by Cindi Madsen
“What else would they be shaped like?” she asked, as if it was a ridiculous question—which it was.
“Is this another one of those lavish expenses we’ve been spending money on?”
She shook the last of the sugar out of the five packets she’d ripped open to pour in her mug. “That’s just how the yummiest crackers come down at the local H-E-B. I bought them myself, and they’re the store brand. Please don’t tell me you’ve been eating your salsa with boring circle or triangle chips?”
He blinked at her. “The chips are shaped like Texas?”
She intoned her best accent, although it wasn’t nearly as strong here in the city as in the smaller towns and the southern end of the state. “Honey, you can get most anythin’ shaped like Texas here. Crackers, chips, slices of cheese. Cookies. Even trucks ’round these parts have a Texas edition option—although I wouldn’t recommend eating them.”
She chuckled at her own joke. “Feel free to try some,” she said as she pivoted to the fridge where she kept the good creamer. She poured a generous amount into her cup, the dark liquid turning light brown. She extended it toward him. “Cream? It’s not Texas shaped, but it’s Southern butter pecan flavor, and it’s delicious.”
“No, thank you. I prefer it black.”
“Of course you do. Guys think that drinking their coffee black makes them more macho somehow, but that’s just silly when you could have coffee that tastes good instead.”
“Or maybe I just prefer coffee to taste like coffee.”
“Not buying it.” She moved to put her beloved creamer back in the fridge—she was a bit of a snob when it came to the International Delight brand, too. It was just better than other brands. “I’m gonna head to my desk, and if you decide to pour some in while you’re in here alone, no one will know. Just saying.”
“Can we apply that same idea to not filling out the paperwork? No one has to know.”
“Nice try,” she said, shaking her head as she walked past him. Typical male, wanting to act brashly and leave someone else to deal with the consequences.
That was probably unfair. But she was a stats girl, and when it came to the males who’d been in and out of her life, the figures backed her up.
…
“Okay, and reason for termination.” Charlotte’s fingers paused their tapping on her laptop keyboard as she peered over the screen at him. She’d slid on a pair of pale pink, cat-eye glasses, and the lenses reflected part of the never-ending questions in front of her.
Lance dragged a hand down his face, beyond done with this process already, regardless of only being halfway finished with the first of many termination forms. “Head lodged too far up his own ass to see reason.”
Her mouth flattened into a tight line. “I can’t put that.”
“Why not? It’s true and seems like a valid reason to fire a coach to me.”
She gave him a sharp smile. Her foot went to bouncing again, the black stiletto adding an air of extra impatience. He’d thought they were kind of sexy before he worried she might use the spiky end on him.
“Did you go to college to learn what paperwork and forms are necessary when terminating an employee, as well as all the labor laws?”
He knew better than to answer that. Not that he really had to.
“I’m trying to cover your ass, and you’ve already had complaints lodged against you for derogatory remarks.” The tightness in her voice made it clear she was running out of patience as fast as he was. “Best not prove the point in a document he could use against you.”
“Just tell anyone who questions my motives to watch any game last season—that should be explanation enough.”
She sighed. “It’s called due diligence, which is especially important for a billion-dollar company. Why must you make it so difficult?”
“Here I thought you were making it difficult. Who even looks through the paperwork?”
“I do! And if a lawyer needs it—and ours is definitely going to—they will. Which means a judge might also see it. I’m not going to do a crappy job because you want to impulsively fire everyone and not have to deal with the consequences.”
“Trust me, if I knew this was going to be part of the consequences, I might’ve just decided to forgo a shot at winning a game ever again.”
Her eyebrows lowered, those full lips pursing in the way they too often did. As frustrating as she was with all her dotted i’s and crossed t’s, he kept getting caught up staring at her pretty features. Her big green eyes practically glowed, and right now it was with irritation aimed at him.
And he found himself experiencing a clashing mix of annoyance and attraction.
Those damned black pantyhose with the dark line up the back that occasionally flashed when she crossed her legs certainly weren’t helping matters. They, along with her shoes, were the only things about her that didn’t scream sensible, and his brain kept getting snagged on them when it should be focusing on everything else. About her, and about the massive amount of work they had to do.
“Section seven of the handbook states that the termination procedure typically starts with the employee’s supervisor or manager—you—who discusses the matter with human resources—that’d be me. Once they determine if termination is necessary, they schedule a meeting with the employee and explain why ending the employment relationship is the best solution for all parties.”
He simply stared. Partly because an intelligent response refused to come to mind, and partly because she’d just rattled off another set of rules he’d gotten lost in. It pretty much boiled down to him not having a leg to stand on, he got that much.
“But you didn’t do any of that,” Charlotte continued, an admonishing pinch to her expression. “So I need you to help me out so I can help you. Help me help you.”
“Just put down incompetence.”
“Great.” The aggressive click of her keyboard filled the room. “I’ll also look through his contract later and reference any pertinent sections to further justify letting him go.”
Damn politics and rules and never-ending piles of paperwork. No wonder the team sucks. Everyone spends too much time tiptoeing around, trying not to hurt delicate feelings.
Well, Charlotte could get as mad as she wanted to, but he wasn’t tiptoeing around. Football wasn’t about preserving feelings. It was about teamwork and taking hits and pulling off insane plays as you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into every workout. Every game.
He wanted his staff to be willing to lay it all on the line so he could ask the players to do the same. He wanted to get to the fun part, where the team was gelling and finding their groove and grinding it out on the field. That needed to happen as soon as possible, because this year, the Mustangs were going to make the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. A lofty goal like that meant he wasn’t going to slow down or mince words until they’d put together a team that could make that happen.
He picked the top résumé off the stack, but his phone rang, interrupting before any of the information he’d read sunk in. It’d rung nonstop, but when he saw one of his former teammates’ name flash across the display, he quickly answered—finally, someone he wanted to talk to.
“Foster, how the hell are you?”
“Still handsome and as talented as ever,” Foster said, because humility was never his cross to bear.
Lance snorted, and after exchanging some typical give-each-other-shit remarks and taking a minute or two to properly catch up, switched into business mode. “So, find anything out from your contacts? I could use some good news.”
“I poked around a little. Talked to Billy Mulroney and he was very interested. He’s the only one I’ve been able to talk to so far.”
“Billy Mulroney could be good.”
“Really?” Charlotte said, and at first he thought she might be mad because he’d answered the phone, but then she muttered, “Sure, if you want to keep on losing.”
He almost ignored it but decided he might as w
ell give her the chance to speak her mind—not that he could stop her from voicing her opinions anyway. Might as well let her do it in a more official capacity. “Hey, I’m gonna put you on speaker. I’m in my office with my human resources manager, Charlotte James.” He clicked the speaker icon. “Charlotte, I’m talking to Kevin Foster. You know him?”
“Sure. Wide receiver, round three draft pick, over eight thousand receiving yards, sixty-four receiving touchdowns and counting. You two played really well together.”
Lance took a moment to pick his jaw off his desk. “You followed my career?”
“Slow down there, Mr. Ego. I follow football.”
Foster laughed, and Lance decided to charge on through. “Okay then, let’s hear your opinion on Mulroney. From the sounds of it, you don’t think he’s the coach we need.”
Charlotte shrugged. “He’s too cautious.”
“Cautious can be good. We want someone who makes smart calls.”
“Smart and cautious aren’t the same thing. Sometimes taking a risk is the smart move. He always plays it safe, and that means field goals when there could’ve been touchdowns. It means not making the big plays that catch the defense off guard. Don’t tell me that when you were playing and it was third and three or four that you didn’t think you could get the first down. Especially if you were behind and the clock was ticking faster and faster toward the end of the game.”
His eyes locked on to hers, and the challenge inside of them sent a heady thrumming through his veins. “I’d go for it. Hell, Foster and I’ve gone for it plenty of times.”
“Converted most of them, too,” Foster said.
Charlotte smiled at the phone on the desk between them, and Lance experienced a pinch of…he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t get smiles like that. Why did Foster’s voice get one? “Exactly. It’s the perfect example of high risk, high reward. Everyone expects you to give it to your running back in those situations, and most of the time, it’s the right move. But when you switch it up, throw one of those amazing passes, and get an extra ten or twenty yards…? Those are the times the fans go extra crazy. That’s what fills the seats—which isn’t something we’ve done for a while, as our budget attests. If we’re going to restructure, let’s put together a team that’ll get fans in seats.” She glanced at him. “I mean, that’s what my vote would be. Not that I get a vote. I’m just saying.”
“I appreciate your input,” Lance said, and he meant it. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Who else is out there?”
They threw out a few names, but most of the well-known coaches had been snatched up, and it’d take digging to find out whose contracts were up when.
Lance tapped the speaker icon, picked up the phone, and told Foster he’d circle back around, but if he could spread the word and let him know if there was any interest, he’d appreciate it. If his former teammate was a free agent, he’d push for him in an instant, but he also knew Foster was eyeing retirement. Maybe eventually he’d recruit him as a coach, but that didn’t help the here and now.
As he paced, he kept glancing at Charlotte. She typed away on her computer, occasionally pausing to readjust her glasses, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d rattled off those stats earlier. Her point about Coach Mulroney being too cautious.
When Lance hung up, he tossed out the name of one of the greatest running backs in NFL history, curious to see how extensive her knowledge truly was.
Charlotte rattled off his stats in one long stream, just like she’d done with Foster, and then asked, “What about him?”
He walked around the desk and glanced at her computer screen, sure she’d pulled up Google. But the only thing onscreen was one of those stupid termination forms she insisted he fill out for every single person he’d fired. “I…just…”
“Wanted to see how much I really know about football?”
“No,” he said, a hint defensively because it’d been part of it. So far he’d mostly seen how much she knew about HR, rules, and foods shaped like Texas.
“Let’s just go with a lot, and I’m crazy good with numbers, especially where stats are concerned.”
“There’s good with numbers and then there’s…whatever you are. You could make a killing in Vegas.”
Her face dropped. “I don’t gamble.” Tension crept into the room, and her shoulders lifted a bit higher.
He hadn’t meant to upset her. Even though he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to with such a simple statement, he softened his voice and worked to undo it. “It was more an observation and one of those things people say, not a suggestion.”
She nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. “Right. Of course.”
So they would stay away from Vegas, but he mentally patted himself on the back for keeping her around. The weight pressing against his shoulders even lightened a bit. He’d felt so responsible for every part of the team and rebuilding the staff and had wondered how he would possibly do it all. Sure, he knew the game and how to play, but there were so many moving parts, and there was always a mix of skill and luck involved in every game.
Speaking her mind had allowed Charlotte to keep her job—and yes, he’d needed someone to help with all the hiring as well. But he realized that she could be an asset to the team in more areas than HR.
In fact, he was starting to think she was his ace in the hole.
Chapter Four
A mug was thrust into her line of sight, and Charlotte glanced up, bleary eyed, from her computer screen.
Lance had been on the phone and had walked out of his office about ten minutes ago—for privacy she assumed—and she was surprised he’d noticed she was out of coffee. “I added a shit ton of your fancy creamer, too, since you don’t have to pretend you’re macho like I do.”
“Yeah, if gross coffee is the price, I’ll pass.” She returned his smile as she took the warm offering in her hands and inhaled the delicious aroma. She took a sip, and her entire body perked up.
“I know we had a deal—you shared your pot with me, so I made more—but full disclosure, I’m also hoping to get in another hour or so of work. I’ve got to head to Nag’s Head, North Carolina on Monday, and since I’ll be there at the beach for a week, I’d like to get as much as possible done before then.”
She frowned. While there was definitely a string attached to her perfectly made cup of coffee, she was more concerned about the last part. “Let me get this straight. You fired most everyone on the Mustangs staff, and now you’re just going to go on a beach vacation?”
“It’s my brother’s wedding,” he said, and she wished she hadn’t voiced her incredulity.
“Oh. Well, a valid reason—”
“Gee, thanks for validating me,” he muttered, and she glared at him. Apparently their momentary truce was over.
“I wasn’t quite finished,” she said. “What I was going to say before you interrupted was, ‘But this stuff is never going to be done before you go.’ Even if I stay the extra hour or so this coffee will help get me through. Not to mention that with the draft coming up, we’re under a huge time crunch as it is.” Thanks to their horrible record last season they had first pick, so it was an even bigger deal than usual, one they couldn’t afford to waste. These kinds of decisions affected everyone involved in the entire franchise from the staff to the players and everyone in between. Plus their families.
“Which is why I’ll be working most of the time I’m in North Carolina.”
“I’ll try to hold down the fort here, but full disclosure, I’m going to have to send you a ton of paperwork to sign so I can get it all filed and we can get started on new contracts.”
His phone rang, and he sighed, a completely exhausted, frustrated noise.
She’d forwarded her desk line to her cell, and between paperwork and sorting through résumés, they’d both been on calls all day, so she understood. If she had to talk to one more person over the phone, she might lose the calm and collected manner she prided herself on. Even when peo
ple called to yell, she always kept her cool, although she did get firmer and sharper if necessary.
Lance answered with his name, already off and pacing around his office. After all day of doing so, she noticed he was favoring his right knee. She assumed he wouldn’t want her to ask about it, even if it would be to see if he needed ice or pain meds or something.
“Oh, she did, did she?” Lance glanced at Charlotte, and she fought paranoia. What did she do now?
I’m innocent! I’ve been in here with you the whole time!
Admittedly she’d thought several times about how nicely his slacks fit—he kept putting his hands in his pockets and stretching the fabric tighter across the ass she was filling out all this paperwork to protect. He’d also rolled up his sleeves, and she’d accidentally ogled the enticing line of his forearm, and okay, she wasn’t totally innocent. Maybe it was a good thing he was going to be out of town for a wedding. It’d give them time to get more people into the office and give her some distance from the guy, which would help tame her improper thoughts about him and his ridiculous body. And his deep voice, which continually affected her, regardless of whether he was being nice or completely impossible.
Although for the record, she’d behave either way.
Just to ensure she didn’t go thinking too much about things she shouldn’t, she promptly pulled up the inter-office dating policy. Despite already knowing it by heart, she read it to herself. Not only was dating in the office highly discouraged, section three, paragraph four clearly stated that supervisors must not date their direct reports. The restriction extended to every manager above an employee, and Lance was the very top of everything.
Not that she thought he would have a problem with wanting to date her—and she definitely didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with someone so frustrating—but it was inappropriate for her to think about her boss in any way besides the guy who was making her life hell but she had to report to anyway.
Maybe there should be an inter-office ogling policy. I’ll write it up, and there will just be one word: don’t.
