long corridor to a conference room. Inside, it looks like everyone else is already there. Almost a dozen men sit around the table. There’s one lone woman with her hair in a severe-looking bun who looks to be about thirty-five. Mason is sitting at the end nearest the door, and next to him is one of two empty seats. He gives me a grin and a wink and motions for me to sit down next to him.
I realize with dismay that maybe I should have brought my own lawyer with me. Except, of course, I don’t have one.
For the next hour or so, the lawyers and team representatives go over the terms of the contract and non-disclosure agreement. It’s an incredibly strange scenario. After all, we’re literally talking about constructing a fake relationship out of nothing to fool the public. But everyone’s talking about it like it’s just pure business and nothing else. A number of times, I have to resist the urge to laugh or make a stupid joke. Like when they’re talking about how often we’ll be required to kiss in public, or when we get to the part of the contract that deals with “intimate touching.” To my relief, that ends up meaning hand-holding or him putting his arm around me, and not what I thought at first.
Even Mason, who normally is cracking jokes left and right, is being serious for once. I guess I understand it, though. After all, his career is on the line right now.
One of the things that surprises me is that it sounds like according to the contract, Mason is actually going to be paying my salary personally.
“But…” I stammer. “I mean, isn’t there some other way to work this?” This would mean I’m basically Mason’s employee. I don’t like that at all. I’m not even sure why it bugs me so much, but it does.
“It’s okay, Anna,” Mason murmurs next to me. “I’m totally fine with doing it. I want to.”
“But I don’t want you to,” I protest.
“The team can’t pay someone who isn’t officially employed by them,” one of the lawyers explains to me patiently. “This arrangement is a private one, between you and Mr. Robichaud. The team’s arrangement with Mr. Robichaud, including the terms of his employment, are a separate matter.”
Of course. Of course they don’t want a paper trail leading from me to the team. It makes total sense.
But I still don’t like it one bit.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like I have a leg to stand on. I’m the only one who’s bothered by it, and they’re not budging. I take a breath and open my mouth to protest again, but suddenly, under the table, Mason grabs hold of my hand.
And gently squeezes it.
The message is clear: It’s okay. Let it go.
And for some reason, I do.
And start obsessing instead about the fact that I seem to be holding hands with Mason Robichaud.
The rest of the negotiations go pretty quickly. Especially because I’m not really managing to focus very well right now. Mason doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t pull away. At one point, he starts to gently stroke the skin of my palm with his thumb. I think it’s meant to relax me.
But what it does instead is start a warm tingling between my legs that I have to fight to ignore.
It’s nothing. My God, you’re just holding his hand. Totally innocent.
But it doesn’t feel innocent at all. Not from the way my body is reacting to his touch.
I have to force myself to pull my hand away, so I can start to concentrate again. Mason holds on for a long second, then lets go. Almost as soon as he does, I miss the contact, half-wishing he’d reach for me again. But of course, he doesn’t, and the moment passes.
In the end, there are a couple of minor modifications to the documents, and then one of the lawyers goes off with an assistant to make the changes and print out the updates. The lawyers sit and talk among themselves, as do the team’s manager, head coach, and Mason’s agent. Mason keeps me entertained by telling me jokes that have me alternately laughing and groaning. Finally, the lawyer and the assistant come in with the updated documents, and the two of us take turns signing the contract and the non-disclosure agreement. The terms of my payment have been set out clearly in the contract. I get a lump sum of money in one month, and then another lump sum at the end of the arrangement.
As I watch my hand sign the papers, it doesn’t quite seem real. I feel like I’m somewhere outside of my body, watching someone else sign.
Then I’m standing up, and shaking hands with Mason’s agent and some of the lawyers.
And suddenly, I realize that for the next year or so, everything in my life is going to change.
I leave the office by myself, because now it’s Mason’s turn to negotiate the terms of his own contract with the Rockets.
It’s only a short drive back to the station. When I get back to WSPR, everything in the newsroom is exactly the way it was when I left. I told people I had a dentist appointment this morning, so of course no one is swarming me and demanding me to tell them how everything went. No one here knows about the contract I just signed, and of course, no one can know.
But they’re all about to find out that I’ve been hiding a secret relationship with newly signed Springville Rocket Mason Robichaud.
And that we’re getting engaged.
I go into the break room and grab some hot water for tea, in a kind of daze. The full enormity of this secret is just starting to hit me. From now on, I’m playing Mason Robichaud’s fiancée, full-time, twenty-four seven.
Since no one knows anything yet, I take refuge in just hunkering down and doing my work. The calm before the storm. I go out and grab a quick lunch, and then come back and set up some interviews for a story I’m working on. I’m writing up a list of questions for the first interview when I get a text from a number that’s starting to look familiar.
Hey. Come over to my place for dinner tomorrow. Time to start getting to know each other, doll
Why does that sound so sexual when he says it?
I ignore the little flutter in my stomach at the thought. This is business. Strictly business.
And on that note, the contract we just signed doesn’t start until two days from now. I decide I shouldn’t see him again until we’re bound by the documents we just signed.
I type back a quick response.
I can’t tomorrow. But I’m free the day after
A few seconds later, his reply shows up on the screen:
Show up at six. I’ll make dinner.
I snort in disbelief.
You can cook?
Oh, doll, I have many talents.
I sigh and roll my eyes.
I told you, “doll” is off the table.
For a few seconds, there’s no response. Then:
I’d like to have you *on* the table, doll.
Holy shit. My cheeks instantly burn red, my breathing turning shallow at the image he’s just put in my head.
I almost insist we go out to a restaurant so I don’t have to be alone with him. But then I realize we can’t risk having anyone overhear us. Now that we’re supposedly in a relationship, every second we’re in public has to be a perfect performance.
It has to be at his house or mine. I might as well accept it.
I type the words quickly and hit send, hoping that will be the end of the conversation.
Six o’clock.
Then I realize it’s about time I add his number to my contacts. Which I do. Just his first name.
And then, in a moment of goofiness, I even add a heart after it.
After all, Mason’s my fiancé now.
“Here we go,”
I say softly to myself. “Ready or not.”
13
Mason
With Anna coming over to my house for dinner the day after tomorrow, I want to start things off right. I mean, we are technically engaged now, so it’s time to start acting like it.
Which means, first things first.
The ring.
I asked Anna about what she wanted, but I don’t know shit about engagement rings. I’ve never even come close to proposing to a woman, business contract or not. I consider going to a jewelry store by myself, but hell, I just know I’ll fuck this up if I don’t have backup. In the end I decide to call up a buddy for help.
He answers on the third ring.
“Mason? Hey, man, what’s up? It’s been a while!” Knox Harper says over the line.
I wince. There’s a reason it’s been a while since we talked, of course. “Yeah. It has,” I agree. “But if you can keep it under your hat for a few days, it looks like we’re gonna be teammates.”
“No shit? That’s great, dude!” Knox seems genuinely happy to hear it. “Fuck, I’m finally gonna get to play with the best defensive lineman in the NFL!” He laughs. “Don’t tell my teammates I said that, though!”
Knox is a wide receiver for the Rockets. Has been for a few years now. The two of us go way back, to when we were both still new to the pros. We’ve been through a lot of shit together over the years, though we’ve often been on other sides of the field playing against each other.
Knox is married, and he and his wife Ivy seem happy as hell. So I’m guessing he knows what he’s doing in the husband department. A hell of a lot more than I do, anyway.
“Thanks, man,” I say sincerely. “I’m really ready to be done with my exile out in the wilderness.”
“Yeah, it’s about time,” he agrees, sounding as carefree as usual. “What’s up? You calling to go hang out and celebrate?”
“Uh, not exactly,” I reply. “Actually, I called to ask you for something important. I need your help.”
There’s a short silence, then he goes serious, “Anything, Mason. Just tell me.”
I take a deep breath, and release it in a gust. “I need some help ring shopping,” I blurt out.
There is another silence, this one longer. Then he bursts out laughing.
“Man, you’re actually getting married? Never thought I’d see the day!” He’s still chuckling over the line as he continues. “So, a new team and a new wife, huh? You move fast.”
“It looks that way,” I agree.
“Sure, man, I can definitely help you out. I’m free to go right now, if you want.”
I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment in relief. “Thanks. How about I come pick you up?”
He gives me his address, then we say our goodbyes and hang up.
An hour later, I pull up to Knox’s mansion. When he comes out, he greets me and grabs me in a one armed bro hug, his fist pounding hard on my back until I have to protest.
“Dude, you’re killing me,” I wheeze.
“Sorry, man. Just happy for you!”
I decided on the way over that there’s no way I can tell Knox what’s really going on. Hell, according to the terms of the contract I can’t tell anyone. I mean, I’m sure I can trust Knox, but still, it would be way too easy for him to just accidentally slip up in conversation. One of the things I hadn’t really thought about when the team’s managers dreamed this whole fake fiancée thing up was that I’d have to lie to my friends about it. If anyone finds out about Anna and me, the whole thing will go to hell. I’m gonna have to play this for full effect with everyone, including the team. But Knox is just the first person I’m having to lie to right to his face. It feels kind of shitty, but that’s the way it is.
Knox gives me the address of the jewelry store where he and his wife Ivy picked out their rings. “It’s a nice place, good selection,” he shrugs. “Should do okay for you.”
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” Just having a destination feels like I’m halfway over the hump.
“So,” he says as we drive toward the store. “Do I know the lucky lady? Or get to meet her?”
“You don’t know her,” I reply. “But yeah, you’ll meet her soon. Her name’s Anna.”
I tell him as much as I can about her, even stumbling through a fake ‘how we met’ story that incorporates elements of the truth so I won’t get too tangled up in it. To my relief, after that talk turns to other shit, including the team and my upcoming contract.
We arrive at the jewelry store, and I pull into a parking spot a few doors down. When we push open the door to the place, we’re greeted by a petite clerk with short blond hair.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” she asks with professional politeness.
I move up to the counter to talk to her while Knox goes around the store.
“Yes, actually. I wanted to look at engagement rings.”
She nods. “Certainly. We have a —”
She’s getting ready to launch into her sales pitch, when Knox’s loud voice suddenly fills the store.
“Hey, dude! Check this one out! It’s totally my style.”
I roll my eyes at the guy’s enthusiasm. He sounds like a little kid! But he’s helping me out, so I go over anyway. The ring he’s pointing to is silver with gold details and shaped like a skull. I frown at it. It does look like the kind of thing he’s into, but we’re here for a freaking engagement ring, not whatever that is.
The clerk comes around to see the ring he’s pointing at.
“That...is an interesting piece. If you gentlemen are looking for matching rings, can I recommend the gold one for your partner?” she says as she smiles at us.
I turn my head to look sharply at Knox, and see the gleam in his eye. As I start to shake my head, he bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Uh, sorry about this clown,” I mutter, “but we’re not actually together.” I shoot him a look. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with an asshole like this.”
The woman looks slightly offended at my vulgar language, but I ignore it. Knox is still chortling as I reach into my back pocket and pull out a picture.
“My fiancée mentioned she wanted something that looks sort of like this,” I say, handing it to her.
It’s a picture of Kate Middleton’s ring, which I found on the internet and printed out.
“Oh, yes,” she nods. “Of course. We do have a couple of options that might suit her tastes.”
She brings me across the store to one of the cases, and points out a row of rings that all have blue stones in them, which she tells me are sapphires.
It’s a classy store, so they don’t have price tags on any of the jewelry. Which probably means they’re all expensive.
“Can I get the prices on these three?” I ask, pointing to the three rings that look the most like the one in the picture I brought.
“Certainly.” She tells me the cost one by one, as she brings them out and sets them on a velvet cloth in front of me. Two of them are way, way too expensive for a fake engagement. The third one’s pricey, but not as bad. Coincidentally, it’s also the one I like the best.
Hopefully, Anna will like it, too.
“I’ll take that one,” I say, pointing.
“That was quick,” the clerk says with a dry laugh. She doesn’t sound like she approves. Oh fucking well.
Knox comes up to me, still chuckling to himself. “See anything you like?”
“Yeah, I’m taking that one.”
“Cool.”
“What size?” the clerk asks.
“What?” I ask.
“What ring size?”
Fuck.
“Uh, I have no idea,” I admit.
The clerk’s look of disapproval only grows. “I see. Well, perhaps you could bring her in, then, and choose the ring together.”
Dammit. I know it’s only a fake engagement, but I was really hoping to surprise her with it.
“No,” I say stubbornly.
Thankful
ly, Knox comes to the rescue.
“How big are her hands?” he cuts in. “Like, normal?”
I frown. “Yeah. Normal. She’s thin. Her fingers are thin. You know.”
“Size six,” Knox tells the clerk. At my questioning look, he says: “It’s cool. That’s what Ivy wears. Apparently, most chicks are between six and seven. Besides, you can always bring it in to be resized after she accepts. Which of course she will, because you’re Mason fucking Robichaud.”
“Dude,” I say, giving him a fist bump. “You have just fulfilled your role as wing man.”
“What can I say?” he grins. “I know stuff.”
The clerk puts the rings back in the case, then goes into the back to get the one I chose in a size six. I pay for the thing on my credit card, and stuff the fancy box carefully into my front jeans pocket.
The whole way back, I keep checking for it, to make sure it’s still there.
When we get to Knox’s place, he high-fives me before he gets out of the car. “Good luck with Anna, man,” he nods. “And let me know when the ink is dry on your contract!”
For a second, my stomach lurches in alarm. Then I realize he’s talking about the signing contract with the Rockets.
“Will do,” I promise, relief making me a little light-headed. “And thanks again, Knox.”
“Don’t mention it.” He slides out of the seat and gives me a quick wave as he turns to head up the walk to his house.
Alone in the car, I start grinning to myself like an idiot. After months of turning in circles, it feels like my life is finally starting to move forward again.
I have a team.
I have a ring.
Now all that’s left is a proposal.
14
Anna
PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3) Page 41
