But damn, it was New York. The Big Apple. There was no bigger gig than quarterback of the Jets, unless it was quarterback of the Giants, but Eli Manning had beat him to that job. Cade couldn’t afford to let this opportunity slip away.
Stu cleared his throat in the silence. “You’re not going to say no, are you? Please tell me you haven’t decided you’d rather coach high school football than play in the NFL.”
Quarterback of the Jets was the position of Cade’s dreams. Not just because he’d be the starter, but because he loved New York. On his first trip for the Heisman ceremony, he’d been dazzled by the city—by its lights, its grandeur, its energy. Since then, he’d become a regular visitor, spending time in the city both when he played against the Jets or the Giants and during the off-season for photo shoots and guest appearances on talk shows and sports programs that shot there. If the offer was right—and there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t be—he was definitely not going to say no.
He looked at Angie again. “Make it two seats,” he said, “and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
###
“I can’t just go to New York at the drop of a hat!” Angie protested, her hair framing her face like a fuzzy golden halo.
She looked so adorably frazzled that it was all Cade could do not to push her back to the bed and make love to her again. But they didn’t have time for that now. Later, though…
“Why not? You promised to spend the weekend with me. What difference does it make if we spend it here or in New York? I’ll have you back home in plenty of time for school on Monday morning.”
Angie scrubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t know. I just… You said the flight is at nine thirty. We’ll have to leave straight for the airport to make it in time. I don’t even have time to go home and change my clothes, let alone pack.”
Cade grinned. If that was her only objection, he’d already won the argument. “They have stores in New York, you know.”
“I’m sure they do,” she retorted, a little testy, “but I doubt I can afford them.”
“I can,” he said smoothly.
She shook her head. “I can’t let you buy me new clothes…not to mention a plane ticket and food and everything.”
Ah, now they were getting to the heart of her objection. “Angie, I’m asking you to come with me because I want to spend time with you, not because I’m on some weird campaign to make you feel like you owe me something. And it’s perfectly fine with me if we spend the entire weekend in the hotel room naked—which is pretty much what we’d be doing if we stayed here—but I’d rather you got the chance to see a little bit of the city while you’re there. Plus, I’d like to take you out to an amazing dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. But if my buying you a couple of outfits to do that is make-or-break, then…”
“I’m not poor,” she said flatly.
“I didn’t say you were,” Cade pointed out. “You were the one who said you couldn’t afford the stores in New York.”
She grimaced. “It all… It seems so sudden.”
“It is sudden,” he agreed. “But it’ll be fun. And you did promise. If you go back on it now, I might reconsider making you my boss.”
“You wouldn’t!”
No, he wouldn’t, and she knew it. But he won the argument anyway.
***
They arrived at the airport with enough time to spare for Angie to buy a clean outfit to wear on the flight. Unfortunately, however, the one boutique on the way to their gate that carried women’s clothing wasn’t open for business yet. She was ready to pass right by, but Cade saw movement inside the store and tapped on the window. The salesgirl took one look at him and unlocked the door, a huge grin plastered on her face.
When Cade explained what they needed, the young woman ushered them inside and made short work of finding several items in Angie’s size. After trying them on, she settled on a pair of black slacks that seemed unlikely to wrinkle and a lightweight sweater in turquoise blue with a scooped neckline. Cade whistled when she exited the dressing room, then insisted on buying a pair of ankle-high black boots to complete the ensemble, saying with a laugh that even he knew black trousers and white sneakers didn’t go together.
Angie managed not to gasp in frugal Minnesotan horror when the total purchase price appeared on the cash register, but only barely. She consoled herself, however, with the fact that the shopkeeper had given Cade a fifteen percent discount in exchange for his autograph. It could have been even worse.
When they arrived at the gate, the flight attendant intercepted them.
“Mr. Reynolds and Ms. Peterson?” she asked. When they nodded, she said in a scolding tone, “Well, you’re late. We were about to close the gate.” She scanned their tickets, and then hurried them down the jetway.
As Angie ducked her head to enter the plane and started down the aisle toward the back of the plane, the flight attendant stopped her, gesturing toward two empty seats in first class.
“These are yours, Ms. Peterson.”
“Oh.” Of course Cade wouldn’t fly coach. For one thing, he’d probably be cut off at the knees by the seat in front of him. For another, he could certainly afford better.
But two first-class tickets at the last minute? The price must have been exorbitant, even by Cade’s standards. Angie felt queasy as she buckled in. She was thrifty by nature, and this whole endeavor was becoming more extravagant by the second. Whether it was within Cade’s means or not was irrelevant; it wasn’t within hers, and that made her uncomfortable.
Cade’s warm hand covered hers. “Afraid of flying?” he asked softly.
She shook her head.
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.” Her neuroses weren’t his fault. Besides, this was just another reminder of how badly they’d fit together for anything more than a brief fling. If she couldn’t get through a weekend trip to New York without cringing over every penny he spent on her, how on earth would she get through a marriage?
Not that marriage was even remotely on the table, of course. She shouldn’t even let that word cross her mind, at least not in relation to Cade.
He let out an exasperated sigh as the plane pushed back. “If there’s one thing I know about women, it’s that nothing is definitely something.”
“Trust me, it’s not important.”
“All the more reason to tell me, then.”
Angie pressed her lips together. “I’ve just never flown first class before. It seems so—”
She broke off, embarrassed.
“Comfortable? Roomy? Pleasant?” he supplied.
“Expensive,” she whispered.
He wrapped his fingers around her hand and brought her palm to his lips. “Angie, I made five million dollars last season, thanks to my signing bonus and my endorsement contracts. A couple of first-class plane tickets aren’t even close to expensive. If I’d wanted to go all out, I could have chartered a private jet for this trip. In fact,” he added with a heated glance down the scooped neckline of her new sweater, “I wish I had. We could have made much better use of the next two hours. What was I thinking, flying commercial?”
Angie jerked her hand away from his with an embarrassed laugh. “Keep your voice down. People will hear you.”
Cade glanced around at the well-dressed, middle-age men and women seated in the remaining rows of the first-class section. Most of them had their noses buried in the Wall Street Journal or Fortune magazine. “I don’t think any of them are the slightest bit interested in how much money I made last year.”
She punched his shoulder lightly. “That’s not what I was worried about them overhearing!”
“Ow,” he said in mock protest. “That’s my bad shoulder, you know.”
“If you can’t take a little punch from me, what’s going to happen the first time you get hit by a linebacker? I’m just trying to toughen you up.”
“And I’m trying to toughen you up.” He picked up her hand and brought it to h
is lips.
“You’re so used to worrying about what other people think, and I get it. You have to. But we’re not in Harper Falls now. For one weekend, I want you to forget about everything except enjoying yourself. You deserve a little fun. Whatever I spend this weekend, I’m spending because I want to and I can afford it. And if I catch you paying attention to the price of anything while we’re in New York, whether it’s the dress I’m going to insist you buy to wear when we go out to dinner tonight or the breakfast we’ll have in bed tomorrow morning, I’m going to double-down and buy even more just to prove my point. Got it?”
The jet engines whirred to life as the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.”
A little curl of exhilaration wound in the pit of Angie’s stomach. She flew seldom enough that she still got a rush out of the speed as the plane barreled down the runway and the brief sensation of weightlessness as the wheels left the tarmac.
Cade was right. It was only one weekend. One weekend to splurge, to wallow in excess, to ignore her inner Scrooge. After that, Cade would surely accept the Jets’ offer and move to New York. Angie would go back to teaching math, coaching football, going to Pilates twice a week with Rachel, and having Sunday dinners with her dad. In other words, everything would return to normal.
So why did normal suddenly seem as dull as dirt?
Chapter Fourteen
Alone in the mirrored elevator of the St. Regis hotel on her way to the twentieth floor, Angie could examine herself from every angle and, as yet, she hadn’t found a flaw in her appearance.
Dress: Perfect. Hair: Perfect. Makeup: Perfect.
This was, of course, crazy thinking; any good Minnesotan knew there was always a blizzard lurking, even in a cloudless sky.
Of course, she hadn’t achieved this degree of perfection without help, starting with the personal shopper who’d met her at Saks Fifth Avenue—the real one—followed by the hairstylist and make-up artists in the salon. If Angie looked like a million bucks, it was all thanks to their patience and expertise. Well, and to Cade’s very generous credit limit.
The elevator dinged. Angie spared herself one last glance in the mirrors. Maybe she could give Haley Burroughs a run for her money after all.
When the doors opened, she walked out into the corridor and made a right hand turn toward the suite Cade had booked for the night. According to her cell phone’s clock, it was just past six o’clock. Their dinner reservation wasn’t until eight, which meant there was plenty of time for her to ruin something, even if it was just to get a run in her stockings.
She waved the key card over the lock—the first time she tried to open the door, she spent several seconds trying to find the slot for the key before realizing it was touchless, and then felt like an idiot—and turned the knob when it clicked. The spacious living room of the suite looked out over a sea of green treetops in Central Park to the city beyond. She stood in the open doorway for several seconds, just staring out the window. It was all so beautiful…and so surreal.
“Hey.”
Angie turned toward the rumble of Cade’s voice. He stood just outside the bedroom door, wearing a pair of black trousers and a white shirt that was still open at the throat. His hair was wet.
“I didn’t think you’d be ho—here yet,” she said. God, she’d almost said home. “Did everything go all right?”
He grinned like a kid on Christmas. “It went great.”
“So they’re going to offer you the job, then?” She set her purse and the key card on the small side table by the door.
“I think so. They’ll have to talk to my agent before it’s formal, but it looks good.”
If she’d been prone to dramatics, Angie might have clutched at her heart, because the knifing pain in the center of her chest was that acute. Instead, she took an uneven breath and lied, “That’s great.”
So this was really going to be it. One weekend.
She’d better make the most of it. Too bad she was already dressed and coiffed to the nines.
As if reading her mind—or at least part of it—Cade said with a sigh, “I should have made our reservation for seven. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the next two hours without ripping that dress off you.”
Reflex made Angie glance down at the dress. Sarah, the personal shopper, had accurately called the color “beaujolais” when she pulled it off the rack. Covered from neckline to hem in clear glass beads that sparkled like rubies when they caught the light, the fabric clung to her curves in a way that was both sexy and classy. With her hair done up in a French twist—a feat she would never have managed on her own—and her feet encased in a pair of designer pumps that were comfortable despite their two-inch heel, she almost could be mistaken for someone rich and famous…or at least rich.
“I hope you like it,” she said. She’d angsted between this dress and another considerably less expensive one in a pretty shade of midnight blue, but Sarah had convinced Angie that the red did more for her coloring and figure. Now she wondered if she’d made the right choice.
Cade gave her an appraising look, his eyes smoky with sensual promise. “I like you in it.
Although I think I’d like you even better out of it. And, to tell the truth, I’m probably always going to have a very soft spot for the dress you wore on our first date.”
Angie’s face flushed as heated images of that night flashed through her mind. “I’m not sure I’d call that a date, exactly.”
“Which is why we can’t give in to the temptation to do what we did that night. It’s past time we had a proper date, don’t you think?”
A slow smile pulled at her lips. Closing the space between them, she wound her arms around his neck. “Maybe proper dates are overrated.”
***
Cade had to exercise all his willpower to disengage himself from Angie’s embrace and finish dressing for dinner. It would have been all too easy to take her up on her offer and repeat their first night together, but he didn’t want that. He wanted her to know that this wasn’t just about sex for him, and if he gave in to temptation now, he’d never achieve that. With a formal offer from the Jets looming, this weekend with Angie had taken on new meaning; he had to use it to convince her that the two of them were a viable long-term proposition. He wasn’t sure how to make it work, but he knew he’d regret not trying. Football season wouldn’t last forever, and once it was over, he could return to Harper Falls until training camp started in the summer. By then, maybe he could convince her that she belonged in his world every bit as much as he belonged in hers.
She certainly looked the part tonight. As they strolled into L’Escalier, New York’s finest French restaurant, every head in the place turned to look, but Cade knew it wasn’t him they were gawking at. Although he was sure she was completely unaware of it, Angie was the most beautiful woman in the place. She would have been if she’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but dressed as she was, she looked like a movie star. He could almost see the gears in people’s heads turning as they tried to figure out who she was, where they’d seen her before.
The thought made him smile. Let them wonder which starlet Cade Reynolds was dating now. They’d never figure it out.
“Monsieur Reynolds,” the maître-d said in his heavily accented English, “it’s very good to see you.”
Cade shook the man’s outstretched hand. Although he made it a point to eat at L’Escalier whenever he was in the city, it had been longer than usual between visits thanks to his injury.
“It’s good to see you, too, Jacques.”
“How is the shoulder, monsieur?” he asked, while at the same time pulling two menus and a wine list from the caddy on the side of the host’s table.
“Right as rain,” Cade answered, rolling the joint for emphasis. “Allow me to introduce you to Miss Peterson,” he added, gesturing toward Angie.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, stretched out her hand, but the man shook h
is head, bowing with French ostentation.
“Mais non, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Peterson. I hope you enjoy our humble establishment.”
Cade smothered a chuckle. L’Escalier, renowned for both the superiority of its cuisine and its clientele, was about as humble as a custom-made Italian suit.
Jacques led them to the quietest corner of the restaurant. A bottle of Cade’s favorite pinot noir was already open and breathing in the center of the table. The maître-d seated them, draping the crisp linen napkin across Angie’s lap and pouring the wine for Cade to taste before filling their glasses. After ensuring everything was to Cade’s satisfaction, he departed with another showy bow.
When he was gone, Angie looked at Cade with wide eyes. “Was that Mariska Hargitay at the table by the front door?”
Cade smiled. “Probably. Robert Kennedy, Jr. is sitting to our left, and Carmelo Anthony is over by the fireplace. I’m sure there are a few more you’d recognize if the lighting were better.
A lot of famous people eat here, partly because the food is fantastic, but also because other famous people eat here. You can have a meal in a place like this without being mobbed.”
“I guess I can understand that,” Angie said. “But I’m not in any danger of being mobbed.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you’re dating me. People are bound to notice you and wonder who you are.”
“God, I hope not.”
Cade was a little taken aback by her vehemence. “Why?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m from Minnesota, Cade. Isn’t that reason enough?”
He laughed. “I’m from Minnesota, too, you know.”
“But you were never a shy, retiring Minnesotan. Not even in high school. You were always a Jesse Ventura kind of Minnesotan.”
At the comparison to the colorful former professional wrestler and governor, Cade frowned. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or not.”
Skin in the Game Page 14
