The Quarterback: A New Adult Sports Romance ~ Landyn (The Rookies Book 1)

by Zoë Lane

  Okay, that was a bit graphic, even for me.

  And he cost the team way too much money for me—or anybody else—to kill.

  But there was no way this team would survive insubordination within its ranks. I’d suffocate the life from it. That’s how you keep a team like this together. None of the players will respect me as the GM unless I’m hard. Since Landyn was the de facto leader of the team, the players would follow his lead. He clearly doesn’t respect female leadership, and neither will the rest of them.

  A knock halted me midway through the length of my office. The coach peeked his head in with raised brows.

  Ah, well, this will do as a gazelle.

  I waved him in while stalking back to my desk. Instead of sitting, I waited until the coach took a seat in front of my desk, and then I opted to stand. I was short enough as it was, and a former mentor of mine had told me to always be the last one to sit and, if possible, stand.

  “I’m the general manager,” I began in a tone that held some of the fury I couldn’t work out earlier in my pacing.

  “Rochelle, I know.”

  I opened my mouth and then promptly closed it. We were on a first-name basis, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to ask him to use my title in a room with just the two of us. He hadn’t disrespected me; Landyn had. “Well, Coach, the quarterback seems to have forgotten it. He hasn’t played a single game in the NFL and walks around like he owns the place, disrespecting those in charge as though he’s already earned the position.”

  The coach’s mouth twisted into a lopsided frown. He pinched the space between his brows. “Yeah, a few million dollars can do that to a guy—”

  “With an overinflated ego.”

  “—and it’s Danny, remember?” His piercing blues cooled some of my anger.

  I’d had waited a long time for his moment: to be in a leadership position for a team in the National Football League. Yes, in a perfect world, I’d be managing one of the already established teams, but the world hadn’t been a perfect place since Eve had had the nerve to eat that damned apple. And it didn’t have to be; the owner believed in me. I was perfectly capable of making something of this team.

  If I had the proper support.

  And respect.

  “Your quarterback doesn’t just need to acknowledge your leadership, but mine as well,” I commented in a softer tone. “I don’t care what he thinks—if it’s because I’m a woman, or because I’ve never managed an NFL team before—”

  “None of those things matters to me, Rochelle. I hope you know that,” he said gently.

  “Please, let me finish.” Danny held up his hands in an apologetic fashion. Satisfied with his meek reverence to my dominance, I continued. “I’m still the general manager, and he’s just an unproven quarterback.” Danny nodded, but whether or not he agreed, I couldn’t tell by his blank expression. “The owner wants this squashed. No more tabloid coverage of his antics. I’d bet he’s not getting enough rest by going out so often. If we make it to the playoffs, the owner doesn’t want this guy to have the reputation of being a problem we can’t handle.”

  “I understand. He needs good press. We all do.”

  Good press… Danny was a genius.

  And he must’ve read my mind, because a mischievous light flickered in his eyes, though the rest of his face held the same stoic expression.

  I hated those eyes. They made me want to open up to him…all the way open.

  I tore my gaze away and fumbled with the papers on my desk. I cleared her throat. My very dry throat. “Good press…good idea.”

  “I know,” came his smooth voice.

  Slow and deep.

  Rochelle! Girl, be a professional!

  Hot. The room was too hot. If I removed my blazer, he’d see the sweat stains beneath my arms and then he’d offered to remove my shirt, and my bra snapped in the front—easy access. I would cool down without my clothes on.

  I unbuttoned the two buttons on my jacket that held me captive.

  And he would never offer to remove your shirt, because he’s a professional! I glanced at him, a curious expression, and those brows rose again as though to remind me how patiently he was waiting for me to either finish the thought about the press or dismiss him.

  I sat in my chair. I didn’t care that even while sitting, he was still taller than me. My wobbly legs wouldn’t have a chance to fail, and I’d fall on the desk. He might think that an open invitation!

  “Like I was saying, good press. Maybe what we need is, like…a fixer. Someone who fixes messes and spins a better story.”

  Danny nodded, his lips curving into a grin. “Like Olivia Pope.”

  I held his gaze without fear of succumbing to those eyes. “You watched Scandal?”

  “Addicted to it. Well, really just Olivia and Fitz. I really liked their push-pull dynamic. The wanting and needing, but resisting it all.”

  His even gaze made me wet underneath my skirt. Thank goodness I was sitting down. Don’t assume that’s a euphemism. Yeah, I’m black and he’s white and— My eyes spotted a ring on his left hand.

  Married.

  How had I never noticed it before?

  My deodorant finally kicked in. Funny how I felt dry everywhere else. Not parched, but cool. Steel infused my spine. His beautiful blue eyes didn’t work as well as he probably thought they did. I sat up straighter and removed my jacket. I knew my pits were dry. “More than a publicist. We’ll make him over in the press,” I said in a commanding tone of which my mentor would have been so proud.

  No way was I going to wreck some other woman’s home. A man who’d disrespected his wife by flirting with other women was one who wouldn’t—or couldn’t—treat her any better. I picked up the receiver of my desk phone and pretended to dial some numbers. “Thank you, Coach.”

  His face darkened for a moment and then recovered to smooth, unstrained skin and a veiled look. “Happy to help,” he muttered, knowing he’d been dismissed.

  He slammed my office door a little too hard, and so did I with the receiver, but my anger was justified. Really? Was I blind to have never seen the ring on his finger before now? Because you’ve been professional, not letting a little dry spell make you wet like a feline in heat.

  I groaned and picked up my cell phone. Work would take my mind off Coach Hicks. I dialed my sister—the real Olivia Pope of the family, in everything from fashion to solving problems. “It’s me. Remember your friend Rose? I need someone to fix something for me. You think she can handle it?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ROSE

  I nervously tapped my foot, followed by a quick pull at the hem of my skirt, even though it was right at the top of my knees. I’m on time. Rochelle was the late one. I released a heavy sigh and then wet my lips. Groaning, I pulled out my compact from my purse and touched up my lipstick. Calm down, Rose. They are the ones with the problem. They called you because you know how to fix problems. You are exactly what they want. You have the job.

  Actually, I wasn’t even supposed to have this job. Writing a proposal for our company to represent the team was one thing. If Helena hadn’t pushed me into a meeting with Cerberus, I probably would’ve been assigned something with far less public interest. Working as a fixer for the new Richmond Rhinos? And not just the team…

  I rubbed the space between my brows, the weight of this assignment stabbing me right there. A special case that needed my firm’s expertise in cleaning up a lot of negative publicity and generating good press. The general manager and coach had been criticized for their choices in the starting lineup, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to call my firm—at least, not in my opinion. The only true negative publicity the team had received had been…their quarterback.

  Landyn Gallagher.

  Talk about public interest.

  No…no…no, they couldn’t want me for him. That can’t be right. How do you fix that mess? Cocky, arrogant frat boy who throws footballs into women’s faces when they aren’t looking at him�
� I can’t fix that! Calm down, Rose. They called you because you know how to fix problems. You are exactly what they want.

  In the middle of telling myself this mantra for the umpteenth time this morning, the door to the hallway opened and in walked Landyn Gallagher. He appeared more causal in dark jeans and a white hoodie, so different from the typical suit the paps always snapped him wearing while at a nightclub, or the tight pants and fitted jersey of his football uniform. This is the man they want me to handle.

  No way.

  Up close, the guy was a giant. Six foot three—at least—with a chest wider than probably two of me. Against my will, my eyes dropped to his hands.

  Holy smokes.

  Their circumferences stretched the length of the large pizza I’d ordered last night and did not eat all by myself.

  His press, Rose. You’re handling the press. Not him. Never him.

  He was probably the type who only wanted experienced women anyway. Which would make me completely untouchable.

  Not exactly a relief.

  I could see Helena’s self-satisfied smirk once the firm had agreed to let me take lead—and hear her bemoaning how I couldn’t cross the line from professionalism to personal. She’d relish the chance to be here, at this moment, to see my mortification in front of this man, about which she promised to tease me mercilessly.

  I hated guys like Landyn.

  Their bodies touched by God; blessed with perfect hair, hypnotic eyes, endless granite muscles even in their baby toes, and shafts nearly the length of a ruler.

  Guys who could walk into a room and have any girl they wanted—and knew it.

  Guys whose only mission in life was to move from one hot girl to the next, draining them of all self-worth and self-respect until they were begging him to stay, as though life wouldn’t go on and they’d never get another guy to call them.

  Guys who played with the hearts and minds of girls without caring, simply because their feelings didn’t matter; only his, because there really was only enough room in the relationship for one—if you could even call it a relationship.

  Guys who never even looked at me.

  It’s not like I wasn’t pretty. I just wasn’t a twenty. Or a twelve. Or even a ten. Maybe a six point five, if I were being honest. Or a seven. Definitely not more than a seven.

  Solid six point five.

  I repeatedly smoothed my navy-blue skirt, suddenly self-conscious about the plainness of it, my matching pumps, and my simple white button-down blouse. I could’ve chosen a different hairstyle today, like down and around my shoulders, except not parted anywhere but in the middle—a safe and sensible part. No. I just had to put it up in a bun like my spinster aunt, who had twenty-three years in the active military service and never looked like she was out of uniform.

  Rose, none of this matters! Who cares what he looks like and what he thinks about how you look? You look the part; that’s what’s important. Besides, he was the client, and that relationship had to remain professional at all times.

  I must’ve been staring, because what had started as a brief once-over—not even a real look—and a decided dismissal—again!—turned into a second longer look and a wink. I blinked and looked away.

  He remembers me.

  Landyn took a seat on the couch opposite me in the small waiting room, legs wide open, arms draped over the top of the couch. His hooded eyes remained on me with interest. “You here for a job?”

  Ugh, why was the room so small? And how could his voice fill it so quickly? Deep, rolling over me like wave after wave. Was I tingling? Did he do that, or I was imagining the sand metaphorically scraping my skin as I tumbled, fighting drowning in the sea of his voice?

  “Yes,” I croaked out.

  Great.

  Now I sounded like I didn’t deserve to be here, like his bosses hadn’t just phoned my firm and asked specifically for me—a junior fixer—to handle their quarterback.

  Handle his press. Handle his press! I looked down, smoothing my blazer. Really, my hands could be irons.

  “Well, I hope you get it.”

  My eyes found him again—really, too easy to do—tingling sensation gone. He shot me a closed-mouth smile that didn’t reach his eyes, yet his eyes were warm and held none of the egotism I had expected. “I already have it, thank you.”

  His head snapped back a little in surprise. He cocked a brow at me, gaze running up and down my body again, the scrutiny more uncomfortable than even the interview at MacCallister, Wembly, and Poach. Why did I feel so naked?

  “Oh, I thought you were interviewing.”

  Wow, my mantra really did work. “Well, I am.”

  He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Confident. I like that.”

  I had a cat allergy.

  “Just like that catch the other day.” He winked again.

  My fingers went to smooth my already perfectly laid edges around my right ear. “You remembered that.”

  “’Course I do.”

  “Remember throwing that ball to my face.” I lifted my chin to feign this so-called confidence I’d already convinced him I had.

  He laughed softly. “I remember an uncharacteristically errant throw getting caught, easily, by a girl who was barely even looking. Impressive. I’ve had a few running backs in my day that couldn’t catch the ball knowing the play.”

  No, no, no. He didn’t need to like me, although it would make things a whole hell of a lot easier. Stop smiling at me like that. I didn’t like the way his full mouth opened wide in an appreciative grin.

  Perfect teeth, too. The God gene.

  The office door opened. “Rose?” Rochelle stepped into the waiting area. “Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting. Conference call ran long.” Rochelle came forward with her hand extended.

  I gripped her hand firmly. “Hello, Ms. Hardison. No worries.”

  “Oh, Rose, come on now. It’s Rochelle.” Her warm smile caused me to relax for a moment.

  “You two know each other?” Landyn’s eyes swiveled as he glanced between the two of us.

  Rochelle glanced over her shoulder as if noticing Landyn for the first time. “Ah, I see you’ve met Landyn. Give us a moment, Landyn. Rose?”

  Landyn half-grinned at us, and I wondered if he knew what this meeting was supposed to be about. Shouldn’t he be…a little embarrassed?

  I stood and followed Rochelle into her office. Instead of offering me a seat at the desk, Rochelle gestured toward a sitting area near one of the windows. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”

  I sank into one of the plush chairs and placed my purse and briefcase tote beside me. “No problem. You said it was urgent.”

  “You’ve already met Landyn, and I’m sure you’ve read the papers.”

  Yeah, I’d read them, and he definitely looked better in person. Even dressed down in jeans and a hoodie. Rose! “I have. Thank you.” I took the cup of tea Rochelle poured for me and declined both milk and sugar.

  “Then you know the reason for the short notice.”

  “I won’t pretend I don’t.”

  “Good. Then pretense aside, can I say I’m grateful you and Helena came to the rookie practice? Probably wouldn’t have thought about your company and would’ve just tried to hire another PR firm.” She took a sip of tea, blew out a breath, and then looked me in the eyes. “We need you to do some damage control. You have two weeks to make him look like a man who can lead a National Football League team. Not a college frat boy. A man capable of taking a new, untried underdog team to the playoffs. Hell, the Super Bowl. Whatever you can do. We can’t have any more negative press before the kickoff. Owner’s orders.”

  The owner. I hadn’t met her yet, but fierce was the first word that came to mind when considering the towering former US secretary of state who loved football as much as politics. Rumor had it she was in a relationship with one of the team’s investors, who’d made billions in the tech industry. Two powerhouses. “Of course. My firm can make that happen.”

 
; “No, I want you to make it happen. I didn’t call to speak to your boss, and I’m not meeting with—whoever he or she is. I called you. I’m all about empowering women, and I know this is your first real job since college. You’ve got a ladder to climb, and any way I can make that easier, I’m willing to help.”

  My fears ebbed away and in place of the void came an assurance I hadn’t experienced since being offered an internship earlier that summer. The firm had told me they usually hired interns who’d already been with another company at least a year and knew the ins and outs of how the business worked. I was coming in with only an education and a few great references, but none of the experience. After my internship ended, I was still on a trial period of ninety days. If the bosses didn’t think I could make it as one of their elite, I’d be cut from the team. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me,” I said without gushing.

  Rochelle shot me a wry smile. “I’m the first female general manager in the NFL. I left a secure job at a university to come here and lead an untested team. Believe me, I know what this means.”

  My lips shook as I attempted to return the smile. I’d been so nervous in the waiting room, but the one whose feet were being held to the fire was Rochelle. How she didn’t appear more anxious, I could only imagine.

  “I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Rose. You’ve seen the tabloids. This guy…well, you’ve seen him too.”

  Uh-huh. Only with clothes on, thank goodness.

  “We need you to generate some positive publicity for him. Anything that qualifies him as a quarterback capable of being ranked among those in the NFL. He doesn’t have to be at the Drew Brees level of sainthood, but we at least need him to look the part of Tom Brady. Suave, in control, without the douchebaggery.”

  I snickered and then caught herself. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t mean…”

  Rochelle laughed softly. “That needs to stay between us, please.” I nodded enthusiastically. “Well, let’s meet the client, shall we?”

  I stood and clasped my hands in front. I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my chin. I had the job. Now I had to act the part. Act as though I had years of experience and did this kind of work every day. Act as though Landyn Gallagher wasn’t going to be this mountain of a project, even as the mountain entered the room and dwarfed both myself and Rochelle.