Bad Business

by Nicole Edwards

  I’m pretty sure I lost my father after the word stay. When my father says shit like that, I know he doesn’t mean literally. I hope. No right-minded father would encourage his daughter to stay with a football player. Not the way it sounded, at least.

  Then again, that could be my sex-starved brain creating subliminal messages that just aren’t there. For whatever reason, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Stone ever since the night of my father’s party. Okay, before that, but it doesn’t matter.

  “We can say you’re doing it because he’s garnering all the attention and you need to…I don’t know. To help him.”

  “Help him? But he doesn’t need my help.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  Oh, I’m pretty sure he does.

  I lift an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

  “You’ll be on the road with the team for the remainder of the season.” His tone is matter-of-fact. “And here at home, too. I want Jason Stone to shine like the star he is on the field and in front of the camera. Let’s keep him in the public eye, but away from Devereaux. And in the meantime, find out what it’ll take to keep him on board for another two seasons. Use the attention he’s receiving to show him that this is where he belongs.

  “Use this as a marketing opportunity. Interviews and pre-game spotlights. Get his jersey on the back of every fan walkin’ into the arena. If that means you put him in front of a million reporters, if it means you take him to every charity function you can set up, so be it. But I want you with him.”

  “Okay, hold on.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Why me?”

  “Because you’ve already established a connection with him. Everyone can see that,” my father says. Again. That’s obviously the angle they’re working, although they both know it is extremely weak.

  “We’re not asking you to do anything other than continue to be his friend,” my father says.

  “And when he catches on to this?” I already know what he’s going to say.

  “He won’t.” My father’s jaw sets. “Everyone needs a friend.”

  I shake my head. I honestly don’t like where this is headed.

  “Be his friend, Van.”

  “I’m fully prepared to have a conversation with Stone in the mornin’,” my father says. “I’m gonna tell him that we’re assignin’ you to be his shadow in an effort to give him some breathin’ room, to keep Devereaux at a distance. As far as he’s concerned, you’ll be responsible for managin’ his press conferences and interviews for the remainder of the season.”

  I sigh.

  It’s not like I can tell my father no.

  However, I will be interested to get Stone’s take on this tomorrow.

  Surely he won’t go along with this.

  I mean, come on.

  Even I know it sounds fishy.

  Chapter 11

  Getting Jason Stone to open up is like trying to pull a tooth with two Q-tips and a staple. Practically impossible. However, I did learn there is one person he’s willing to talk about. His mother, Carla.

  “When you’re on the road, how often do you talk to her?”

  “Every day,” he said easily. “I call her before and after a game. Every game. And it doesn’t matter the outcome, she still tells me she’s proud of me. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for her.”

  Hear that, ladies? A man who respects his mother.

  —Excerpt from Sports Unlimited’s Bad Boys of Sports edition

  Stone

  “So, that’s the gist of it,” Aaron Andrews says, his smile wide. “We understand that there’s a tremendous amount of interest in you right now, and we’d like to help with that. If we can sideline Devereaux, then we’re doing our job.”

  Something’s up and I’m not exactly sure what it is. But from the second I stepped into this meeting, I felt as though there was something I was missing. For the past half hour, Aaron has rambled on about the press and Luke Devereaux specifically, insisting that I need some help in keeping my name untarnished for the remainder of the season.

  It sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.

  Regardless, I have to appreciate Aaron’s candor, the way he laid out his concerns without a lot of fluff. He seems to get that my focus is on playing while his interest is continuing to drive attendance along with winning the Super Bowl.

  It seems a bit much at a time like this though. If I owned the Wranglers, I can tell you, I wouldn’t give two shits who’s up in my business. The players are groomed for this. We even have some canned responses to certain questions, which help to get us through the endless interviews.

  But I can’t help feeling that maybe I’ve done something he’s not happy with.

  “I get it,” I agree when the owner of the Dallas Wranglers looks to me for a response. “You need me to keep my mouth shut and to perform on the field.”

  “That’s not what he said,” Savannah counters, sitting up straight. “He’s merely interested in putting some structure around the interviews, to keep you from having to deal with the pressure that’s coming from all sides right now.”

  Hmm. That’s an interesting way to put it.

  “Okay.” I turn to face Aaron. “I’m here for one reason only,” I tell him. “To take this team to the Super Bowl and to win. I think we’ve got a real chance this year, and I’m not gonna let you down.”

  That seems to appease Aaron.

  However, my reasons for agreeing aren’t completely altruistic.

  I came to this decision for two reasons: One, I do know it’s important to talk to the reporters, to keep my name out there and to get more attention. Attention equates to money, whether it’s from a contract or through endorsement deals. I’m not opposed to making money. However, it’s easy for a player to put his foot in his mouth and give assholes like Devereaux something to chew on.

  Two—the most important reason—the guy pretty much put his daughter directly in my path. With one short meeting, Aaron Andrews has done what I’ve failed to do the last two times I was in this woman’s presence. Quite frankly, I’ve spent more time than not trying to figure out how to make that happen ever since I met her at the club.

  With a schedule as jam-packed as mine, I haven’t come up with any ideas and suddenly I don’t have to think about how to make it happen, only how to keep her from thinking this is only about business.

  “Really?” Savannah’s eyes are wide, her mouth partially hanging open. “Not even gonna put up a fight?”

  I like her.

  A lot.

  I could tell from the instant I stepped into this room that she was uncomfortable being here. I’m not sure why because the last time I saw her, we spent a couple of hours talking about the various guests at her father’s party and passing some rather intense sparks back and forth, although neither one of us carried through on the attraction that night, despite how badly I wanted a repeat of our first night together.

  During the time I’ve spent with her, I’ve learned a few things about Savannah Andrews.

  First of all, she’s funny as hell. Secondly, she’s got a mouth on her. And last, but certainly not least, she’s definitely not interested in seeing where this attraction between us might lead.

  The first two are bonuses for me. The third is a challenge I’m openly accepting. It’s been a damn long time since I’ve found a woman who I want to spend more than one night with. This woman has captured every ounce of my attention and she’s holding it somehow. The only choice I have is to run with it, to see where this thing goes.

  After all, she did manage to get me to relax at a time when I should be completely stressed.

  I showed up this morning with my nuts in a knot, dreading what Aaron Andrews wanted to talk about. I honestly
thought he was trying to corner me in an attempt to discuss my future with the team. I should’ve known better. The man is aware that those discussions must go through my agent. It’s what the guy gets paid for.

  I could’ve blown him off, but something told me this was going to get interesting. I was right.

  I peer over at Aaron to see he’s smiling, his bright white teeth reflecting the light. He clearly likes my answer.

  Savannah not so much.

  “I’m not opposed to some assistance,” I say in response to her question. “It certainly couldn’t hurt. I mean, my time is better spent on the field, working with the team. Not inundated with reporters.”

  Savannah sighs, although I think there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her perfect mouth. I have fucking dreamed about having that mouth on me again. More than once over the past week.

  “Fantastic.” Aaron claps his hands together. “I’ll leave the two of you alone to work out the logistics. We’ve only got a few more weeks, but this is when it counts the most.” Aaron looks at Savannah. “Come see me once you have a plan in place. And remember what I said.” His eyes narrow on her face. “Shadow.”

  She nods, looking somewhat defeated despite the forced smile on her beautiful face.

  If someone had told me that this would be the year everything clicks into place for me, I would’ve told them they were crazy.

  Not only was I picked up by a team I’ve wanted to play for my entire life, given the exact contract I was looking for, but I also get to spend unlimited quantities of time with the super-sexy Savannah Andrews.

  I glance over to see she’s biting the tip of her pen.

  Okay, and now I’m thinking about her mouth.

  On my dick.

  Shit.

  The damn fool is twitching, growing. If I’m not careful, he’s gonna give away my reasons for agreeing to this.

  I shift in my seat, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, my jeans uncomfortably tight. I ease to the left, but it doesn’t help much. In fact, it pinches my ball sac and I grunt, shifting again.

  Aaron walks past me, claps me on the shoulder. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  I peer up at him and smile. I’m not sure what more he could possibly offer. I’ve already hit the fucking jackpot.

  When the door closes behind Aaron, I relax a little.

  Savannah is leaning back, tapping her pen on the table as she stares at me.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head as though clearing her thoughts, then leans forward. “Are you hungry?”

  Wait.

  Huh?

  That wasn’t what I expected her to say.

  “I could probably eat, yeah.” I can always eat, so it’s not really a lie. In fact, that had been my intention once the meeting was over.

  “I know this great little restaurant right down the road. Then I’ll have you back in time for your team meeting.”

  She gets to her feet and I follow suit, shoving my chair under the table, then following her to the door. I have to make a quick leap in order to reach it before she does. She might be the independent type, but my momma taught me how to treat a lady and I don’t miss the opportunity to open a door for her.

  Savannah peers up at me over her shoulder and I have to look down to meet her eyes. She’s so damn small. Not ridiculously short, but I’ve got at least a foot or more on her.

  I smile. She returns it.

  And then we’re heading down the carpeted hallway and out into the brilliant Texas sunshine.

  “I’ll drive,” Savannah offers.

  I’m not going to argue. “Sure.”

  When she stops, I stop.

  She’s looking at me as though I’ve got a third eyeball on my forehead. “What?”

  “Are you always this easy?”

  “I can be. Anytime you’re up for testing out the theory, just let me know.”

  She turns to face me and plants her hands on her hips. I do my best not to stare at her tits. She’s wearing a body-hugging sweater in a rich brown that makes her green eyes practically glow. And the distressed, hip-hugging jeans that don’t quite meet the hem of that sweater do incredible things to her mile-long legs. Not that I’m looking at either of those things right now. I’m doing my best to keep my gaze above her chest despite the fact they’re begging for a trip south just to check out how incredibly hot she is.

  Truthfully, I was a little shocked when I saw her this morning. Considering she was decked out in full glamour mode at her father’s party, I didn’t expect her to come in looking quite so casual. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pair of silver hoops dangling from her cute little ears, and a sparkling stud in her nose, she does not look like the executive vice president I know she is.

  No, Savannah looks more like the girl next door.

  The girl you want to strip and take the time to mentally map out every inch of her beautiful body. After all, I’ve learned Savannah isn’t interested in a repeat. Had I known that the first time around, I would’ve taken my time with her.

  Rather than respond, Savannah takes a deep breath, then turns away.

  Once again, I follow.

  At this point, I’d follow this woman anywhere.

  Especially if it means I get a front-row view of her cute little ass.

  Savannah

  “Denny’s is the great little restaurant you know?” Stone asks when I swing my car into the parking lot, pulling into a vacant spot right near the door.

  “You have a problem with Denny’s?” Based on the way his wide eyes dart from the restaurant then back to me, I don’t think he does.

  “Of course not. They’ve got bacon. No one has a problem with bacon. Therefore, no one has a problem with Denny’s.”

  Turning off the engine, I reach for the door handle. “And pancakes,” I tell him. “Don’t forget the pancakes.”

  Without waiting for a response, I climb out of my Mercedes, planting my booted feet on the asphalt and glancing around. The place is pretty busy, but I think we’ll be fine to go inside. Sure, the odds of someone recognizing Stone are about two to one, but hey, a girl’s got to eat, so hopefully they’ll keep their distance while we have breakfast.

  “Waffles,” Stone counters, joining me on the sidewalk that leads to the door. “Pancakes are the lazy man’s breakfast. Waffles require effort.”

  “Effort? How so?”

  “Drop some batter in a pan, let it spread out, you’ve got pancakes. Waffles at least have shape.”

  This guy surprises me at every turn. I honestly expected him to balk at my choice in restaurants, not embrace it.

  I smile up at him. “Are we really talking about the consistency of breakfast carbs?”

  He laughs and the sound is sexy. It’s funny how I’m here to exploit this connection Stone and I seem to have, yet when I’m around him, I’m not looking to exploit anything. I genuinely like him and the more I’m in his presence, the more time I want to spend with him. He’s funny, witty, even charming, in spite of the underlying sexual innuendo.

  That’s not going to make my job any easier—keeping this thing between us platonic is the only way I can do this without feeling like a fraud—I can tell that already. Which means we have to pretend as though that one incredible night never happened.

  To be honest, I’m having a hard time not thinking it.

  “Carbs are my best friend,” he says as he reaches around me and grabs the door handle, pulling it open. “But they’re also my worst enemy.”

  As I brush past him, my elbow slides against his rock-hard abdomen. Carbs, my ass. I know for a fact the man’s hard body lacks even an ounce of fat.

  “How many?” the woman at the small counter asks.r />
  “Two. And a booth if you have one,” I tell her. “Preferably in the back.”

  “And anyway, you go to IHOP for pancakes,” Stone notes, his voice low. “You come here for waffles.”

  “I thought you went to the Waffle House for waffles?”

  He clutches his chest right over his heart. “You know about the Waffle House?” His eyes lock on mine. “I think you might be the woman of my dreams.”

  “Right this way, please.”

  I don’t reply to his statement, not because I have nothing to say but because the woman is now leading us to a table.

  Okay, that’s not true. I have nothing to say either. His words, like his face, have sparked a keen sense of interest somewhere deep in my core. Not that I’ll ever admit that outside of my own head because, hello. This is Jason Stone. As of a few minutes ago, I’m his shadow for the remainder of the season. I’m tasked with convincing him to do something I don’t think he wants to do.

  And, above all else, being attracted to this guy is not a good idea. Acting on that attraction—again—is just bad business.

  “Thanks,” he says to the woman when we slide into opposite sides of the booth and she hands us menus.

  “Your server will be right with you.”

  I nod, opening my menu. I don’t have time to skim it before a young waiter approaches the table.

  He pulls a notepad from his apron pocket, then a pen. “Can I get your…” His eyes lift for the first time, bypassing me altogether and glancing at Stone. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Sorry. I…uh…shit.”

  That makes me laugh because he just said shit twice, obviously without meaning to.

  Based on the sideways smirk on Stone’s perfect lips, he’s amused by it also.

  “You’re Jason Stone.”

  I notice several heads turn toward us, and I can see the recognition dawning.

  “That’s what my mother says,” he replies easily, his gaze darting to me. “Jason Daniel Stone, to be exact. She inserts a couple of exclamation points in there when I’m in trouble.”