Chapter Thirteen
The words on the page blurred together, and Charlotte took off her glasses, blinked, then put them on and lifted the résumé closer. It was only four thirty p.m., and her eyes couldn’t crap out on her already. She and Lance still had a lot of pressing items to discuss as soon as he got back from the photo shoot he’d left for about an hour and a half ago.
Her inbox chimed, and she lifted her phone. The pilot had emailed her an itinerary as she’d requested, and she copied it into a blank email and added a short personal note to it before sending it on to Sean Bryant.
From there she went into the calendar she’d set up for her and Lance and added the meeting with him, along with a couple of alerts. It made her a little sad to think of being in the office by Monday, yet she also needed it to come faster.
Every day—no, every hour—she spent with Lance made her soften toward him. Made her feel other things besides softening. When Austin had said the thing about designing dresses, she’d been so scared Lance was going to tell him it wasn’t a job for boys, or that he’d huff and tell him they were a football family. As a girl who’d been obsessed with football, she’d been told she shouldn’t be plenty, even in Texas. Or like with the dating thing, where guys would quiz her because her brain couldn’t possibly retain football rules or stats. Since she’d had too much experience with that kind of thing, she wanted to protect Austin, and the fact that there’d been no need had sent relief through her.
Along with way too much affection. Then Lance had said that thing about her being his Sam, and her heart had swelled so much she thought she might float right up to the ceiling.
You’re slipping again. Thinking things you shouldn’t. About a guy who doesn’t even want a relationship.
Not that she did, either. Except over the past few days, it felt like she kept trying to convince herself of that more than actually believing it. It was the wedding, all that love in the air, infecting her and making her forget about what happened when the tingly vibes faded.
They haven’t faded for Stacy and Mitch.
Or Maribelle and Chuck.
Or Taylor and Scott.
But that didn’t mean that things would work out for her. Maybe she was one of those people who was going to be single forever. Because that wasn’t a tad depressing to think about.
Shannon had been far from helpful when Charlotte had called her last night in desperation. Instead of telling her to keep it in her pants, her roommate told her she only lived once and that she should strap on some spurs, hop in that saddle, and enjoy hot sex with the former quarterback tons of women had crushed on—and still were.
“Once more people see that most eligible bachelor list and watch games with him sitting up in the owner’s box, tons of women will be vying for his attention—like those aggressive ones in that comment thread—and you’ll lose your chance. Do you really want to regret not taking it?”
Charlotte knew Shannon didn’t meant it in the way she’d heard it—that if any other women were around, he’d be showing them attention over her. Unfortunately, it was one of her worries about crossing lines.
At first she’d been sure she was the only one experiencing attraction vibes. But right before Lance had left today, looking insanely hot in his fitted tux, she swore there was something in his eyes. Maybe.
Say there was, though. How could they have sex and then just show up at the office and nod at each other? How could she sit across from him without thinking about how he’d seen her naked—she’d had a hard enough time meeting his eyes after he’d seen her in a bikini last night. In the dim light.
And then she’d have to feel jealous over every beautiful woman he dated after.
Hell, she already felt jealous, her gut pitching and roiling every time she thought of all the beautiful women who’d be happy to be on his arm for a night or more. Of the famous women people were already matching him up with.
It’d be good publicity, having him seen out and about in the city. Especially if he did date an actress or an athlete. Every photo they took of the handsome bachelor who owned the Mustangs would mean a mention of the team, and they needed to fill the stadium seats in order to keep their income high and their team continuously growing.
Early draft picks meant jack if they lost seasoned key players because they could get paid better somewhere else.
The knock on the door made her freeze. Who’d be knocking? Lance had a key, and it was his room. Maybe it was one of his family members. Or maybe it was one of those women his mom wanted to set him up with.
Okay, now you’re letting your imagination get carried away.
Charlotte set her stack of marked-up papers aside and padded over to the door, then cursed not stepping into her shoes—the peephole was too damn high. “Who is it?” she asked through the door.
“Room service.”
If this were a movie, this was where the bad guys charged inside because she was stupid enough to believe room service had been sent without her ordering anything.
Yes, because logically, you’d be a huge target.
It was official. She needed more caffeine—clearly her brain wasn’t functioning at maximum capacity. Or even minimum capacity. Obviously thinking about unattainable guys zapped too many brain cells, on top of leaving you slightly depressed.
Finally she opened the door, a crack at first, and then wider when she saw the man with the silver tray and matching pitcher on the other side. The scent of dark roasted beans filled the air, and if she was going to go down over anything, caffeinated seemed like a good way to go.
“Mr. Quaid called and asked us to deliver coffee and pastries. He also insisted we run to the store for this.” He tapped the large bottle of Southern butter pecan creamer.
Her heart went all squishy on her. He remembered her special creamer and paid who knew how much to ensure they’d deliver it with the coffee—amazing, blessed coffee. “Do I need to sign or…?”
The guy swiped a hand through the air. “Mr. Quaid already took care of it.”
Charlotte thanked him and closed the door behind him. Since she had her priorities in order, she doctored a cup, sighing when the coffee hit her tongue. No surprise, this fancy resort had the good stuff. Good enough she probably didn’t even need her special creamer, but after going without it, she could fully attest that it was so much better with it.
For a couple of seconds, she debated waiting to thank Lance until after he returned. But sometimes it was easier to thank someone over the phone, where his big, oxygen-stealing presence couldn’t twist up her thoughts and her tongue.
She took an Instagram-worthy picture of the mug, the pretty silver pitcher, and the creamer. She typed out THANK YOU!!!! in screaming caps with an inordinate amount of exclamation points. She added a heart. Deleted the heart. Added the two smaller pink hearts. Deleted them. Settled on a smiley face.
When her phone rang instead of chimed, she nearly dropped it. Of course he’d call—he was forever on the phone, so maybe he had something against texts.
“Hey,” she said. “Seriously, thank you so much.”
“Really it’s selfish on my part,” he said in that rich voice that caressed her skin and settled deep in her bones. “I’ve gotta keep you going.”
She didn’t buy it, but she smiled all the same. The cherry Danish was calling her name, so she plucked it off the tray and took a bite. It was so delicious she had to suppress a groan.
“I also need to warn you about something,” he said, and she tensed. “My mother has your phone number. I tried to tell her I could pass on a message, but she insisted and gave me the Mom Glare, and I’m not proud to admit it, but I totally caved.” She could picture him grinning and pacing, the phone held against his ear. “This is why I needed you here as a shield—she’s relentless, and I end up agreeing to crazy things. God only knows how many horrible dates I would’ve been forced to endure.”
Now she was glad she was here, too, only she was more worried the dates would’ve been good, and what was wrong with her? The guy had coffee, creamer, and pastries delivered, and suddenly she was ready to claim him as her own?
“Anyway, you can expect a call or text from her shortly. We just wrapped up the photo shoot, if you can believe it, but we ended up way down the beach so we could get a picture in the historic gazebo, and traffic’s horrible because of some parade.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t pacing but sitting in the back of a car. “The boys are upset they can’t get out to watch, but Taylor’s afraid they’ll ruin their tuxes, and it’s a whole thing, so now we’re eating chicken nuggets in the car in our undershirts.”
That was quite the picture, and not a sentence she ever imagined him uttering. Before coming here and seeing him with his family, it wouldn’t have computed at all, and she liked that she got to see this other side of him. Even if it also put her weak-willed heart in danger.
“Hopefully I’ll be back within the hour,” he said.
“I’ll keep guzzling the coffee, then.”
“If you need anything else, just order it and tell them to charge the room.” Voices sounded in the background, growing louder and louder. “Apparently someone’s trying to use ketchup, and my tackling skills are required. Heaven help us all.”
She was still giggling over the idea of a bunch of grown-ups attempting to wrestle ketchup packets from toddlers in the back of a car when her phone pinged. Sure enough, Maribelle had her number and wasn’t afraid to use it. She invited Charlotte to go with the girls for manis and pedis tomorrow and added that Stacy was hoping she’d also attend the bachelorette party with her and her friends tomorrow night.
Longing rose up, even as her pulse hitched. She wanted to go—whenever she’d seen movies where the characters took part in those sorts of girly outings, she’d thought about how fun they looked and how much she’d like to take part in them if she ever got the chance. But was she getting too tangled up in these people she’d most likely never see again?
On the other hand, it’d give her some time away from Lance, which meant less chance of her accidentally getting more attached to him.
On the other other hand, spending time with his family also made her quickly growing feelings for him that much stronger. This entire trip was acting as a catalyst, making everything bigger and faster, and she told herself it would calm down once they were back in the real world.
Besides, she might never get another chance to take part in all the pre-wedding fun, and she was already here. She didn’t want to let her worries stop her from enjoying herself.
With the girls.
Lance was a whole different story, because even after this week ended, they’d still have to be around each other in the office.
Charlotte sat back with a happy sigh, thinking today was a good day.
A loud ping sounded, her inbox letting her know it had a new message. A closer look revealed it was marked urgent.
The former coach had compiled a list of reasons to support his belief that he was wrongfully terminated and was asking for an outlandish amount of severance pay. The team’s lawyer had added a note, asking her to disprove or verify the items. Naturally, she wanted her to find ways to disprove them.
Just like that, the afternoon went downhill at a rapid pace, and Charlotte was the one with her phone permanently glued to her ear.
By the time Lance arrived, Charlotte had drained every last drop of coffee. She’d burned through the caffeine boost way too quickly, and her limbs were dragging, along with her thoughts.
“Just got off the phone with our lawyer,” Lance said, ditching his tuxedo coat. “She brought me up to speed on the situation with Coach Hurst. You said things were bigger in Texas, and he definitely gets the award for biggest baby.”
In the office she might point out that those kinds of comments would only exacerbate the situation, but since they were in a more casual setting and he obviously needed to vent, she decided to let it go. “I was afraid he’d be bitter enough to do something like this.” She was pretty sure the guy had convinced himself Mr. Price might leave at least part of the team to him because they’d worked together for so long, and his disappointment had been palpable after the funeral.
“She said you were already compiling information to help with the counterclaim. Any progress?”
“I printed out his contract and tabbed and highlighted places we can cite where he didn’t completely fulfill his end.” She pointed at the twenty-eight-page document. “Since he never had an official warning about them, it’s going to make it that much harder to prove. I’ve also gone over all the forms and documents I’ve kept, including what few complaints I did receive about him—now might be a good time to thank me for being so thorough.”
“Thank you,” he said, sitting on the couch next to her. “I mean it. Does that mean there’s good news?”
She wobbled her head back and forth. “Some of his claims are outrageous, and we can easily dispute them. Others… Well, it gets tricky. He asserts that he and your grandfather had a plan, and that Mr. Price gave him his word his position was safe for at least two more years while he put it into effect, which is ludicrous—no one gets that kind of a guarantee in this industry. And I have notes from several meetings that show how many times I insisted Mr. Price draw up addendums for every agreement; regardless of his opinion, his word was his bond, and everyone else’s should be, too. It might be enough to fight it, but it’ll be a messy, drawn-out process and might cost more than paying him off.”
“Can we afford it? Either way?”
“That’s a question for the CFO.”
“We don’t currently have one of those.”
“I realize.” Charlotte bit her lip. She’d gone back and forth on bringing up this subject, but in theory he appreciated how she always spoke her mind. He might change his stance on that here in a second, because he wasn’t going to like this. “John was a really good CFO. The other guys never listened to his advice and put him in situations he’d have to dig us out of, but he did always manage to dig us out. I think it was…a bit hasty to lump him in with the rest and fire him.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, offense simmering under the surface. “You think it was a mistake.”
She expelled a breath and lifted her chin, no backing down now that it was out there. Honestly, it’d bothered her since that meeting where the shit hit the fan. “I do. Like I said, I could see the others had gotten sloppy and weren’t willing to change. But we could really use John right now.”
“What do you want me to do? Call him up and beg him to come back?” Lance shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do that. It’s not my style.”
“Just apologize and see what he says. Are you really going to let your pride get in the way of a decision that’d benefit the team?”
He growled.
She tilted her head. “Growl all you want. Doesn’t change the facts.” She gestured to her computer screen. “I’ve gathered everything I can, but I’m not sure it’ll be enough. You’re asking me to do the job of two people—two huge jobs that usually require assistants. It’s…too much.”
The cushion dipped as he scooted to the edge of the couch. She thought he was going to stand and storm away or go to pacing like he did when he talked on the phone. Instead he raked his hands through his hair and cast her a sidelong glance. “I’ll think about it.”
“Sooner would be better than later.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and reached for the empty pot of coffee.
“It’s gone, but I can order more.”
“No, I’m already too hyped now anyway. It’d probably make it worse.” He undid the bow tie, slipped it out of the collar, and flung it aside. “Did you get a hold of Galen Michaels?”
It’d been before the coffee delivery and the email with the bad news, and so much had happened it almost seemed like it was days ago. “Yeah. He’s running a football camp back in his hometown—something about an old mentor who died and left it to him and his friends. He said it was complicated, but that even if he didn’t have that going on, he wasn’t interested. The NFL lifestyle never was his thing.”
“Too bad.”
It was. The world could use more guys like him, but so could the low-income kids he and his buddies would be doing the camp for.
Lance unfastened his cufflinks, tossed them on the coffee table with a clink, and then rolled up his sleeves. “How’d sorting through the résumés go? Any potentials there?”
“Good. I scribbled notes all over them, and there were a couple that sounded promising.” She reached for the pile on the other side of her and handed him the ones she’d gone through.
He began flipping through them, and she sank farther into the cushions, fighting off a yawn. Her head felt too heavy for her neck, too. Was it always so freaking heavy?
That’s better, she thought when her head hit the top of the couch. Just a minute or two to rest and she’d finish up the last of the résumés.
The next thing she knew, she was diagonal, her cheek braced against something solid yet surprisingly comfortable. The scent of Lance’s cologne invaded her senses as her sloggy mind tried to work out where she was. Her eyelids didn’t want to open, but they fluttered enough to see that yes, yes she was leaning on Lance’s shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” she said, starting to push herself up.
He curled up his arm, placed his hand on the side of her face, and guided her cheek back to his shoulder. “Relax. You’ve been working nonstop all day, and I need you here in case I have any questions about your notes. It’s not against the rules to use me as a pillow.”
“Pretty sure it is,” she mumbled, but with that firm, warm shoulder underneath her, she was having trouble convincing her head to lift. The drag of his fingers across her cheekbone and jaw made it even more difficult to fight the tug of sleep.
And suddenly she couldn’t recall why she was fighting it in the first place.
…
Lance skimmed to the end of the final résumé and finished reading the last of Charlotte’s notes. Her stats, her comments—they were all spot-on. Just as he was wondering about something, she had a note about it, as if she were in his brain, already aware of exactly what he wanted.
Her silky hair brushed his jaw as he glanced down at her, so calm now that she’d drifted to sleep. It often felt like she was holding back, only occasionally letting her walls slip. Usually that was when she fled.
This evening she’d been too exhausted, and while he felt bad about that and knew it was partly on him, he couldn’t help taking a second to enjoy the moment.
Affection stitched its way through his chest, a thread tethering him to her, and he wanted to place a kiss on her forehead. Unfortunately, that’d be against the rules, and not something he’d do unless she was awake enough to consent to it. For now, he’d simply enjoy her soft breaths and the scent of her shampoo or perfume or whatever she used that made her smell so damn good.
Gradually his eyelids began to droop as well, his mind and body hitting the wall. Today had been a blur of calls and so, so many photos. Then the mess with the crybaby coach. If only another team would snatch him up and help pay off the rest of a contract he never deserved. Unfortunately, the crap timing meant most coaches had been swapped or secured about three months ago.
Lance relaxed into the comfort of the couch, wrapping his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and tucking her closer without thinking. Her hand slipped down, falling high on his thigh, and desire coursed through his veins, bringing the reality of the situation to the surface.
He forced himself to jerk awake and lift his arm from her shoulders to the back of the couch. If they slept here they’d both be sore, and she’d be sore at him, too.
“Charlotte.” He gently squeezed her knee. “Let’s get you to your room.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a smile that he felt deep in his gut. Then dawning crossed her features, her eyes going wide. She moved to sit up, but her hand drifted higher on his thigh and then pressed right into his crotch.
He grunted, automatically curling in on himself.
“Oh shit,” she said, and he’d point out she was the one swearing now if she didn’t look so distraught.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! My hand just violated section three of the handbook!”
“Accidental brushes happen.”
Her cheeks flushed deeper as she shook her head. “It was embarrassing enough to fall asleep on you. Now I’m grabbing your crotch.”
He doubted replying that he was okay with her grabbing his crotch would make her feel any better. He’d rather she be gentler next time, but— Yeah, don’t go there.
“We should fill out a form.” She stood and glanced around, as if she expected one to appear out of thin air. “I’ll print one out tomorrow and we can get it on the record, and…yeah.”
Like he wanted that on the record.
Charlotte snatched her purse off the floor and straightened. “Okay, so goodbye.”
“Wait,” he said, pushing to his feet. “It’s late. As soon as I get my sixty seconds recovery from the crotch shot, I’ll walk you to your room.” He’d hoped it’d lighten the situation; instead he got a scowl. A really cute one that made him want to cup her face and kiss it off her.
“You don’t need to walk me there. You wouldn’t walk me back if I was a dude, or one of your other employees, would you?”
“Sure I would.”
Skepticism pinched her features.
“I’m serious! Those three hundred-pound defensemen are big babies—they’re scared of everything.”
Her head tilted another half inch, but her mouth trembled against a smile. He gestured her ahead of him, snagging his hotel key off the coffee table as he walked past. He held the door open for her, and as they walked down the hall, he placed a palm against her lower back.
“Before you call me on it, this is how I walked the guys home, too.”
“Shows what you know.” A smile that managed to be both haughty and flirty flitted across her lips. “I was going to let it slide.”
In that case… He splayed his hand and walked a little closer.
She slowed in front of her door and turned to face him, and his heart thundered in his chest. This woman had gotten under his skin, ridiculously fast at that.
He figured they’d already skipped a few bases, what with the hand on her butt to boost her over the balcony the other night and her accidental crotch grab moments ago. Even though he was a football guy, he hated to skip bases.
He braced his palm on the door by her head, and her throat worked a swallow, turning him on and pushing him to go ahead and voice his thoughts. “I have to confess something.”
“To your HR rep?”
“No, just to you, James.”
He leaned closer, his gaze locked on her tempting lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.” He felt every inch between them. The only thing keeping him from giving in to the urge to flatten his body to hers was the knowledge that moving too fast would scare her off and screw everything up. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it since you made your first touchdown and jumped into my arms. Now I’m looking at you, and all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you.”
She licked her lips, and he suppressed a groan. His body reacted, and it was a good thing the hallway was empty, because they were about to put on quite a show. Her hand came up on his chest, her fingers curving as if she was going to grip his shirt.
He could see the battle going on in that amazing brain of hers, whether or not she should fight the pull.
Don’t fight it, he wanted to say but realized that wouldn’t make her feel less conflicted about the situation, so he searched for the right words to reassure her. “I want you to know that whatever you say or do next has no bearing on your employment. I’d never do that, and you’re way too valuable to the team for me to ever let you go. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll sign any paperwork you want.”
“I appreciate that. It’s not that I’m not tempted, or that I don’t feel a certain pull…” A couple of blinks and a different expression descended upon her features, her hand flattening and holding him at bay instead of grabbing and pulling him closer. He froze in place, waiting for her to make the move, silently urging her to even though he’d felt the shift. “But it’s still a bad idea. There’s no way it won’t upset the power balance, and it’d look bad to the rest of the employees and to all the people out there watching you so closely. And with you coming in and firing so much of the staff and the wrongful termination lawsuit hanging in the balance, we don’t need any more bad PR. In fact, you should be playing up the eligible bachelor thing for extra publicity.”
“I don’t give a damn about PR,” he said. “Once we rebuild the team and they start winning, the rest won’t matter, either.”
“But that’ll take time and money, and that means we need some good PR anyway.”
He grunted, and she sucked in a breath, her chest rising and falling. Not fear. No, that was desire. But it didn’t change the fact that she had to say the word. He nodded and slowly dropped his hand, even though everything in him balked at the idea of stepping away from this. “Think about it. And I guess since I’m the one in the so-called power position—although I’d argue that you’ve been in charge since the moment you stormed into my office—you’ll have to initiate any kissing.”
“Sure, if you want it to be awkward,” she murmured.
He lowered his voice, his gaze returning to the lips he so badly wanted to taste. “I don’t care. I just want it. Whenever you’re ready, know I’m all for it. Forms, blood samples—whatever you decide is needed—I’m game.”
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and he groaned again. He took the key from her hand and opened the door for her, a gentleman with very ungentlemanly thoughts.
For a few torturous yet amazing seconds, she stared at him, the chemistry snapping and sparking between them.
She reached out and squeezed his hand, a silent thank-you and good night. Or maybe an apology that she couldn’t cross lines.
Then she slipped inside, and all he could do was retreat to his room and hope that sometime before they returned to San Antonio, where his life would only get crazier and more hectic, she’d take him up on his offer.