“Want me to stall them while you shower?” she asks. “I can put them in your office and feed them protein bars and sports drinks.”
Either the organizers are early, or I missed another memo.
My gaze slides to the clock.
Or I lost track of time while wondering if Adeline was really a true redhead. Shit.
I’m winded, so I roll my boxing glove in a circle, motioning for Grace to do what she does best. Which is boss people around. “Tell them to wait a few minutes.”
I hit the showers and stroll into my office fifteen minutes later. Zach Simmons, senior partner in the PR firm that is promoting the Weekend Warriors event, and Sean Montgomery, the event coordinator, are sitting at the small round table in the corner of my office. They’re both so big and built they dwarf the average-size chairs.
Instead of sitting behind my desk, I slide into a chair at the table, and my back is to the door. “Sorry, I’m late but not really,” I say like the smartass I am. “Paybacks and all.”
Sean chuckles, his dark eyes sparkling. “I meant to text you about rescheduling the meeting. Sorry, man, but it slipped my mind because we spent the last several days trying to put out the fire that was about to ruin the whole event.”
“So, what’s this about?” I ask. “Sounded important.”
Zach nods. “It is. We lost the other team’s coach. Broke his leg during a training session. Spiral fracture.” Zach rubs the back of his neck, ruffling the ends of his sandy blond hair. “Surgeries, metal pins to hold the bones together, and probably months of physical therapy.”
“Ouch.” The other team’s coach owns a competing gym, and was the only person standing between me and the million-dollar cash prize if my team wins. The seed money I need to start expanding my business into all five boroughs. Not to mention the corporate sponsorships I could land. Zach’s superior PR skills convinced several major companies to sponsor the Weekend Warrior event. If I train an outstanding team that performs well, I’ll approach the sponsors with a health and fitness plan for their employees that will eventually fund my goal of taking my chain national.
I should be elated that my competition just narrowed. I’m not, though. I do have a heart, and I’ve been right where that poor schmuck is. One injury can upend an athlete’s entire future.
My hand goes to my shoulder and I run a hand over the old injury that set my life on a completely different course. “Sucks to be him right now. Does that mean the competition is off? The teams have been training for months and won’t like getting a new coach this late in the game.”
“No kidding.” Sean blows out a breath. “But after all the money our sponsors have put into this event for the trials and the team selection process, we couldn’t just cancel.”
“We thought about promoting one of the team members to the coach’s position.” Zach crosses his arms, and the hours he puts into his workouts show. Smart for the event to tap into healthy-minded people, even for the PR and business side of the competition. “But that might cause ripples of jealousy with the members who aren’t chosen. We’re dealing with athletes who are highly competitive by nature.”
“Athletes are usually team players, too,” I say.
Sean nods. “As long as they respect their coach. If they don’t, it could put the team at a disadvantage by causing dissention among the ranks. This team is already top heavy with hard-to-handle alpha guys.”
“Sounds to me like the other team is at a disadvantage no matter what,” I say. I stab fingers through my wet hair because I feel my goal of going national slipping away. If the event isn’t a smash hit, the corporate sponsors won’t open the door when I come knocking with a business proposal. “Are we in danger of losing sponsors?”
I don’t miss the look Zach and Sean exchange.
“They don’t know about this yet,” Zach says, and his leg starts to bounce with nervous energy.
A tingle of worry slithers up my spine because I know they’re about to tell me something I won’t like.
“We wanted to come up with a solution before we announced the problem.” Zach sits forward. “The best way to stave off a publicity problem like this is to make the situation interesting to the public.” Energy threads through his words as his inner PR genius kicks in. This is why the event hired him. When his father passed the reigns of the firm to Zach, he took it from a small, family-owned company to Madison Avenue with a growing list of impressive clients. His firm represents several of the corporations that are sponsoring the event, not the least of which is Checkmate Inc., and he’s done a stellar job for all of them. “We’ve found a replacement. It wasn’t easy with the competition just four weeks away.”
“Who?” I ask. No idea why, but instinct tells me this is the part I’m not going to like.
“She’s a somewhat unconventional choice, which is what will make the event more interesting to the public,” Sean says.
She. I don’t know why this surprises me. Choosing a woman isn’t unconventional. I know a lot of female athletes who can kick my ass athletically and would make far better coach than most men I know.
“What makes her so interesting?” I ask.
Sean clears his throat.
Zach says, “She owns a yoga studio.”
What the fuck? “Yoga? Really?” I can’t keep the are you fucking kidding me tone out of my voice. A yoga instructor coaching a team for one of the most grueling events New York City has ever hosted is laughable. There’s a reason the event is titled Weekend Warriors. “Does she understand what’s physically involved?”
Sean nods. “Yes, she does, and she has a decent background in athletics before she opened a yoga studio. We worked around the clock all weekend searching the Internet for just the right person.” He scratches a spot behind one ear. “Kind of the reason we stood you up Friday night and forgot to call you. We were beating the pavement trying to fix this disaster. We lucked out because she’s perfect, and she actually agreed to join the event when we approached her.”
“So what’s the ‘but’?” I ask because I feel a really big but coming on.
Zach and Sean exchange another look.
“Is there something I should know?” I can’t help sounding annoyed. “Like did you two become lovers or something? I mean, I thought you were both straight, but the way you keep passing looks to each other is making me wonder.” I lift both brows and slide my gaze back and forth between them.
Sean scoffs. “If we weren’t such good friends, I’d punch you for that.”
“Me too,” Zach says.
“Then fucking spit it out,” I blurt.
“She’ll be at a disadvantage, as you already pointed out. Very astute observation, by the way.” Sean drums his fingers against the table like he’s nervous.
“Stop kissing ass, and get to the point.” We’ve been friends for a long time, so I feel comfortable busting their balls. Guys are like that. When it’s over we’ll bump chests like cavemen and forget about it.
“Just reiterating the deductions you’ve already made, buddy.” Sean sounds calm, cool, and collected. Only the incessant drumming of his fingers against the table gives away his doubt that I’ll sign off on this idea. “She’s coming into the competition late.” He ticks off a finger. “And there are a lot of strong men on the team who might be hard to manage.” Another tick.
“And?” I ask, because there’s definitely an “and” in this conversation.
“We want her to train here.” Zach hesitates. “With you. Give her a crash course on how to coach this kind of team, and keep an eye on the situation.”
“You want me to train my competitor?” I’m appalled. “What kind of competition would that make?”
“A friendly one,” Sean says.
Zach rubs his chin. “An interesting one.”
I scrub a hand over my face and think. Swear to God, I can hear the clock on the wall ticking. This is a ridiculous position to put me in, not to mention unfair to the new coach.
Remember those fucking curve balls I mentioned? Guess life just lobbed another one my way and cracked me right in the nuts. I can’t expand or go national without the prize money or the corporate fitness contracts I plan to land from our sponsors. I need to win, but I also need to train my competition so it’s a fair fight. Shit, shit, shit. This sucks balls, but if I pull it off I just might be golden.
Then again, I might train my competition so well that she kicks my ass in front of all of New York.
Finally, I stand, and Zach and Sean follow my lead.
“Alright, you’ve got a deal,” I say as we shake on it.
“Great,” says Sean. “You’ve got two days until she meets her team for the first time.”
I want them to be perfectly clear where I stand. “I’ll help out my competition in the spirit of sportsmanship, but you know I’m a true competitor at heart.”
“Ethan?” My sister says from the doorway behind me. She sounds far more professional than usual, probably because I’ve got business associates in the room with me.
I don’t turn around. Instead, I hold up a finger so Grace will give me a second to finish issuing a warning to Zach and Sean.
Since they’re sitting on each side of me, they stare past me toward the doorway, just as I say, “We can train the two teams here together, but once we take the field,” now I’m speaking metaphorically, “it’s game on. I don’t lose. Especially not to a fucking yoga instructor.”
Sean’s eyes slide shut. Zach’s eyes widen.
Grace clears her throat. “Ethan.”
I spin around to face my sister, and something crashes into my chest as my eyes lock with the petite redhead who is standing next to Grace. Not just any redhead. The redhead.
For a second, my heart skips a beat, and a thrilling rush of adrenaline courses through me. Red wanted to see me again badly enough that she tracked me down. But how? I never mentioned my last name at the bar.
Zach glides seamlessly into public relations mode. “Here’s our new coach,” he beams. “Thanks for coming.” He waves her over, but she’s rooted in place.
Her sea green eyes deepen to emerald the way they did at 7th Inning Stretch when I pissed her off.
“Adeline McAllister,” Zach says. “This is—”
“—Dick,” she finishes Zach’s introduction. “We’ve met.”
Chapter Four
“Excuse us for a moment,” I say to Zach and Sean without so much as a backward glance. I take Red’s elbow and lead her from the room.
“Where are we going, Dick?” she insists, and the sarcasm practically drips from her last word.
I don’t answer her. I just keep trying to find a secluded spot so Red and I can have a private conversation. I’ve got no choice since my office is currently occupied by two jackasses who just duped me into an agreement that will pit me against Red. The girl I’ve been fantasizing about for three solid days and nights. Yeppppp, that would be the one.
“Stop calling me Dick.” I steer her into the break room that has an Employees Only sign hanging on the door.
A sweaty spin instructor is downing a Gatorade.
“Get out.” I’ve got no time for pleasantries at the moment. Not when my future is at stake and Red is the only person standing between me and building a fitness empire.
The spin instructor’s expression blanks. Probably because if I really want to put a fine point on it, he’s not used to me being such a dick. Which irritates the shit out of me because Red is right. Again.
She shrugs. “If the name fits.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, then stare down the spin instructor. “Please get out.”
He scurries around the break table and leaves.
I close the door behind him and ease closer to Red. “Happy now?”
She sputters. “Happy? I’ve been happier getting a bikini wax, and they hurt like hell.”
Goddamit. Of all the things she could bring up, it had to be that? The particular area that has been occupying my mind, my thoughts, my fucking fantasies for days?
She leans back against the coffee bar, and crosses her arms under her breasts. Her nice, perky breasts, which are gloved in spandex.
I try not to focus on her full pouty lips. I try not to focus on her ponytail draping over the creamy skin of one toned shoulder. I definitely try not to focus on the black spandex workout pants and fitted sleeveless top that leave nothing but sculpted curves to the imagination.
My prick isn’t on board, though. The disloyal son of a bitch has gone rogue and is focusing on all of those things at once.
Suck it the fuck up, Wilde. You’re a competitor, so get your game face on.
It’s just that Red is rocking that spandex. She could land a gig modeling those clothes for any athletic clothing company in America. I see women in spandex every damn day. There’s fit and toned, and then there’s this. A woman who can still look so naturally beautiful without makeup, without salon hair, without fancy clothes, is incredibly sexy.
I try to remember why I’m pissed. “Did you know who I was at the bar? Did you come to 7th Inning Stretch to meet your competition? Get the upper hand? Do some recon?” Jesus. I sound like a conspiracy theorist.
She scoffs, her mouth falling open.
My gaze follows the curve of that plump bottom lip.
“Bumping into you was purely coincidence,” she all but hisses.
“I don’t believe in coincidence.” I prop a hip against the counter next to her.
“Well, start believing because I was there on a date.” A sexy pink blush seeps into her cheeks. It makes her skin glow since she’s not wearing makeup. “With Dave, if you remember. Do you really think I’d set that whole thing up just to spy on you?”
Some of the tension in my shoulders seeps away, and I relax for the first time since I came face to face with Red in my office. “Probably not with a guy who needs a step stool to brush his teeth.” My voice has gone softer. Less dick-ish.
Laughter bubbles up from inside of her and spills out. It’s like a ray of sunshine after a long dreary winter, spreading through me and making my insides warm.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She lifts a silky ginger brow.
“For being a dick,” I finish. “Seems to be a habit when I’m around you.” I run a hand down the back of my damp hair. “No idea why. Maybe because we’re both hot-headed Irish.”
Her dazzling smile knocks the air from my lungs.
“You’re Irish, too?” she asks.
I nod. “My mom’s side.” I fold my arms and give her my best boyish grin. “So how is good old Pocket Protector Dave, anyway?”
“That’s not very kind,” she scolds me, but she can’t hold back a smile. “Dave was…nice.”
We both crack up.
“Told you. I take it he behaved since you didn’t need to call me?”
“Ooooh, yeah.” Red rolls her green eyes. “Dave behaved reeeeeally well.”
I’m guessing that’s code for boring.
“Want to know the truth?” Her long lashes flutter down to brush the creamy skin under her eyes.
I’ll be damned. Red looks bashful.
I tap my chin thoughtfully with an index finger. “He insisted you go Dutch?”
She gives my shoulder a playful shove. “I was disappointed when you weren’t Dave.” She tilts her head to the side. “And he insisted we go Dutch.”
“You’re joking, right? A guy like that gets a girl like you to go out with him, and he can’t spring for a meal? Wow.” I run fingers through my thick hair, trying to process the depths of his stupidity.
“At least it got me off the hook. I didn’t feel bad about cutting the night short or telling him there wouldn’t be a second date.” She shrugs. “I don’t really have time to date right now, anyway.”
The gerbils spin their magical wheel in my chest again, the little bastards. I’m elated that Red isn’t going out with Dave again. I’m even more excited that she won’t b
e dating anyone else for now, which I totally shouldn’t be happy about. Red isn’t for me, especially now that we’ll be training together and competing against each other.
Now if I can just keep my dick on a leash when I’m around her, we’ll be in good shape.
“Want to know the truth?” I ask, parroting her. And, yes, I’m flirting with this girl who is absolutely off limits. She’s just too damned adorable. The truth is, I just plain like her. Maybe we can be friends if not lovers.
She taps her chin thoughtfully just like I did. “You’re married.” She gasps. “Oh! You’re one of those really masculine gay guys who defy all the stereotypes by looking totally straight.”
I shoulder check her. “I was disappointed when you didn’t call me to come save you from Pocket Protector Dave.” I scuff the tile floor with my Brooks running shoes. Swear to God I’m going to have to call an exterminator because the gerbils are nesting in my chest again. “And I would’ve sprung for dinner if you’d been my date.” And breakfast for that matter.
She sighs dramatically. “Where were you when I needed someone to protect me from my last boyfriend?”
My protective instincts rare up like a warrior going into battle. “Did…” I’m not sure how to say this because I’m wading into her personal life, but she’s the one who brought it up. “Did he hurt you?”
She belly laughs because she obviously gets my meaning and finds it absurd. “Not physically, if that’s what you mean. He hurt my bank account pretty badly though. Almost cleaned it out, in fact.”
Shit. “Sorry to hear that. Want me to track him down and convince him to give it back?” I mimic the Godfather. “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“Good luck with that.” She blows out a breath that makes a loose lock of hair flutter. It settles back against her cheek. “Last I heard he was living it up in the Caymans. Asshole,” she murmurs.
“So I was right, then,” I say. “You need a nice guy because you’re a nice Irish girl.” My tone is almost disappointed, so I go for humor again. “Besides the pretzel thing, I mean.”
She blushes, and her big green eyes stare up at me. I know I’m being a dick again for flirting with her. See, I do like Red. A lot. Enough to not want to hurt her. Enough to be her friend instead of bending her over the break room table and fucking her senseless.
Get Wilde (A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 3) Page 3
