Oh, yeah. Painful, all right. Zach Murphy had fallen in love once and been carried out of the game on a stretcher. He’d stick with football. Football gave him life, while women sucked the life out of him. Football made sense to him. Women didn’t.
Especially this woman.
He’d never despised anyone like he despised her, not even his father. He held her indirectly responsible for the death of his younger brother. Fair or not, he couldn’t forgive or forget. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to shut out that catastrophic night so many years ago, but nothing shut it out, not now, not ever.
He glanced to either side to see if any of his teammates noticed his reaction. They were too busy staring at Kelsie—she’d always had that effect on men. Well, except for the king of asshole quarterbacks, Tyler Harris. Zach gave Harris a few grudging points for tossing out his womanizer ways and only having eyes for his sassy girlfriend.
Yet something on Zach’s face must have clued Harris in. Like a ravenous hyena catching the scent of wounded prey, Harris’s sharp gaze moved from Zach to Kelsie and back again. The quarterback possessed an uncanny ability to dissect an enemy’s weakness—and despite being teammates, they were enemies. One corner of the fuckhead’s mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. He nodded briefly at Zach and returned to his conversation with his hot little girlfriend, even though Zach knew damn well the jerk kept one eye on him.
Zach narrowed his gaze and studied her. Really looked beyond the beauty-queen face and body. Something was very wrong with this picture. A loaded tray of drinks teetered precariously on the palm of Kelsie’s raised hand as she moved in and out of the crowd. Rich girl Kelsie had never worked a real job in her life. Yet he doubted she was serving drinks just for the unique opportunity to slum with the common folk.
Damn, maybe his life wasn’t the only thing that’d changed.
Kelsie scanned the room, then did a double take. Their eyes met and crashed with the intensity of a wrong-way collision on I-5. The fake smile faltered. The gliding stopped. She looked around the room as if planning an escape route. Then she straightened her shoulders and turned on the charm, gracing him with her halogen smile—perfect white teeth and hot red lips. Really hot. As if she were happy to see him.
Bullshit.
Zach scowled his best don’t-fuck-with-me scowl. I’m the one with the money and power now, and obviously you aren’t.
Kelsie faltered. Her stride went from graceful to jerky. The smile slipped off her face, replaced by what appeared to be panic. She pivoted on her impossibly high heels and fired up the afterburners.
Oh, no. She wasn’t getting away this easily. Zach jumped to his feet and gave chase, focused on confronting her, something he’d been dying to do since his senior year of high school. Yeah, stupid idea, but he’d never been one for thinking before reacting, a trait that worked well in football, not so well in real life.
She glanced over her shoulder, her blue eyes filled with what looked like fear, as if she expected him to do physical damage to her or some stupid-assed thing like that.
Zach cornered her near the head table. Kelsie changed directions and charged past him. He spun around to follow, refusing to let her off that easily. He clipped her full tray of drinks with his elbow. She lurched with the tray, but it was too late. Helpless, Zach watched the disaster happen in slow motion.
The tray teetered back and forth as Kelsie desperately fought to gain control. The tray won. Glasses of wine sprayed red, white, and pink across the tablecloth, looking like a tie-dye session gone mad. Goblets shattered. Women screamed as wine drenched expensive evening gowns. The team owner leaped to his feet, sputtering as red wine coated his tux and white shirt. His spoiled daughter, Veronica, gaped in horror. Closest to the debacle, the governor’s wife’s low-cut sequined evening gown was drenched, hanging on her like a wet, limp rag. Red wine dribbled down her neck and chest and disappeared in her cleavage.
Zach grabbed a napkin and desperately blotted at the wine. In his panic, he swiped the napkin across the plump mounds of her breasts. She gasped as if he’d purposely groped her. HughJack, the team’s head coach, grabbed him and pulled him away.
“I’m sorry. Oh, fucking hell. I’m so sorry.” Zach wanted to crawl under the nearest boulder.
“What did you think you were doing?” Coach spoke in that deadly calm, quiet voice that struck fear in the meanest of linemen. Zach preferred HughJack’s ranting and notorious clipboard throwing to that voice.
“I—I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Zach said.
“I—I—” Kelsie shoved her fist in her mouth, obviously horrified at the carnage she’d helped cause. She lifted her gaze to Zach’s. Anger blazed in her stormy blue eyes.
Wait one fucking minute. She was angry at him? She blamed him? He hadn’t done one damn thing other than be where he was supposed to be—a charity benefit for a charity whose name he couldn’t even remember. She was the one who didn’t belong here.
Jerking her gaze away from his, Kelsie dropped to the floor and started wiping up the mess with any napkin she could confiscate from the nearby tables. Several other staff joined in the fray, wiping tables, cleaning up, and comforting wet, angry guests.
Zach debated on whether or not to fade into the background or make her night that much worse. Once again, she’d made him look like a backward hick, her special talent.
The banquet coordinator rushed out of the kitchen and spoke in a harsh whisper to Kelsie. “What happened? Did you do this?”
Kelsie didn’t look up, just worked frantically to clean up the mess. The coordinator bent down and pointed a finger in her direction. “You’re fired. Please leave. I’ll be contacting you for reimbursement for the damages.” He kept his voice low, but Zach heard him.
“It was an accident.” Zach stepped forward, a reluctant knight defending the wicked witch and not exactly comfortable in his dinner-jacket armor. He squinted into the harsh light glaring in his eyes. Someone had a camera trained on them.
He’d done it again. Screwed up in a social situation and dragged the whole team down with him. His new team. The ones who were counting on him to be a leader on and off the field. He’d led them, all right.
Zach released his breath in a whoosh, deflating not just his lungs but his ego. He’d made an ass of himself, embarrassed the team, and even worse, defended his former high-school crush and mean girl, Kelsie Carrington.
Zach glanced off to the side where Kelsie stood. She’d shoved her knuckles in her mouth again, a sure sign of her discomfort he remembered from their high school days—not that he’d forgotten a thing about her from back them. Cheerleader. Beauty queen. Rich and spoiled. The meanest of the mean girls. Tell that to a teenage Zach. He’d dragged his sorry ass after her without an ounce of pride, begging for any crumb she’d toss his way. She’d tossed just enough to keep him on her trail. Not this Zach. She had zero hold on him.
Her confidence of a few seconds ago shattered like the goblets on the floor. She hunched over and hugged herself in a gesture of self-protection and flicked a glance in his direction. Their eyes met for a split second, just enough time for her to read the undisguised loathing on his face.
Without another word, she lunged past him and out of the room.
~ ~ ~ ~
Blinded by tears, Kelsie Carrington-Richmond dashed for the ballroom doors. While making a run for it, she bumped into another waiter, sentencing a tray of desserts to another appointment with destiny. Banging into the doors, she pushed them open and sprinted down the hall for the elevator. She braked to a stop and wrenched her ankle in the process. An ominous snap a split-second later confirmed the worst. Her last good pair of Manolo Blahniks succumbed to the stress of her fifty-meter dash for freedom. Lurching into the elevator, she stabbed at the lobby button with a broken fingernail.
The elevator doors slid shut and wrapped her in a temporary cocoon of safety. She yanked off her heels and clutched them tightly, realizing the broken heel lay somewhere between the ba
llroom and the elevator.
Her day couldn’t get worse. Or her life.
Of all people to witness her humiliation, fate chose Zach Murphy. And the Steelheads team owner. And his daughter. And the governor. She’d hit rock bottom, and the one man who hated her guts more than her ex-husband was probably drinking a toast to her downfall.
She hadn’t seen him in person since high school graduation. Zach the teenager had been intimidating. Zach the man was formidable. He’d put on muscle on top of muscle, grown a few inches, and definitely fine-tuned his intensity to a laser-sharp edge. Shaggy black hair framed his tanned, rugged face. His tight, full lips announced don’t mess with me if living is important to you without him opening his mouth.
She’d been such a fool. A stupid fool.
One look at Zach’s face, and Kelsie feared this city might not be big enough for the two of them. Zach’s angry frown spoke louder than red paint dripping down a white wall.
He hated her.
She deserved his hatred.
The elevator doors opened with a pleasant ping totally in contradiction with her evening. Squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine, Kelsie strode out of the elevator. Alcohol soaked her white shirt and black skirt. Her stocking feet stuck to the cold tile floor of the lobby. She padded out the door into a misty Seattle night and stood on the street, chest heaving and heart racing. At least it was a balmy—for Seattle—seventy degrees, pretty decent weather for early September, so she understood.
She reached for her purse. Her heart dropped to her bare toes. She’d left her purse and cell phone at the banquet. Her stomach rumbled like the Sounder train, reminding her the day’s meal had consisted of a couple crackers. She’d hoped to eat at the banquet after the guests were served.
Very little money.
No job.
No future.
And a few days away from living in her car.
She’d sunk low in the past couple months, lower than she’d ever imagined. Yet staying in her former situation hadn’t been an alternative. She’d rather sleep on a park bench and dumpster dive for dinner.
Which was exactly what she would be doing.
The hotel valet eyed her with suspicion. She glanced at her reflection in the window. Her disheveled hair, bare feet, and stained clothes didn’t exactly make a good impression.
The man walked up to her. “Time to move along. We don’t allow loitering.”
With a sniff and a toss of her head, Kelsie sauntered off, refusing to let him see her lose it. She walked around the corner to find a nice, quiet place to fall apart. She slumped on a bus stop bench and buried her face in her hands.
“You left something behind.”
Wiping her face with her sleeve, Kelsie glanced up to see her purse dangling from the large fingers of the Steelheads’ quarterback, Tyler Harris. Tyler was a sleek, graceful buck compared to Zach’s more rangy elk. Her Coach purse swayed back and forth in front of her eyes. She snatched it from his hand and cradled it against her chest.
“Thank you.” She sniffed and hiccupped a very loud, unladylike hiccup.
Tyler’s girlfriend, a redheaded pixie, stepped forward, her eyes full of pity and kindness. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”
Kelsie chewed on her lower lip. Her pride screamed no. Her practical side kicked pride out of the way and took over. “My car is parked nearby.” She choked back another sob.
“We’ll give you a ride.” Tyler didn’t wait for an answer but started hauling her along with them, shoes and purse clutched in her free hand. She resisted, irritated and fearful at the same time. They were all alike, guys like him and her ex-husband, thinking they could force their will upon her. She hated it, hated the weakness, swore she’d never be under the influence of a man like that again. She might be broke, hungry, and homeless, but she was independent.
Kelsie folded her long limbs into the minuscule backseat of Tyler’s expensive sports car. His girlfriend turned in her seat. “I’m Lavender. You are?”
“I’m Kelsie. I’m new to town.”
Tyler glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his expression calculating. “I’m so sorry Murphy got you fired.”
Kelsie proceeded with caution, unwilling to divulge too much. “We knew each other in high school and didn’t expect to see each other here.”
“Small world, isn’t it?” Lavender spoke with sympathy as she shot her boyfriend a shut-your-mouth glare.
“Too small.” Kelsie pointed out her little Chevy Equinox, the lone car in the lot.
Tyler pulled up beside it. She lunged for the door, hoping he’d just drive off. He didn’t. He got out and waited at the side of her car. He studied the inside, most likely taking in the boxes and suitcases filling it to bulging and the blanket and pillow, sure indications she didn’t have a permanent place to stay. Her little dog, Scranton, bounced up and down on the seat and yapped.
“I just moved here from Texas,” Kelsie jumped to explain before he asked more questions.
“I see.” Tyler nodded slowly and stepped out of her way. His expression indicated he really did see, which wasn’t good at all.
“Where are you staying?” Lavender asked.
“At a hotel near the airport. I was hoping to promote my business tonight.” Squaring her shoulders, she pulled a soggy business card out of her apron pocket and handed it to Tyler.
He took the sticky card with reluctance and read it out loud, “Charm School for Real Men, Specializing in Image Reconstruction for Professional Athletes and CEOs, Kelsie Anne Richmond.” Tyler looked up, a slow smile crossing his face. “No kidding? You’re Emily Post for jocks?”
Knowing she might never get another chance like this and eager to promote her fledgling business, Kelsie launched into the spiel she’d practiced before serving at the black-tie party. “Yes, I offer a charm school of sorts for athletes and businessmen, teaching them skills needed to impress clients and cultivate a successful image.”
Lavender looked pointedly at Tyler. “Several of your teammates who could use that.”
“No joke.” Tyler studied the card, as if mulling something over in his mind.
“Ty, can’t you help her?” Lavender gave Tyler one of those secret looks full of promises that women used on men they loved. It seemed to work on him.
Tyler scribbled on the back of the card and handed it back to Kelsie. “Drop by headquarters and ask to speak to this woman. She handles player personnel issues. They just made the final cuts down to the regular roster, so wait until later in the week, Thursday or Friday. Tell her I recommended you. I’d bet my last touchdown she’ll set you up with a few clients.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.” She might be begging, but tough times called for tough measures.
With a noncommittal shrug, Tyler turned back to his car.
“Bye, Kelsie. It was nice to meet you. I’ll make sure Tyler paves the way with personnel first thing Monday morning.” Lavender hurried after Tyler, who was impatiently tapping his foot as he held the passenger door open. As soon as she got in, he slammed her door and jumped in on his side. With a mighty roar of its engine, the car fishtailed around a corner on squealing tires.
For the first time since Kelsie had fled from Texas, a ray of hope warmed her, even though it was tempered by a niggling of dread she might run into Zach again.
Chapter 2—Taking a Time Out
Sometimes when life beat you down to nothing, something good happened and hope sprang back like a lone flower after a desert rain. At least, Kelsie wanted to believe life worked like that.
Summoned to Steelheads’ headquarters by Veronica Simms on Monday evening, Kelsie pulled into the parking lot a few minutes before seven p.m. Apparently, the woman worked some long hours. Several cars still occupied the far end of the lot near what she suspected was the player entrance. She wondered if Zach’s vehicle might be among them.
As she got out of her car, a large man came out a side door and strode toward the opposite
end of the parking lot. Zach?
She resisted the urge to run, tear out of there, and never look back, but she couldn’t. Opportunity had knocked, the needle on her bank account flirted shamelessly with empty, and she’d run out of options.
Kelsie might be a lot of things, but she was a fighter despite years of emotional abuse at the hands of her ex and her parents. They’d rammed home her weaknesses, torn her down, and forced her to become a walking, talking robot programmed to behave perfectly in any social situation.
Over a year ago, she’d walked into her posh home in a trendy neighborhood and found it swarming with federal agents. Life after that hadn’t been the same. Mark was in federal prison for embezzlement. He’d been involved in bogus real estate deals and bilked several people out of their life savings. Her parents, who cared more about appearances than substance, fled to Europe to escape their association with Mark, though it’d never been proven they had knowledge of or involvement in the scam.
Her and Mark’s liquid assets had been frozen. The house was sold to pay attorney fees. She’d managed to squirrel away a small amount, enough to pay for a divorce and live modestly on for a short time. A business associate and college buddy of Mark’s had offered her a job with his firm in Seattle, and she’d jumped at it. She didn’t realize until she’d arrived in Seattle over a month ago that the job involved being his mistress. She hadn’t sunk that low, and she would not.
She’d hit rock bottom more than once since arriving in Seattle, but through it all, she clung to her dignity and tattered pride—the only things they couldn’t strip from her, and the only things she hadn’t stripped from Zach all those years ago. Yeah, karma was a bitch, and she’d been its slave.
Offsides: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 3) Page 2
