“I know you were, Finn,” she’d replied a little impatiently, given that he’d been pressuring her for weeks now to say yes. “And I’m really, really sorry that I can’t make it. I know this is a big weekend for you, and under any other circumstances I would definitely come with you, even though these sort of parties just aren’t my thing. But it’s impossible right now, simply impossible. We need to have everything ready for Bloomingdale’s by the end of September in order to get it into the stores for the holiday season, and even working seven days a week doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough right now. So as much as I wish I could be there with you, there’s no way I can get away even for an overnighter.”
But Finn had never been one to give up very easily, and had continued to cajole and plead his case. “I’ll be the only one there alone,” he’d whined. “What fun is that going to be for me? And I wanted this weekend to be a little celebration for you, too. I was going to take you to the best restaurant in town on Friday night, just the two of us, then treat you to a whole spa day on Saturday while I have to do some boring press stuff. You know, a massage, facial, hair, nails, the works. Whatever your heart desires, baby. And, yeah, we’d be expected to attend the party on Saturday night, but I promise we could try and sneak out a little early. There’ll be so many people there no one would notice after awhile. And then a nice champagne brunch on Sunday before we fly home, Come on, Delilah. It’s not even two full days when you come down to it, not if you fly in late Friday afternoon.”
She’d hesitated before answering, obviously taking care not to hurt his feelings. “I appreciate that, Finn, really I do. Even if my idea of a weekend getaway to celebrate and relax probably wouldn’t include Las Vegas in the summertime, where it’s probably a hundred and fifteen degrees right now. In fact, I can probably name fifty other places where I’d rather go. But that’s sort of a moot point since I can’t get away right now. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it has to be.”
Her apology, however sincere it might have been, hadn’t been enough to prevent him from feeling both irritated and hurt. “In other words, once again your job means more to you than I do,” he’d retorted accusingly. “You know, it was bad enough before this stupid Bloomingdale’s deal went through, how I had to beg and plead for your time. But it’s twice as bad now - no, make that ten times worse. I hardly ever see you anymore, Delilah. And I feel like - like you’re doing me a favor by answering my texts or carving out an hour once or twice a week to have dinner with me. Much less having meaningful time for sex. I wish now that I’d never mentioned the whole deal to Max. Maybe if he hadn’t referred you to that shark of an attorney we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
Delilah had been speechless for long seconds, as though in disbelief that he’d had the balls to actually say those things out loud to her. But rather than lash out at him as he had fully expected her to, instead her big, dark eyes had shimmered with tears, and she’d given a little sniffle, making him feel like an even bigger ass than he already did.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Finn,” she’d replied in a hollow voice. “You have to know that I don’t mean to push you aside, or make you feel like you’re not important to me, because you already know that’s not true. I love you, Finn, honestly I do. But you knew before we began seeing each other how important my business was to me. I warned you, in fact, that right now the studio needed to come first most of the time. And, yes, I realize that lately it’s been almost all of the time, but it won’t be like this forever. One of the many tasks I’m working on right now is expanding our office space, and also interviewing additional staff. Once both of those are in place then it will lighten my workload considerably, and I’ll have more free time. But neither of those things is going to happen overnight, unfortunately, so for the next few months this is just the way it’s got to be.”
“A few months!” he’d exclaimed in protest. “You are aware that I start traveling again next month, right? Between the middle of August and the end of December, I’ll have to fly down to L.A. every Friday to tape my pre-game show, and then fly out from there to whatever game I’m supposed to be doing color commentary on. The latter won’t be every week, of course, but I know for sure it will be at least eight or ten times during the season. And that doesn’t count the other events I’ll be expected to attend.”
She’d nodded in acknowledgment. “I know, yes. You’ve been pretty upfront about your schedule, so it’s nothing I haven’t been expecting. And I realize that’s going to make it even tougher for us to see each other, but we’ll just have to find a way around it. Maybe after September’s over with and I have everything set for Bloomingdale’s I can travel with you to a few of those weekend games.”
“That’s two whole months from now, Delilah,” Finn had pointed out. “Which is why I was so intent on having you join me in Vegas. I knew that both of us were going to be slammed with work after that weekend, and I was counting on having that time together. But you’re not even willing to try and make it work, are you? Your company is so damned important to you that you won’t even consider compromising, and trying to move some things around.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” she’d retorted. “What makes you think I haven’t already tried what you just suggested? I was disappointed, too, you know, when I realized that it just wasn’t going to be possible. Ask Calvin if you don’t believe me. I had him re-work my schedule at least five different ways in order to be able to go to Vegas, and if anything he found more tasks I had to get done instead of finding a way to free me up for a weekend. Believe me, Finn, if I could be there I’d move heaven and earth to do so, okay? But frankly, you’re not even trying to be understanding about this, much less supportive. You’ve had a successful career already, Finn. You made a ton of money playing football, still have lots of fans wherever we go, plus you have a second career now in broadcasting. I, on the other hand, am just now beginning to make a name for myself. But if I mess up this deal with Bloomingdale’s my career will pretty much be destroyed. So, please, please, understand and try to support me. This is my life’s dream we’re talking about here, and it’s kind of upsetting to know that you consider some party in Las Vegas to be more important.”
Her voice had cracked a little then, and he’d sworn softly to himself at the sight of a lone tear tracking down her cheek. He’d felt like a selfish, egotistical ass, or like a spoiled little boy who was throwing a tantrum because he hadn’t gotten his way.
Finn had taken her into his arms after that, cuddling her petite body against his comfortingly, and stroking her hair soothingly. “Shh. It’s okay, baby, honest. Don’t cry, please? I’m acting like a total jackass right now, aren’t I?”
Delilah had shrugged her shoulders, sniffling loudly. “Maybe a little,” she’d murmured hoarsely. “But I understand why you’re upset, Finn, honestly I do. I only wish there was something I could do to make all of this better. But I can’t. Not right now.”
He’d dropped the subject then, unwilling to upset her further. Or, worse, to have a serious fight about it. Finn had told himself at the time to grin and bear it, that he was just going to have to suck it up and deal with their current situation as best he could, and hope like hell that things would indeed get better in a couple of months.
And everything had been going along just fine in the two weeks since that particular discussion - if one didn’t count the fact that he had seen precious little of his girlfriend during that time, of course. It had taken a phone call he’d received a few days ago to stir things up again, a phone call from one of his co-anchors on the network show who was in disbelief that Finn wasn’t bringing his girlfriend along for the celebratory weekend - and shocked speechless than he was adamant about not picking up any women for the entire three days.
“Are you punking me, McManus?” Kirk Archer had asked incredulously. “You do know how many pairs of really fine tits and ass are going to be parading around the even
t this weekend, don’t you? And given that I’ve seen you in action many times, and know you have about as much willpower as a nymphomaniac in a nudist colony, I’d say the chances of you going the whole weekend without any pussy are nonexistent.”
“Knock it off, Kirk, okay?” Finn had snapped irritably. “Yeah, yeah, I know that in the past I’ve been the biggest player in town, and never one to say no to a hot, willing woman. But like I’ve told you, buddy, I’m a changed man now. And once you finally get to meet Delilah you’ll totally get it. She’s a one in a million woman, Kirk, and I’m not going to fuck everything good I have going on with her for - well, for a random, meaningless fuck, I guess. Someone else will have to be crowned King of the Manwhores for a change.”
Kirk had made a disgusted sound. “That’s BS, McManus, you know? I mean, how important can this chick’s job be anyway? She’s a dress designer, not some rocket scientist or a brain surgeon or something. And she’s the damned owner of the company, who could easily delegate work to her minions. Doesn’t she realize that you’ve got an important job, too, and that this is one of the biggest weekends of the whole year for you?”
“Of course she does,” Finn had retorted defensively. “And she feels really bad about it, has tried every which way to change some things around in her schedule so she could be there. But this new deal she has going with Bloomingdale’s is taking up almost every waking hour she has lately, so there’s zero chance of her making it to Vegas.”
“Sounds like she’s got you brainwashed, buddy,” Kirk had jibed. “The Finn McManus I’ve known all these years would never accept that sort of answer from a woman. If she kept finding excuses not to go with you, and after you begged and pleaded with her like a pathetic little bitch, then you ought to teach her a lesson and go with someone else. Either that or just accept one of the many, many offers you’re sure to receive once you get there. She can’t expect you to go all weekend without having some fun. It’s Vegas, baby, not Antarctica, you know.”
“I’m not inviting someone else,” Finn had insisted. “What part of “Delilah is my girlfriend and we’re in a relationship” don’t you get, meathead? Same thing goes with picking up girls while I’m in Vegas. Those days are over, Kirk. I’m a changed man these days.”
“Not much of a man, if you ask me,” Kirk had mumbled. “What kind of a man lets his girlfriend control him, or make all the rules? Hey, I’m not much of an expert on relationships myself - my two divorces speak for themselves - but even I know that there’s supposed to be equal give and take if you have any hope of making things work. And from what I’m hearing, McManus, this Delilah chick has you by the short and curlies, and anytime you misbehave she gives them a good, hard squeeze to keep you in line. I’m sort of ashamed to call you my friend.”
Finn had told his former teammate and current co-worker to go fuck himself before hanging up abruptly. He’d been furious afterwards, telling himself that Kirk had no idea what he was talking about, had never even seen Finn and Delilah together so how could he possibly know the slightest thing about their relationship? And Kirk was wrong, all wrong, about how things were between him and the woman in his life, the one he was crazy about and would do just about anything for. He just wished he felt more confident that Delilah returned those sentiments.
Oh, he was sure that she loved him, that much was a given. Since the night of the engagement party, Delilah had been very vocal about expressing the way she felt about him, saying “I love you” every time they chatted or texted or saw each other. But lately, when she’d been busier than ever, he hadn’t been able to hold back the fear that she was more important to him than he was to her. It felt that he was always the one making sacrifices, or accommodating her schedule, or being the understanding one if she was running late or had to cancel dinner outright. And he simply wasn’t used to taking a back seat when it came to the women in his life, was used to calling all the shots and getting his way nearly a hundred percent of the time. Max would call him a spoiled brat, and Jordan a selfish pig, and they were probably both right to a degree. But Finn knew that for the first time in his life he’d actually been considerate and unselfish and supportive of someone else. He just wasn’t positive that Delilah truly appreciated everything he had been doing for her.
He’d tried to dismiss the troubling things Kirk had brought up during their conversation, but instead he had let them fester and linger, to the point where he had begun to feel angry and resentful the closer his departure for Las Vegas drew near. To make matters worse, Delilah was practically sleeping at her studio now, taking hours to respond to his texts, and barely acknowledging him when he brought her coffee or a sandwich or coaxed her to eat dinner. She’d even snapped at him a few times, and he could tell her nerves were stretched thin and that she was on the verge of exhaustion. Even Calvin had been tiptoeing around her, he’d confessed to Finn, terrified that she would really lose it and start shrieking at the top of her lungs.
The situation quickly escalated into something of a perfect storm, with Finn feeling neglected and hurt and unappreciated, while Delilah was on edge, stressed out, and grouchy. And because he didn’t know how to deal with her when she was in this sort of mood, he’d wound up making it all so much worse last night by bringing up the Vegas trip one more time.
She’d stared at him like a really pissed-off zombie, the dark circles under her eyes starting to becoming alarming. “I cannot believe that with everything else I’m dealing with right now that you’re bringing up this stupid trip one more time. Okay, listen up, would you? Because apparently the other four conversations we had on this subject didn’t sink in somehow. I cannot go with you to Vegas. I am very, very sorry, I know how important it is to you, and if there was any way at all that I could be there, I would. Now, case closed, okay? I’m exhausted, and I need to be back at the studio by six in the morning.”
“Of course you do,” he’d snapped. “Because that goddamn studio means more to you than I do. You know, babe, I’ve literally bent over backwards for you these last few months, done everything you wanted, practically kissed your feet. And the one time - one time - I ask - no, make that beg - you to do one little thing for me, you won’t even consider it. Maybe my buddy Kirk was right the other day. You like keeping me in line, don’t you? Bending me to your will? But the one time I ask you to consider my feelings for a change, it’s screw you, Finn, my job is more important.”
Delilah had stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown three heads. “I can’t believe you just spouted that sort of bullshit to me,” she’d replied wearily, too tired to work up much of a temper. “And since you’re acting like a spoiled child right now, I think it’s probably best if you spend the night at your own place. Good night, Finn. Have a safe trip to Las Vegas. And you might not believe me - because it sounds like you’d rather believe the crap your asshole friend is feeding you instead - but I really, really feel bad about this.”
He’d watched in stunned disbelief as she’d crawled beneath the covers of her bed, switched off the lamp, and promptly fell asleep - dismissing him from her bed and her room and her life as though he wasn’t even there. He had been so pissed off, so hurt, that he’d briefly considered sliding into bed beside her, stripping off that scanty little nightgown she was wearing, and seducing her while she slept. But knowing he would never be capable of doing something so heinous, he’d stormed off across the hall to his own place, slamming the door behind him, and had proceeded to drink himself to sleep.
He’d still been angry this morning, so angry that he hadn’t bothered to send her his usual good morning text, much less stop by her office mid-morning with her favorite coffee drink and a pastry of some sort.
‘Let her be the one to reach out to me for once,’ he’d told himself peevishly. “For all you know, she might not even notice - or care - that you haven’t texted her.’
But Delilah had noticed, at least long enough to send him a brief text just before noon, though it ha
d been rather on the curt side.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t in a good mood last night, but I thought the subject of Vegas was over and done with a few weeks ago. I hope you have a good trip, and enjoy yourself - though not too much, of course. Love you.”
The message had mollified him just enough to send her an equally curt reply.
“Thanks, and I’ll be sure to behave. Talk to you soon. Love you, too.”
That had been the last communication between them, given that he’d still had to pack, summon a taxi, and get himself to the airport in time for his mid-afternoon flight to Vegas. His mood hadn’t improved one iota during the brief but noisy flight, and it had really taken a downward plunge when he’d stepped outside of the terminal in Vegas and groaned to realize it was blistering hot. The cab driver had blithely informed him that it was a sweltering one hundred and fourteen degrees today, and that the next day was forecast to be even hotter.
Finn had muttered something to himself about whose bright idea it had been to hold this party in Las Vegas in the middle of August, forgetting that this same event had also been held here for the past three years.
He’d taken his foul mood out on the overly perky front desk clerk, and he knew at some point he would feel bad about that, but right now he just wanted to feel sorry for himself - while getting drunk at the same time. He gave the spacious, luxuriously decorated suite barely a passing glance as he let himself in, leaving his suitcase in the middle of the living area as he made a beeline for the honor bar, hoping there were enough of those mini bottles inside to do the trick.
***
“Are you just going to sit here by yourself sulking all night?”
Finn glanced up in annoyance at the man who took a seat on the adjoining barstool. “I’m not just sitting here sulking,” he announced, his words slurring noticeably. “I also happen to be getting shit-faced.”
The Player Gets Coached Page 30
