Dad sighed. “What are you going to do, then? Just sit around, watch Netflix? You need to do something or you’re just going to stay . . .” He stopped himself. I knew what he was going to say. Stay sad. I would just stay sad.
I cleared my throat and stared into the salad I hadn’t touched. “What about the Blue Service Assistant Company? Since Aunt Shelby’s pregnant, I know they need people.”
He touched his fingers to his chin like he always did when he was thinking. “Isn’t that a bit . . . beneath you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d be an errand girl to rich cranky customers with too much money and not enough time on their hands.” I spread my arms wide as we took in the country club around us. “Yeah, I think I’ll be okay.”
He just chuckled. “Well, if anyone can handle rich people with too much money . . .”
“Exactly.” I beamed.
“I’ll give them a call, let them know to expect you in the morning, the caseload has been pretty crazy since some of the local athletes have started using them. Half the Bellevue Bucks football team signed up the minute they discovered someone would run errands for them and sign ironclad NDAs.”
I shrugged, even though inwardly I was rolling the word athlete around in my head like a bowling ball. He’d been an athlete. Or was that a lie too?
Not the point. The point I needed to focus on was that I had a job lined up. It wasn’t glamorous, but it would keep me away from Alton.
He’d moved on.
And every single time I saw him, he tried to force his friendship on me like the lady at the perfume counter with a bottle of spray in one hand and a sample in the other.
I wanted no part of it.
But he just wouldn’t stop spraying.
Apologizing.
Sending texts.
Telling me that he was sorry but that I would really, really love Joanna!
Yeah, he even sent me a text with a winking emoji.
Hell. No.
I didn’t want to like the new girlfriend.
I didn’t want to see the place she took in his life, the place where I was supposed to be standing, however unhappy I would have been.
I just wanted my life back.
Or some semblance of it.
I wanted . . .
My mind flashed back to Mexico.
Adventure.
I wanted Hugo.
Ugh, it had been a month, and I still woke up in a lust-filled sweat thinking he was in my room, his mouth on mine, my fingers digging into his tanned skin, squeezing his biceps while he chuckled against my neck.
I shivered.
“Cold?” Dad asked, concern laced in his drawn-up brows.
“No.” I offered him a small smile. “I just need more time.”
“It’s been seven months since—”
“Yeah, I know,” I interrupted. Not like I had a calendar with giant red X’s crossing out every day since being jilted at the altar or anything, but a woman doesn’t exactly forget that sort of thing. “More time, please.”
He sighed and stared into his wineglass. It was a table red, a mixture of Cab Franc and a Cab Sauvignon. One of my favorites. My mouth watered for more. The faint taste of cherries lingered on my tongue along with an aftertaste of blackberries.
“Fine,” Dad finally said. “You get two more months before I want you back here tasting. I’ll need you during Spring Barrel, and you’re the best we have. It’s not just about having my daughter around me.” His eyes filled with tears. “But you’re so damn good at what you do, and you love it, I know you do. I just hate that it’s been tainted by—”
“Mack?” Alton stopped at our table with a fresh bottle. “How are you?” He leaned down until we were at eye level. It made me feel like a child. Had he always talked to me like that? Like I was the kid and he was the adult?
“I’m . . . just leaving.” I forced a smile and glanced at his perfectly tailored suit. It fit his arms like a glove, but something was missing.
Biceps?
Actual muscle?
Had he always been that lean? Where had all those football muscles gone?
I mean he’d always been a runner, but . . .
I jerked my gaze away from his lean arms when my dad cleared his throat and stood. “I love you, Mack, be safe.”
“I live in a penthouse apartment overlooking the Sound, with a bellman and full security,” I reminded him with a wink. “I think I’ll be okay.”
I sidestepped Alton, still smiling so hard it hurt my face, and then walked away from everything yet again.
I kept my head high until I got into my Lexus SUV and started the engine.
The AC pumped through the vents as my eyes watered with unshed tears, and in a complete moment of weakness, I reached into the console, pulled out a linen shirt, and inhaled.
Chapter Twelve
SLADE
I had holed up in my house on Lake Washington for a good two days after the video from the flight went viral. I’d been known as the golden boy of soccer.
Now?
Now I was the bad-boy European football star who’d lost his shit on an airplane and was just waiting to infect the American population with my dirty ways. It didn’t help that every damn article featured a picture of my father and speculation that I was losing my shit because of his death.
There were rumors of drug use. False.
Public drunkenness. Also false.
Oh, and a personal favorite? An ex had come forward and said that I used to mentally abuse her. She asked for a million dollars in restitution.
I told her to go to hell.
That, also, made the news.
So to say I was in a bad place since my father died? That was an understatement.
It didn’t help that my house was a mess, and I was due at practice the next day. I hadn’t done laundry in I don’t even know how long. I hadn’t even gone out to buy dog food in two weeks out of fear that someone would take a picture and I’d lash out again.
Amazon delivery was my new best friend.
And every fucking time my mom called, it was to say she was worried.
I rubbed my eyes with my palms and grabbed another bottle of beer from the table before seeing my phone buzz, the vibration causing it to fall from the couch onto the floor.
With a curse I picked it up. “What?”
“Well, you’re an absolute joy today, aren’t you?” My agent laughed on the other end while I gave him a mental middle finger. “Let me guess, you’re watching TV by yourself and having one last beer before practice in the morning?”
I growled. “You know me too well.”
“We’ve been friends since we were sixteen, I know you better than you know yourself.”
“Oh yeah? What am I thinking?”
“Easy, you think you’re finished, you’re depressed as hell, and you think moving was a mistake.”
I didn’t say anything, and my throat closed up as I looked away from the TV to the lake in front of my property. “Maybe it was.”
He sighed. “Signing with the Sounders was the right thing to do. They’re going to honor the rest of your fifty-two-million-dollar contract—”
“Which I only had eight left to pay out from Chelsea, maybe I should have just . . . retired.”
“Bullshit, you’re thirty, you don’t just retire at thirty. Plus you’re one of my favorite people.”
“Fifty-two million US dollars, I can’t imagine why.” Matt and I had met during one of the summers I spent with my mom in Seattle, and we had been inseparable ever since. We even went to college together. The guy was as smooth as they came. The bastard made money like a silver-tongued devil.
“I keep you around for more than the money.” He chuckled. “You’re the best wingman a guy could ask for.”
“So true,” I grumbled. I’d been in relationship after relationship until my last ended in tatters, so my wingman status had been on hiatus.
A fresh breeze drifted in from the open window.
It was cooler than the one in Mexico, but it reminded me so much of my day spent there—my night in her bed—that my chest hurt.
Her fault.
She’d caused all of this.
I needed someone to blame.
And I couldn’t blame myself, I just couldn’t.
“Alright, so I hope you got all that.”
“What? You were speaking still?”
He just laughed. “Do me a favor, don’t be an ass. She’ll be at the house at eight in the morning. I gave her the code to the gate. Her background is solid and the NDA is ironclad, you’re welcome.”
I frowned. “Wait, why are you sending me a woman again?”
“Were you listening to anything I said?”
“Not really, no. My life’s a bit of a mess, so forgive me if I mope around in misery a while longer.”
“Wipe that moping ass with a few hundreds and get your head back in the game. You have practice in the morning, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this to someone who used to donate half his earnings to the cancer charities in London, but be nice, alright?”
“I’m nice!” I roared.
He sighed. “You’re . . .” His voice lowered. “Never mind.”
I knew what he was going to say.
I was sad.
Angry.
Confused.
I ran a hand through my long hair. “I won’t yell at her. Happy?”
“Thrilled,” he said in a dry tone. “See you at practice.”
“Shit, you’re coming?”
“Someone has to make sure you play nice.”
“I’ve never had a problem before,” I pointed out.
Another long sigh. “Slade . . . if you need someone to talk to . . .”
“I don’t want to talk,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, man.”
Silence crackled over the phone.
“I gotta get some sleep,” I rasped.
“Yeah.”
“Night.” I hung up before I spilled my guts, before I burst into tears and told him every fucking regret I had. I’d never told my dad I loved him. I never got to tell him how much he meant to me.
I never got to say those words.
Because there would always be another time.
Another day.
And now, he was gone. There would never be another day again.
I reached for the beer and slammed it against the wall.
Chapter Thirteen
MACKENZIE
I pulled my Lexus up to the keypad and typed in the code. The black iron gate made a dinging noise and then whined a bit as it opened wide, revealing a three-story mansion. A fountain complete with statue sat in the middle of the circular driveway.
I tilted my head and examined my surroundings as I pulled to the front. A red Ferrari was parked outside and running like the owner was warming it up before taking off. The garage attached to the house probably held enough cars for half the human population.
My aunt hadn’t said anything other than this guy was big-time. And by the time I passed the background check and talked with the guy’s agent, he was so thankful that I wasn’t crazy and could start right away that I wondered how horrible his client really was.
I typically worked for rich clients who needed me to walk their dogs or water their plants. The job was mindless, but it kept me away from Alton.
It kept me away from my old life, and for some stupid reason it made me feel invisible, for once I wasn’t the one getting my picture taken.
I wasn’t at some society event being asked if I was going to hop back on the horse or if I was sad that Alton was already dating.
I shuddered.
No. That would come soon enough.
My dad gave me two months to get my head straight.
What better way than feeding some rich guy’s dog and making sure he had groceries and clean clothes?
“Well, here goes nothing.” I killed the engine, grabbed the small bag of dog food I’d been instructed to bring, and got out of my SUV.
The stairs leading up to the house were a black marble that looked expensive, giving me no clue as to what this guy played.
Was he a football player? Basketball?
What athlete had a house like this? Maybe he played for the NBA? Mariners? Hawks?
I was told not to ask too many questions and to make myself as invisible as possible.
No problem. That was part of this job, gain trust and become nonexistent. Rich people were almost too trusting when they let strangers into their homes. I was told I’d see my fair share of tax papers, social security numbers, text messages from mistresses on phones and computers—and that at the end of the day it didn’t matter. It was their business, and I was just there to do a job.
If I knew how to write a book on all the scandal I had access to without getting sued—I would. It was fascinating, to say the least.
I lifted my hand to ring the doorbell just as the door jerked open.
I noticed the Sounders gear right away.
Black Adidas joggers paired with tall Adidas socks and sliders.
I slowly looked up.
Gray jacket with the green insignia of the Space Needle.
And then.
Lethal, caramel, almost golden eyes.
I jolted backward so hard that I tripped on my heel and broke it.
I stumbled to the side, gathered myself, and blurted, “Is this a joke?”
At the same time he snarled, “Are you fucking stalking me?”
Tears welled in my eyes as I stared down at the phone that was given to me and the address.
My hand shook as I glanced back up into Hugo’s eyes. “No, I’m not stalking you, I must have the wrong—” Oh God, this was not happening. I felt the back of my neck heat. I had his linen shirt in my car. Mere feet away from me. I closed my eyes in embarrassment while anger replaced my hurt. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
“Really?” He crossed his bulky arms. A pair of black Bose headphones were wrapped around his neck, and pieces of his golden-brown hair were hanging loose by his chin. He looked different. Harsher somehow. His dark eyebrows slanted in an almost-V above his eyes, and his lips curved downward like he’d forgotten how to smile. “So you didn’t find out who I was and just show up? Fuck, how much money do you even want? So we had sex—that doesn’t mean you get to write a tell-all story about the one night you got Slade Rodriguez to fuck you.”
I flinched.
A slap would have been preferable to what he’d just said.
The fantasy that I’d been holding in my heart came crashing down at those words.
I never wanted to believe my gut instinct.
That I was nothing to him.
I wanted to believe that it had meant something.
It had to.
It was too good not to.
Too perfect.
I was wrong.
About everything.
His name wasn’t even Hugo.
Slade Rodriguez.
Slade Rodriguez.
I took in his outfit again.
Why did that sound so familiar?
I felt my eyes widen as tears threatened to pour over. Oh, I’d been a one-night stand alright, with none other than soccer’s newest European transfer.
I should have seen it.
The money.
Good looks.
I’m sure he thought he could just screw anything with heels.
Anger replaced all the sadness, all the insecurity. I was ready to bang him over the head with my phone when it started to ring.
It was Matt.
Unable to speak, I shoved the phone in Slade’s direction.
“Shit.” He cursed at the screen, slid his finger across it. “Seriously, Matt?”
They talked.
He stared me down with that empty golden gaze I’d once found alluring, beautiful. But those eyes, they were just like every other pair of eyes that had looked a
t me and found me wanting.
They looked their fill.
They walked away.
Slade handed the phone back to me. Matt was gone.
I cleared my throat. “I have dog food, for your . . . dog.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really, Ashley? Is that what you feed them?”
“Mackenzie,” I said in a low voice. “My name is Mackenzie.”
He gave his head a shake of disgust. “Wow.”
I glared. “Really, Hugo.” I drew out his name with malicious purpose.
He stared at my mouth, shook his head, and looked away. “Just don’t steal anything.”
I’d never been so insulted and embarrassed all at once. “Oh, you mean don’t take pictures and upload them to eBay? I’ll try to control my poor unfortunate self.”
He leaned down. I could smell him. It still made my knees weak, but I was too angry to recognize the feeling as lust when all I wanted to do was hold onto the rage. “Yes. Try to control yourself.”
My eyes narrowed.
He stepped around me and called over his shoulder. “And feed Alfie.”
“Alfie,” I repeated just as a fat bulldog came scurrying toward the door barking.
Slade didn’t even turn around, just hopped into his ridiculous sports car and sped through the gate, leaving me a complete mess with a dog that was snarling and tearing into the food I’d dropped by my feet when I saw Slade’s eyes.
With shaking hands, I grabbed the food and walked as best I could with a broken heel into the house. “Come on, boy.”
He licked the side of my leg, getting nothing but black skinny jeans and the smell of Escada perfume.
The hall was clean.
The kitchen was gorgeous, but a complete mess, like he hadn’t done a dish since he’d moved in.
With a grumble, I found a bowl, cleaned it out, dumped some dog food inside, and then started working with the dishes.
Chapter Fourteen
SLADE
I pulled up to the stadium and tried not to throw my bag at the ground and jump on top of it with my cleats.
What the hell?
Matt was waiting by the door. “You look . . . rough.”
The same couldn’t be said of Matt. Every hair was in place. His suit belonged in a boardroom full of millionaires with too much time on their hands, and yet there he was, perfectly poised and polished with his blond hair swept back and his designer suit making everything around him seem cheap in comparison. The only thing standing out was the toothpick between his teeth. The guy had a thing about sucking. And let’s just leave it there.
Risky Play Page 5
