Would Santino make the same trip? Was it already happening? His spirits had been high on his birthday until the paparazzi had shown up. He hadn’t responded to Elaine’s messages, either, which Nate knew because she’d eventually told him so—adding the specific instruction for him to never set her up on another date, favor or not.
Nate focused on the team footage in front of him. Players in jerseys and coaches in red polos were interspersed among the other supervising adults as kids sporting Play 60 shirts littered the practice fields. There was a noticeable lack of women, which had plenty to do with the fact that the Slayers were one of the few teams that didn’t have an official cheerleading squad. Despite the buzz about Charlotte Blue being approached to pose for magazines, and the owners’ statement that they were “examining the pros and cons of providing that aspect of fan entertainment,” it didn’t look likely that athletic women in red and silver would be performing at Slayers Stadium this coming season.
The footage remained on Charlotte in a thin-strapped silver top and shorts, with a whistle hanging from a lanyard, demonstrating to a group of teens the proper lunge technique. When an overweight boy lost his balance and looked ready to stomp off in embarrassment, she trotted to him and repeated the steps until the group lunged cohesively. Then she gave him a high five and a wink, and let Doyle lead in her stead as she jogged out of frame.
It didn’t seem to Nate that she was playing anyone. She was patient with those kids. And without isolating the boy who’d struggled, she’d given him the personalized care he needed to accomplish something as seemingly small-scale as a lunge. And that boy’s smile as he slapped his palm to hers was all confidence, gratitude and adoration.
To an insecure teenager, a little attention from a beautiful female went a long way. Attention from a female who was beautiful and genuine was priceless. Nate knew the difference. Growing up he’d been strung along plenty by girls who’d used their looks and his hormones to reduce him to a human ATM and a schoolwork flunky. It was that genuineness he’d been starved of, and he’d eventually outgrown searching for it.
Until Charlotte, who fulfilled his wish list and was tough and sexy and wild on top of it all, found him. Just his luck she’d be one of the untouchable Blue daughters.
“I’ve been on the field with Charlotte,” he told his brother. “That right there is how she really is. She leaves camp every night with the same energy she comes in with at six in the morning. Some of the guys have been assholes to her from day one, but she won’t back down. She brings it.”
“She’s playing you, too.” Santino swore, reached to rub between his eyebrows. Veins in his arm looked as though they might poke through his skin. He was hitting physical therapy hard, but though his form appeared fitter and more cut than during his last season in the NFL, his spinal damage continued to cause pain as well as limit his speed. “Charlotte Blue had no business showing up in the Titanium Club that night.”
Nate twisted around to look at his brother’s profile. When had Santino become belligerent, a man who’d rather hate and attack than build a new future for himself? Oh, right. When his career and his chance to inherit the Slayers franchise had been ripped from his iron grip. “Bindi said she invited her up.”
“You’re smart, damn it, Nate. She was there and so were the paparazzi.”
“Drinks, fellas?” In a strapless summer dress and high heels, Bindi sauntered in, carrying a tray of what appeared to be an assortment of liquor bottles and glasses. Her eyes were sharp with warning as she bent forward to offer the tray to Nate.
Santino punched a button on the remote, making the massive screen go dark behind Bindi. “I can’t take looking at one manipulative woman on the screen and having another dance around in my face.”
“You don’t know Charlotte like that,” Nate said to his brother. “Ease up on her. Bindi, too.” Santino and Bindi baited each other as if it was a game, but he didn’t appreciate being dragged into it. Nor did he believe in sitting idly while his brother provoked Bindi. True, the woman was in a class by herself, but she was still a woman—his father’s fiancée—and deserved a modicum of respect.
Nate declined the offerings, realizing they were all hard liquor. He had a long drive back to his “hideout” in Las Vegas, and judging from the direction his visit with Santino was going, he’d be tempted to down a random bottle all on his own.
“Pick your poison,” she murmured, dramatically bowing before Santino with an indiscernible smile. “That’s an expression, you know.” When he chose Jack Daniel’s, she set the tray on the glass-topped sideboard and approached them, chin raised, hips swaying. “Santino, I’m helping your brother get the Slayers back. When I saw Charlotte at the casino, I had to think on my feet. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you insist on irking me.”
“Bro, is she lying?”
“Tell him we agreed to this a while ago, Nate,” Bindi encouraged, though with a slight headshake. But don’t you dare tell him I got the paparazzi into the Titanium Club.
“She’s not lying.”
Santino’s gaze rose grudgingly up to Bindi’s big blue eyes in acknowledgment—or perhaps apology—before snapping back to Nate. “What’s the plan, then?”
Damn, there was hope in his eyes. It took the possibility of doing something drastic, with no concern for whom it affected, to restore his brother’s hope. How screwed up was that?
Nate stood, as did his brother. “I don’t know if there’s a plan anymore.”
At this Bindi cut in. “Since when? You told me you were all in. You want job security. You want the team to be given back to Al. Right?”
“Yes. But Charlotte can’t give us what we’re after.”
“How do you know that?” Santino pressed. “Is she talking to you?”
Nate felt crowded and furious. “Back the hell off. Both of you. Charlotte’s a trainer and from what I know, her parents didn’t just hand her that position. Trust me, y’all aren’t the only ones gunning at her.” He pointed at them. “Each of us has probably made twice as many mistakes as she has.”
“About her mistakes…” Bindi lifted a brow. “I have this feeling, Nate, that you’re more acquainted with the skeletons in that woman’s closet than you’re letting on.”
“We’re grown-ass adults, and here we are plotting to screw her over just to get to her parents.”
Bindi sighed. “Are you done with your tirade?”
“I’m done with this conversation.” Nate shrugged to emphasize it. But it was his brother who angrily left the room, moving at a speed that was guaranteed to aggravate his spinal injury.
Bindi poured herself a clear drink. “You reneged, Nate. You said you were in this with me. An apology’s not necessary. I just want you to realize that for all my faults and all the reasons you dislike me, you’re the one who went back on his word. Guess that habit of breaking promises is something you Francos have in common.” Her eyes were bright with determination and desperation. “I’ve depended on men, sure. But don’t think for a minute that I can’t get things done in order to survive.”
Despite her provocative clothes and makeup, Bindi looked more like a scared, angry child as she turned and marched out of the room. The last thing Nate wanted was for her issues to become his concern, but it wasn’t right for a woman young enough to be his little sister to rely on the money and success of a man twice her age—a man who spent more time in casinos than with her. In a way Nate had never comprehended before, he saw that Bindi and Charlotte were somewhat alike: spirited women who each thought life was about counting on no one but herself. But Charlotte wasn’t so far gone that she’d taken to using people in order to get by.
Thank God for that.
To protect Charlotte he’d gone back on his word to Bindi, though. He’d broken an agreement that perhaps he’d had no business making in the first place. Bindi was no innocent, but he didn’t feel good about becoming one of the many men who’d let her down.
Nate had cost himse
lf an ally to spare Charlotte, a woman he could be with only behind closed doors…or in vacant woods. It was almost too crazy to be real. A science nerd’s life wasn’t meant to be complicated with deceit, secret sex and intrigue.
No, he didn’t always do the right thing.
But this time, it felt as though he had.
Chapter 11
An early-morning radio interview with a local sports-talk station threw off Charlotte’s schedule and set the tone for the day.
First she’d had to skip her run and show up in Mount Charleston a half hour late, including the ten minutes she’d needed to change clothes and twist her hair into a ponytail that the ladies from Heaven and Hair would have cringed at.
Next she’d had to work through lunch—breaking the routine she’d fallen into of eating with TreShawn Dibbs and a few other players who considered her to be “all right”—to cram in a midday yoga session with Mazzie Lindwood.
Mazzie was a chiropractor who’d driven in from Beverly Hills to aid in Charlotte’s research and proposal, which she’d sworn to submit to Whittaker and Kip by the close of training camp. If all went well, the proposal would be passed up the chain of command and ultimately yoga would be incorporated into the Las Vegas Slayers’ training regimen.
On top of her normal days at Desert Luck Center, she’d been burning the candle at both ends to research and experiment. So far her parents had “surprised” her at camp on two occasions. Finding nothing to complain about, they’d left her alone. She didn’t need pats on the head or gold stars. This was, after all, business. They wanted results, and she could either deliver those results or she could find another gig.
Then, with next to no time to spare, Charlotte was heading off the practice field when she was hit with another injury case to treat and document. The second scrimmage hadn’t started and already at least eight men had required medical attention.
Charlotte asked one of the other trainers to do her a solid and meet up with Mazzie as she knelt to examine the blood blister that had sent a rookie offensive player to the sidelines. Blisters were painful, but right away she sensed that the young man was using these minutes to regroup mentally.
“It’s my first camp, too,” she said as she applied a padded dressing to his foot. “I imagined it’d be tough as hell to live through. But I was wrong.”
The man frowned.
“It’s worse.”
“Fifty-three players by September,” he said, lifting the collar of his shirt to wipe his sweaty face. “Around the damn corner. I know I can’t make that cut.”
“Nah, you don’t believe that,” Charlotte said. “A masochist would take on training camp knowing he won’t make the cut. Don’t sit on my bench and lie about knowing you can’t make it.” Treatment complete, she held his foot still and checked her work. “Here’s my assessment. You’re fine to finish up the day. Then you need to elevate this. You’re also tired and scared. So’s everyone else. It’s part of the game.”
“Lottie.”
She straightened to see Danica crossing the turf in a slim pantsuit with three-quarter-length sleeves. Sunglasses hid practically half of her face. “Hey, Danica. You picked a busy day to visit. Can we walk and talk? I have an injury report and a yoga meet—”
Danica cocked her head at the player, then said to Charlotte, “Come with me.”
The sight of the general manager barreling onto the field had garnered more than a few curious glances. Charlotte didn’t ask questions, but with each step the vibe that something was very wrong grew stronger. Especially when she scanned the field but couldn’t locate Kip Claussen or Whittaker Doyle, who both were ordinarily always present. Somehow in the blur of faces she recognized Nate, who removed his sunglasses and squinted across the field, mouthing something she desperately wanted to believe was “I’ll be here.”
Inside, Charlotte sped up and blocked her sister. She’d known Danica since before she was born, and now the younger Blue daughter was leading Charlotte through the hallways as if she were a naughty child who had to be escorted to her punishment. “What’s going down, Danica?”
“It’s not a social visit. Please, just follow me and we can talk.”
Four long halls later Danica opened the double doors to the film-viewing room. And it was crowded. Claussen. Doyle. Her parents.
Danica gestured for her to enter. Then she followed and shut the door. “It’s come to the PR department’s—and all of our—attention that you spent some off-field time with a team member, Charlotte.”
Charlotte froze. They all knew. But Nate wasn’t here. He was still on the field, and he’d seemed as confused as everyone else when Danica all but snatched her up. If he’d reported what they’d done, then he would have repercussions to face, too. Unless… Had he lied somehow?
Her heart screamed that it didn’t make sense, but how else could her direct report, the head coach, PR and the front office know that she’d had sex with Nate Franco?
“I…uh…”
Danica put her glasses atop her head, walked to where their parents sat and touched their shoulders. “Charlotte, this will go much quicker if you just cooperate and give us the truth about your interactions with TreShawn Dibbs.”
TreShawn Dibbs? “Wait, what’s this about?”
Tem shot up then. “It’s about sexual misconduct. Does that spell it out for you? People—our own guys—saw him drop you off here at this facility on the first day of camp. And the braids. You were photographed on the field wearing that hairstyle. You’ve been giving him extra attention since then.”
“Ma. Oh, are you Temperance Blue now and not my mother?” Charlotte regretted the childish remark, and that she was losing composure in front of her superiors, but the idea that she was carrying on with TreShawn Dibbs was absurd. “I was concerned that camp might depress him, push him toward steroids again—”
Tem scoffed. “His contract prohibits steroid use.”
“People hit crossroads. They get confused. They take risks!” Careful, now. Nate was her crossroads, her feelings toward him confused her, and she’d lost count of how many risks she’d taken to touch him in private and talk to him when no one else was around to hear.
“Continue, Charlotte.” This from her father, who was reaching into his jacket pocket. Antacids.
“I rode with him to a hair salon in Vegas, we got the braids and he dropped me off in the lot. I am not sleeping with a player. Pop? Ma? How much more info about my sex life do I need to provide to my direct report and my coach?”
Uncomfortable, Kip Claussen looked to Marshall for instruction.
“This stays here,” Marshall said to the coach and the head trainer, hitching his head toward the door. Once they’d left, he shook his head at Charlotte. “Want to know my concern? That this will weaken our men. This isn’t just a team. Not on my dime. It’s an army. If you’re not a soldier I can depend on, then get off my front line.”
“This ‘army’ should be more resilient to baseless gossip.” She watched him rise from his chair, and he was such a big man to face off against that she almost shut up. “I’m not interested in Dibbs that way. He reminds me of Martha.”
Danica scrunched up her face. “Martha?”
“Yes.” She glared now and wasn’t sorry for it. “If any of you knew TreShawn—knew Martha, for that matter—you’d understand.”
The accusation hit its targets. As Tem and Marshall’s voices rose in a flurry of offended remarks, Danica intervened. “Y’all made me GM for a reason, so please let me handle Charlotte. You can trust me.”
“Always,” their mother confirmed, then clasped Marshall’s hand and left.
Charlotte’s stomach twisted. “It’s only a rumor, Danica. There’ll be hundreds more. This is a nonissue.”
“It’s not that simple. I’m sorry, but it was careless to jump in that man’s car and then show up to work with a hairstyle similar to his. A sleazy reporter suggested that your matching red streaks meant you were a couple.”
“Administration’s in hell with men holding out, stadium renovations and folks like Dex Harper not taking no for an answer, and you’re laughing? Fraternizing with a player’s funny? Are sexual misconduct and termination of employment funny?”
Charlotte stared into her sister’s hard-as-steel eyes. “No. Nor is the fact that we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I were a man. This double standard you and our parents have isn’t making any of our jobs easier.”
Danica crossed her arms. “The owners, Coach Claussen, Mr. Doyle and myself have discussed this and agree that for the time being, until the dust clears, you’ll need to let another trainer deal with TreShawn Dibbs. On and off the field.” She hesitated, then, “I’m begging you to keep your distance. He’s trouble. You have a career to protect.”
“But you hired him!”
“For results. For victories.”
Finally Charlotte sat. More like collapsed into the chair. “No, Danica. I was getting through to him. He’s not who he lets the world think he is. He needs encouragement and consistency. This man’s grown up expecting everyone he trusts to turn their back on him. Don’t force me to be just another person who’s failed him.”
“It’s an action you have to take. Don’t fight this. Do the right thing.”
Meaning obey their parents’ wishes. “Don’t you get sick of being Ma and Pop’s version of perfect, Danica?”
“You won’t speak to your general manager that way.”
Ah. So when backed into a corner Danica wore her title as a shield. “So sorry. For a minute I thought I was having a conversation with my sister.”
“At the stadium and this facility I am your boss.”
“Why, Danica? Because it makes things easier for you? As GM you can robotically go along with whatever they say because it’s only business, right? But as my sister you can’t so easily justify following their every order. I’m not asking for preferential treatment. I’m asking for fairness.”
Night Games Page 14
