by Cindi Madsen
Lance muttered a few mmm-hms and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, but I can’t really talk right now.” Pause. “Later. Sure.” Pause. “Goodbye.”
He lowered the phone and glanced at her again, and her spine automatically straightened. “What?”
“My mother is giving out my number to women she wants to set me up with and telling them to call me.”
“Didn’t she hear that you made the most eligible bachelor list? No need for her to play matchmaker—soon you’ll have all sorts of women beating down your door.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m in much danger of that.” A horrified expression crossed his face. “Unless my mom gives them my address.”
“Or maybe I will,” she teased, acting like she was pulling up his information. Then she stuck out her pinky and her thumb and mimicked being on the phone. “Yes, you can go right on over to his place. He loves unexpected guests.”
He scowled at her, and she probably shouldn’t enjoy ruffling his feathers quite as much as she did, but she owed him after all his complaining about her forms, while being so useless at helping to fill them out. “Wouldn’t that be a violation of privacy?” he asked. “That’s gotta be in the handbook somewhere. I’m guessing you and your photographic memory even know which section.”
“I don’t have a photographic memory, but yes, yes I do know. I’m not going to spoil the read for you, though. You’re going to have to look it up yourself.”
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth kicked up. Then his phone rang again. His brow furrowed before he answered it in his usual way. His posture tensed. He plopped into his seat and dropped his head into his hands. He was polite but short and made his apologies about needing to go.
“Another one?” she asked after he’d disconnected the call. Too late she realized that wasn’t any of her business, and asking was crossing a line she’d meant to keep firmly taut and far away from.
“Yep. Apparently my mom’s determined for me to have a date for the wedding, and her way of ensuring that was to give all of her friends’ single daughters my number.”
Charlotte laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s totally not funny,” she said, but then she laughed again.
His head tilt was slightly chiding, but a faint glint of humor lit his eyes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. Even though it’s cutting into time we could be using to fill out more of your ridiculous forms.”
“I do love me some forms,” she said, in spite of it being the least favorite part of her job. Under other circumstances, she might even agree some of them were overkill. “It’s just kind of nice seeing that even star football players have to deal with things like having their mothers attempt to set them up. Dating is…” She shuddered. “Last night my roommate convinced me to go to this speed dating event.”
“On a Wednesday?” he asked.
“She thinks the people out and about on weekends are fake single.”
“As in they’re in committed relationships but pretending otherwise?”
“More like they must not want a relationship enough if they only go looking on Friday and Saturday.” She waved a hand through the air. “I gave up trying to understand her theories a few months ago.” While her brain was saying this was another gray area path, her mouth kept on going anyway. “I’d say in those type of situations, the day of the week doesn’t much matter. Every time there are three times as many women as men. It’s like the dating Hunger Games, and the odds were not ever in my favor.”
Evidently he didn’t read a lot of young adult novels or keep up on popular culture, because there wasn’t so much as a flicker of recognition. “So, no luck?”
“My roommate ended up with two numbers. I ended up with a headache.”
Instead of the laugh she’d hoped for after her awesome joke, his eyebrows knitted together. “Were there a bunch of idiots there? Or were they just too scared to ask for your number?”
“I think they were uninterested as opposed to scared.”
He ran his gaze up and down her, and the temperature in the room shot up a couple of degrees. “Doubtful,” he said. “Did you recite all the rules to them? Quote the dating handbook?”
“Oh, so you’re saying it’s my personality. Maybe I should’ve turned on the charm and told them the only first down they’d ever make was shoving their heads up their asses.”
He huffed a laugh. “Hey, if you’re into that type of kinky stuff, go right ahead.”
She felt herself blush, and with her pale skin, there was no chance he wouldn’t notice. “I’m…that’s inappropriate. I’d never discuss… Pursuant to section three of the handbook, any discussion that would make fellow employees uncomfortable is to be avoided.”
“Jeez. What were you, raised by robots?”
“Nuns,” she said. “And a gambler father who inadvertently taught me that it was much safer to follow the rules.” The nuns comment was an oversimplification, but he’d stabbed at a raw spot.
A flicker of some sort of realization, along with a hint of pity, flashed through his features, and she cursed herself for reacting too strongly, the same way she had over the Vegas suggestion he’d made earlier. She was revealing too much, things she was usually so much better at keeping in the vault.
Lance held up his hands. “I don’t want to have to file any more paperwork than I already do, so I’m officially surrendering on this. That doesn’t require any special forms, does it?” He patted his pockets. “I seem to have misplaced my white flag.”
“Ha-ha. And don’t tempt me, because I could totally draw up a surrender form, one long enough it’d make you cry before you got to the end of it to date and sign.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Just plenty of fear.” He gave her a teasing smile, one that reanimated the long-dead butterflies in her stomach. Solidarity butterflies aided by appreciation over the fact that he’d let the subject drop, that was all. “Now, where was that résumé you wanted me to look at?”
She sorted through her stack of papers to the college coach she’d spotted in the mix. Usually the general manager would be heavily involved in this process, but considering they didn’t currently have one…
Honestly, it felt nice that he was giving her input some weight. Although it added a bit of pressure, too. It was one thing to sit on her couch on Sunday afternoons and the occasional weekday evening and yell that she could’ve done a better coaching job, but it was another thing to actually help pick who would be making the hard calls.
Lance’s lips moved as his gaze skimmed down Sean Bryant’s résumé. It was kinda cute how he muttered to himself as he read—in a buddy ol’ pal way. Not in a dang, his lips are rather sexy and I like the way they move way. Just to be clear.
“I assume you already read through his résumé?”
She nodded.
“Thoughts?”
“He’s a risk, no doubt about that. But he doesn’t play it safe, either. Yeah, I read his résumé, but I’ve also seen the way he works magic from the sidelines. In the six years he’s coached, his team has gone from one of the last in its division to one of the top.”
“But is he ready for the pressure of an NFL team? I could see him as maybe an assistant coach, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to just toss him the reins of our runaway horse.”
“Funny. Wild mustangs and all.”
His forehead crinkled for a second before it smoothed. “Pun not intended.” He sat back and ran his fingers across his jaw, and she forced her eyes to return to her screen so she wouldn’t go and start thinking about his nice jawline.
Now her anxiety was kicking in, making her worry about how many times she’d overreacted this afternoon—he was going to think she was an overly sensitive mess. Not far from the truth sometimes, but he didn’t need to know that. “Hey,” she said, and he looked up, and she wished she would’ve said her piece without getting his attention on her first. “Sorry I sort of snapped about the dating thing. And the robot t
hing.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Sometimes I think it would be easier to be a robot.” A mirthless laugh slipped out. “A lot of guys have disappointed me, and admittedly, I wasn’t trying very hard during the speed dating event. I mostly go along with my roommate’s plans because it’s what she wants. A relationship isn’t even at the bottom of my priority list.”
“I hear that. I’ve told my mom that I’m going to be far too busy to date, but obviously she doesn’t get it.”
“I do. Especially after working here. There are times when it’s too crazy to think about anything else. Anyway, I just wanted to clear the air.”
“Air cleared.” A smile slowly spread across his face, a hint of mocking to it.
“Okay, now I’m going to get mad about being the brunt of whatever joke’s going through your head.”
“It’s just…that chair is so big, and you’re so little it almost swallows you right up.”
“Yeah, because they’re built for football players.”
“I’ve known some big guys in my day, and even they wouldn’t be able to fill one of those chairs.”
“Well, you know what they say. Everything’s bigger in Texas.”
He laughed, and they were okay, and even better, she felt like they’d struck the right kind of balance. Friendly without going too far, the respectful vibe still there.
The clock at the top of her screen was blurry when she checked the time, the numbers letting her know how late it’d gotten. “My lunch barely counted as a lunch, and I need to go eat and get some sleep so we can cram in another long day tomorrow.”
“I understand. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
She nodded.
“You might as well leave all of your stuff. The chair can certainly accommodate it, and then you won’t have to lug it back in here.”
Sure. It made sense when he put it like that, but the thought of another day working so closely with him tugged at her already fraying nerves.
But what could she say? Not only was he the boss, the close quarters situation would only be for one more day…
Chapter Five
Day two of nonstop forms, calls, and résumé sorting with Lance was coming to a close, and Charlotte was powering through what little reserves of caffeine and sugar from the cookie she had for lunch were left.
Lance’s phone chimed with a text, and for a moment, it was dead silent. Then his sigh carried across the space, and he muttered something she didn’t quite catch.
“Everything okay?” she asked, glancing up from her computer.
“My mom wants to know if I’ve heard from any of the women she gave my number to, and if so, what I thought. As if talking to someone on the phone for a few minutes would be enough to tell.”
“With the right person, maybe it would be,” she halfheartedly said, and Lance shot her a look packed with a heap of skepticism.
“You don’t really believe that.” Not a question.
Earlier he’d gotten another call from one of his mom’s prospective hopefuls, and like yesterday he’d been polite but brief. Unlike the other women, this one hadn’t gotten the hint and had rattled on and on while Lance kept pointing at the phone and Charlotte tried to bite back her laughter. It was the first time in her life she’d thought maybe she was lucky her dad only cared about her if he needed her to crunch numbers. Which was hardly fair now that he was semi-trying.
Finally, Lance had mouthed “help,” and Charlotte had stood, clomped across the office as loudly as she could, and said, “Did you forget about the meeting? Everyone’s waiting on you, and if you don’t come now, the deal’s going to fall through.”
“No, I don’t think a conversation with someone is enough to tell if you’re compatible,” she admitted. Thanks to experience, she knew hundreds of them weren’t enough. Her last boyfriend had felt like her best chance at happily ever after, but after investing all that time and effort, he’d still wanted her more for what she could do for him than wanted her for her. “Believing in love at first sight—or first listen, as the case may be—and all that other fairy tale-type stuff is just setting yourself up for failure. It’s like expecting a perfect season. Bad weather hits. People have off days. Players are injured.”
He nodded. “And I’d way rather have even a good season than a great relationship right now. It’s refreshing how much you get it.”
Refreshing wasn’t the word she’d pick, but it did sound better than jaded.
“If it’s this bad now,” Lance said, “I can’t imagine how bad it’s going to be once I get to the resort. She’ll probably schedule a date a night, and I just don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for this week-long wedding madness as it is.”
He began typing a reply, and Charlotte almost advised him to be nice but reminded herself it wasn’t any of her business, and hopefully he already knew to be nice to his mother.
He lifted the stack of papers in front of him, the one she’d sorted from most to least qualified after disregarding the completely unqualified ones they’d received. “How long does it usually take to fill a position?” he asked a couple résumés in.
“Anywhere from a week to a month.”
His disappointment and sense of urgency was palpable. “We need stability. I need this all wrapped up in a matter of a week—two at most. Which would still only give us a little over a week to get the new staff up to speed and working together by Draft Day.”
“I’ll do my best, but with you being gone, it’s going to be tricky. I’m sure you’ll be harder to reach with all the wedding festivities, and waiting for your input before I can add someone or cross them off the list is going to be super time consuming.”
“Unless…” A lightbulb dinged on over his head, and she wasn’t sure why it sent trepidation tiptoeing down her spine, but it definitely did.
“If you’re gonna suggest we go recruit coaches, GMs, or players with solid contracts in place, it’s a bad idea. There are rules and—”
“Come with me to my brother’s wedding.”
It took her a few seconds to rewind the conversation and sort through the words he’d actually said instead of the ones she’d expected. “Come again?”
He stood and circled the desk, stopping right in front of her. “You want this wrapped up as much as I do. Like you said, going back and forth over the phone is going to take extra time we don’t have. And if you come with me as my plus one, my family will leave me alone about finding a date.”
“Is this a joke? We haven’t known each other long, and you don’t strike me as a joking type of guy, but…if this is your attempt at a joke, I’ve gotta say you’re not very good at them.”
He pointed a finger at her, and she jerked, her head hitting the extra tall back of the chair. “That’s the kind of brutal honesty I need. I also need the thing you did earlier, where you bailed me out of that conversation with the woman my mother told to call me.”
“But won’t the ref—or your mother in this instance—flag me for interference?”
He cracked a smile. “I can risk one penalty easier than I can risk hours and hours of my time being sucked away.” His smile widened, and he reached out and nudged her knee. “See? When I make a joke, you can tell.”
“Are you saying that was one?” she quipped, and he pressed his lips into a contemptuous line. It probably said something about her tired mental state that it caused an intoxicating zing instead of a surge of annoyance.
“Charlotte. I’m sincerely asking you to come with me. I’ll even add a please if that’s what it takes.”
Professional lines are about to be blurred—abort, abort, abort. She put a hand to her chest. “I can’t be your date for your brother’s wedding, Mr. Quaid.”
He made a face like he’d bit into a sour lemon. “Mr. Quaid?”
She stood, her heart beating too fast. She wanted to say she wasn’t tempted, but she knew it was a bad idea, and more than that there were rul
es. Rules she’d stick to, even if he accused her of being a robot again. “Section three, under the seventh subheading about employee relations, ‘while this policy does not prevent friendships or romantic relationships between coworkers, it does establish boundaries as to how relationships are conducted within the working environment.’”
“There you have it—it’s fine.”
“I’m not finished,” she said, and she remained undeterred when he muttered “Of course you’re not.” “Individuals in managerial roles—AKA, me—and those with authority over others’ terms and conditions of employment—AKA, you—are subject to more stringent requirements and are not to date their direct reports.”
“Right, but I’m not asking for you to jump into a romantic relationship with me. I’m not even asking you on an official date. I’m asking you to attend a wedding with me so that we can get more work done.”
Of course he wasn’t asking her on a date—she’d never thought that, although he didn’t have to make the idea sound so preposterous, especially since she didn’t want to go out with him, either. There was something about the words “attending a wedding” that struck fear in her, though.
Family. All that time together. No break to build up her walls or space in general. Not to mention a big ceremony and several days of having to be “on” nonstop.
Then again, they really did need every spare hour they could get…
…
Charlotte blinked at him for what seemed like an eternity, pausing the hasty exit he was sure she’d been about to make—he would’ve let her, too, and he’d even backed up a step so she didn’t feel trapped.
He realized what he’d proposed was a crazy idea. But he was also fully aware of how much he needed to accomplish these next few weeks. The wedding couldn’t come at a worse time—again, not that he wasn’t happy for his brother. He wanted Mitch to get started on his new life as much as he wanted to get started on his own new life. Ever since he’d been injured he’d felt stuck, and inheriting the team had lit a fire inside of him that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
