“YOU’RE LATE.” ELLIOT leaned away from the makeup artist and glanced at Chase, the layer of amusement in his tone thicker than the lotion the woman smoothed across his forehead. “Didn’t want to leave your new wife, did you?”
“Something like that.” Chase hadn’t really wanted to leave Nichole at the cathedral.
Him in a tailored suit, Nichole in pure white from head to toe... The sheer brightness should’ve blinded him. But all he’d seen was her, bringing a wedding dress to life. That’d been his first thought. What magic had she used and how could he be a part of the occasion? Then she had set her hand on his chest and his arms had wrapped around her waist—as natural as the bouquet she’d clutched. He’d almost believed in the fantasy. Believed she was his and their new life was about to begin.
Fortunately, Nichole had grasped his hand, the strength of her voice tethering him to the present. They weren’t starting a future together. They were working together to secure their individual futures. At least for now.
Chase dropped into the empty salon-style chair beside his friend and another makeup artist appeared. Only one path remained: finalize both contracts quickly before Nichole got cold feet and became his fake runaway bride. “How long before we start?”
“Few minutes,” Elliot replied. “Photographer promised a quick session if we follow her directions precisely.”
“That must mean action shots are out today.” Last year for the same award photo shoot, Chase and his teammates had tried to convince the photographer that action shots portrayed them better. It might’ve worked, too, if the guys hadn’t moved from light passes to tackles that had toppled the backdrop and one startled assistant.
Elliot laughed. “Definitely out.”
The makeup artist unrolled a leather case of brushes and opened a drawer in a plastic bin. Chase eased back in the chair, preparing to sit quietly and not disrupt the woman. He needed a fast session. He had to pick up his grandmother’s favorite takeout and get to her apartment. He would’ve preferred to cook for her, but he feared he was already too late to reveal his wedding news himself. Takeout would, he hoped, at least help neutralize her annoyance.
“My best client gets married and I don’t get an invite.” Travis Shaw, Chase’s longtime agent and the only person who could negotiate Chase’s new football contract, walked toward Chase, his steps sure, his expression reserved.
Panic rolled through Chase. He spun the chair away from the makeup artist and toward Travis. Had the Pioneers decided not to re-sign him already? Had his plan failed before it had even started? “Travis, you never come to these things.”
“I wanted to see if my wedding invite got lost in the mail.” Travis rested his hands on his hips and scowled at Chase.
“His friend and former teammate never got an invitation either.” Elliot lifted partway out of his salon-style chair and shook Travis’s hand. Elliot added, “Not even a heads-up.”
Travis scrubbed his hands over his face and exhaled loud and deep. “Chase, please tell me that this is not another publicity stunt.”
Chase lifted his chin, trying to stretch the annoyance from his stiff neck. He could be serious about things other than football. He simply chose not to be. “It’s not a publicity stunt.”
At least it was never meant to be public. It was however a desperate attempt to repair his reputation. And a stunt that benefited Travis and the contract negotiations. Chase had known there could be repercussions like this. He stammered, unable to scramble fast enough away from the blitz and the impending sack. “You’re really here because I got married?”
“Why else?” Travis speared his arms out to either side as if preparing to make that sack. “There are things we need to do to influence the media and maximize the positive PR traction.”
Maximize. Chase flinched. Nichole would dislike anything that maximized the PR reach. How could he say no to reaching more fans if it helped his cause?
Travis gave an exaggerated count on his fingers. “Things like a professional photo shoot. Formal press release. A joint statement.”
No. Not happening. Chase had promised Nichole no media blitz. “She wants to preserve her privacy for herself and her child.”
“Single mom.” Elliot nodded his approval and high-fived Chase. “Does she have a son or daughter?”
“Eleven-year-old son.” A son Chase would meet in a few hours. He’d been less anxious for his first ever pro football game. If Wesley disliked Chase, Nichole would end their agreement.
“Pioneers Camp.” Travis snapped his fingers and pointed at Chase. His eyebrows boomeranged up his forehead, amplifying his battleship-gray eyes. “You can make your public family debut there. It’s the perfect reveal.”
Pioneers Camp had appeal, although not for the PR. Rather, to help Chase win over Wesley. Nichole had mentioned Wesley was a Pioneers’ fan, hadn’t she? His nerves unraveled. “If I bring them to Pioneers Camp, it’ll be for her son.”
“Right.” Travis paced behind the twin salon chairs. His fingers combed through his cropped hair as if testing different hairstyles.
Or running through every possible angle.
Travis always worked through problems and situations the same way: hands in his hair, measured, succinct steps—the same number in each direction. His agent had never broken his stride on the day Chase had entered the pro football draft. Chase wanted to give Travis time, but extra minutes were scarce.
Chase kept himself immobile in the chair for the makeup artist. He had to get to his grandmother.
“Good PR is the bonus,” Travis muttered. “We need all the bonuses we can get.”
“I’m thinking a formal reception party for the new couple at a certain cliffside beach house would be a big bonus,” Elliot suggested.
Chase lurched away from the makeup artist’s brush and stared at his friend. Travis owned a beach house on the cliffs. But a party was not necessary. Or a bonus.
“Already working on the details.” Travis leaned his hip on the mirrored counter and tipped his chin toward Chase. “Do you want to speak to your family, or should I call them? I know they’ll want to be included in the party planning.”
Travis refrained from adding, since they were excluded from the wedding planning. But the disapproval framing his agent’s words seemed to cause a deep frown as if Chase had hurt Travis. Chase hadn’t even been included in the wedding. He had to slow everyone down, starting right now. “We already celebrated after we said our vows.”
“Not with your friends and family.” Elliot scowled. “And by all accounts it was the middle of the night. Where were you again?”
Elliot sounded hurt, too. A cramp twisted his stomach. He wanted to blame hunger. But only guilt gnawed that deep. Details, Chase. We need details. What Nichole had meant was more detailed lies. One city catered to eloping couples every day of the year. “Vegas.”
“Must have been your bride’s dream to celebrate in a casino at the quarter slots.” Elliot’s voice was sandpaper dry.
Nichole had business dreams. Besides, fake marriages did not have real reception parties to celebrate a couple who had never recited any vows. “We enjoyed it,” he told them half-heartedly. It didn’t sound true in the least.
“That’s great,” Travis insisted. “But we are still having a party for you and your new wife.”
Elliot smacked his hands together in one resounding clap. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Chase wanted to hear his contract had been finalized. He wanted to hear the words sign here. “I’ll talk to my grandmother this afternoon and my wife, of course. I’m sure she’ll want to be involved in the party planning.” Or not.
Chase pretended he didn’t have an urge to clear his throat, that the understatement of the year wasn’t lodged in his throat. Nichole had always hated parties. Even more, she’d hated being the center of attention. He’d recognized that after he’d convinced her to run for class treasurer. Nichole had garnered few votes and too much ridicule. He’d blamed himself and guilt had stuck to him like surgical tape.
Travis’s gray gaze sharpened on Chase as if he, too, recognized one of Chase’s tells.
He slanted his attention to Chase’s left hand. “Don’t tell me you lost your wedding ring already.”
“Now that’s a really bad move.” Elliot shook his head and groaned beside Chase. “You gotta be better than that, my man.”
Chase clenched the armrests and scrambled for a reply.
The cell phone clipped to Travis’s waist lit up. The ring split the silence, disconnecting Travis’s assessment and Chase’s response. Travis lifted his phone to his ear and walked away.
“Lost your ring and kept your marriage from your grandmother.” Elliot’s disappointment was more than clear in his continuous, slow headshake. “That’s just not right.”
None of this was right. No one was supposed to even know. At least not until Nichole and Chase had personally told them. “It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind.”
Elliot stilled and glanced at Chase. “Welcome to married life.”
“You’re not married.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like.” Elliot closed his eyes to allow the makeup artist to dab some kind of thin paper all over his face.
Chase had no idea what married life involved. He had no interest in learning until Nichole had called him her husband and landed in his lap. Then today, seeing Nichole in the wedding gown. He’d been overwhelmed by her beauty, but even more, he’d been proud of her poise. She hadn’t crumpled at the unexpected reports of their marriage. Married life had never really been a consideration for Chase. But there was something about Nichole that captured his interest.
Chase grinned and closed his eyes, blocking out the makeup artist holding a massive brush and a container of cream-colored powder.
“You hate photo shoots and all the prep. Always have.” Elliot’s curious voice broke into Chase’s thoughts. “What gives?”
Chase peered at his friend through his half-closed eyes. “I still do.”
“Why the silly grin then?” Elliot asked.
“Don’t you recognize the expression of a newly married man?”
“You’ve barely been married twenty-four hours. Now if you’re thinking about your upcoming honeymoon and smiling like that, I want the specifics.” Elliot punched Chase’s uninjured shoulder, jarring Chase’s eyes wide-open. “What’s your honeymoon plan? Better not be Vegas.”
Press releases. Wedding receptions. Honeymoons. Chase rocked forward, slammed his feet on the floor in a wide stance. Panic had no place on the field; he wouldn’t panic now either.
Elliot laughed. “Now you can take Beau’s babymoon and raise it with a stellar honeymoon.”
Had Chase’s marriage leveled the field with his backup quarterback already? Chase grinned at his friend. “It’s going to be quite spectacular.” Once he arranged it.
Travis returned. His frown tightened, firming along his jaw. “You skipped your appointment with the team doctor this morning.”
He’d been on his way there, then Nichole had texted. He’d substituted a stop at the jewelry store for the doctor’s office. “I’ll just reschedule for next week. They want to talk about my therapy plans.”
Travis tipped his attention toward Chase’s shoulder as if he knew more than he admitted. “How is the therapy going? Making progress?”
Travis had always been honest and straightforward. Never promised anything he couldn’t deliver. He’d invested time and money in Chase and had believed in Chase’s talent before any professional team. Chase had been loyal to him from their first meeting. Now for the first time ever, Chase broke his own vow to be truthful. “Good. JT and I have an extensive rehab schedule.”
One that had included more than two dozen acupuncture needles after Chase’s mountain bike ride and subsequent hike on Sunday. He’d gained more mobility in his shoulder and the pain had dulled into manageable. Manageable enough for Chase to join Nichole for drinks and dinner. Manageable enough for Chase to convince Nichole to continue their ruse. But never dull enough to ignore. Or forget. You need surgery, Chase. Soon.
Travis’s voice was grim. “You can’t avoid the team doctors much longer, Chase.”
“I’m not avoiding them.” How many times could he stretch the truth in one conversation? He must have reached his own personal record. Chase loosened his smile into easy and relaxed like his carefree tone. “I’ve been a little distracted with my new wife.”
Elliot chuckled beside him.
Travis remained still, from his stiff arm braced on the light bulb–framed mirror to his subdued expression. The lack of movement intensified Travis’s voice, ensuring there would be no misheard words. No misunderstanding. No distractions. “This isn’t like the last contract negotiation. The last negotiation, you had no injury and your stats obscured your off-field antics.”
“I have better stats now than when I started playing. I’m repairing my off-field reputation. Check the social media likes. My approval rating is climbing,” Chase countered. Unfortunately, he did not have the same healthy shoulder. Or his youth. “As for my shoulder, I’ll be ready to play by the preseason opener.”
Travis nodded and held out his hand.
Chase reached out and shook it. “I’m counting on you to take care of me and my career.”
Travis clenched Chase’s hand and held on like a father about to impart an important life lesson. “Don’t let me down on your end.”