The Athletic Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers

by Lucy McConnell

  Logan swallowed, and then said, “So you’d be manager of a major league team? Are they going to pay you?”

  He chuckled as he handed over a napkin. “That’s crazy too. I’d get paid the manager’s salary and a groom’s salary.”

  “Sweet.” Logan wiped mayo off his lips. “What’s the catch?”

  Isaac gave him a disbelieving stare. “The catch is I have to marry her.”

  “I don’t think that’s a big deal.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Naw, it’s like she’s adopting a family.” He lifted a shoulder.

  “She’d pay me.”

  “You paid a fee when you got me.”

  “This is so very, very different.”

  “How?”

  Isaac picked up the paper towels again, too nervous to hold still. “Because a parent has all this automatic love for their kid. It bonds them and, once they trust it, holds them together forever. That kind of a bond doesn’t just happen in a marriage; it has to be earned.”

  “Do you have to love her?”

  “Well, no. It’s not set up like that. It’s a business contract.”

  “Is she ugly?” He whipped out his phone.

  Typical 15-year-old. “I don’t know.” Isaac hadn’t given her looks one thought. Jake Richmond had been the face of the Redrocks since their inception. The whole time Harper had been the owner, Isaac had been surfing Linkin and focused on reports featuring the local scandal. He should have kept up on things better.

  “I’m Googling ‘Redrocks owner.’”

  “Google away.” Isaac began twisting the paper towels between his hands.

  Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow.” He flipped the phone around to reveal a stunning woman, all tan and toned in a royal blue dress with her blonde hair cascading over one shoulder in natural waves. “You dog!” Logan punched his shoulder.

  “She’s so …” Isaac searched for an appropriate phrase. “Young.” He’d been knocked off his base with the marriage thing and hadn’t even thought to look her up. Jake Richmond had died at fifty-seven, so yeah, Harper would be about his age. Geez, and he thought becoming a manager was a big deal.

  Logan pulled his phone back and scrolled. “She’s thirty. It says her dad died and left her the team.”

  Isaac nodded. “He struggled with cancer—I forget which kind.”

  “That sucks.” Logan slowly set his phone down. “Do you still love Mom?”

  Isaac looked down to find shredded paper towels flittering to the floor. “I will always love the woman your mom was when I married her, and I will always be grateful she brought you into my life.”

  Logan brushed his hands off. “Is she still in Oklahoma?”

  “Last I heard.” From the lawyers right before the request for more alimony.

  “Is she ever coming back?”

  Isaac’s heart sank to the floor, landing in a pile of paper scraps. “I can’t say no for sure. There may be a time when she wants to see you very much.”

  “I don’t want to see her again—ever.”

  Isaac held up both hands. “No pressure from me.”

  Logan put both palms on the counter and dropped his head. “I think you should go for it.”

  Isaac put his arm around his kid. “What about school? There’s only four weeks left and you’d have to transfer. Plus, you’d be leaving behind your friends.”

  Logan grabbed the mustard and mayo and twisted out of Isaac’s arm. “I’m used to moving around.”

  Isaac huffed. He’d worked so hard to get that unsettled feeling out of Logan’s life and he’d been unsuccessful. Failure flashed before him like a huge scoreboard: Life 12, Dad 0. “I thought we’d made a home here.”

  “Dad, I’m good. Really. Will you stop worrying and take the job?”

  “Who says I’m worrying?”

  “It’s all over your face.”

  Isaac grabbed a handful of paper towel pieces off the floor and wiped at his cheeks. “Where?”

  Logan shook his head, but he was smiling. “You’re a dork.”

  “See, not marriage material.”

  Logan considered him carefully, with eyes much older than his fifteen years. “Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t.” He glanced at his phone on the counter. “She’s totally out of your league.”

  “Hey!” Isaac protested.

  “But you are baseball material. It’s in your blood.”

  Defeated, Isaac reached into the pantry to find the broom. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said as he handed the dustpan to Logan. “I’ll take the job if you promise to talk to Dr. Osmond about not wanting to see your mom.”

  Logan sighed as he bent down so Isaac could sweep the paper towels into the dustpan. “I’ll talk to Dr. Osmond if you take the job and … buy me a car for my 16th birthday.”

  “Seriously?” Logan never asked for anything—especially anything expensive. He got mad if Isaac bought name-brand clothes for him when it wasn’t his birthday or Christmas.

  Logan stood but kept his eyes on the floor. “Yeah.”

  Considering he’d be earning two salaries, he could probably afford a second car and a third and fourth. “Done.”

  Logan’s head snapped up. “Sweet.”

  Isaac pulled him in for a quick hug. “We’re a team. You’re always going to be my number one draft pick.”

  Logan hugged him back for a too-brief moment before heading to the trash with the dustpan.

  Isaac pulled out his cell phone and Pamela’s card. She answered on the second ring.

  “Pamela, it’s Isaac Wolfe. I guess I’m in.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Isaac felt pressure lift from his neck and forehead. He hadn’t realized how strong the feeling was until it was gone, and now there was this light, almost euphoric experience in its place.

  Logan’s phone, left on the counter, beeped and the screen lit up, revealing Harper’s beautiful face smiling up at him. His stomach twisted with nerves. Logan was right: she was well out of his league. Would she even want a washed-up ball player turned manager? He sucked in air and puffed out his chest, checking his reflection in the window.

  “Wonderful,” Pamela was saying. “What’s your personal email address? I’ll have my secretary book a flight for you and your son. There will be a short interview with Harper in my office, and if everything works out you can be married right there.”

  “Sounds …” Interesting. Terrifying. Stupid. “Great.”

  5

  Harper’s knee was doing a great impersonation of a jumping bean as she waited to meet her groom.

  Groom?! Pamela Jones bid Billionaire Marriage Brokers as a specialized employment agency. When Harper learned that the “specialized” part actually meant “weddings,” she nearly hung up the phone. But desperate times called for desperate measures. She was holding off an all-out mutiny from the coaching staff and the press was ready to burn her at the stake.

  Not that she regretted firing Coach Adams—that knee-jerk decision was sound. But here she was ready to make another one with her hand poised over the panic button. If only her stomach would settle; it rolled around as fast as her thoughts.

  She’d been informed that her intended, for lack of a better word, had arrived earlier and was currently signing the nondisclosure statement. Harper had signed the same documents with heartfelt gratitude that her impromptu marriage wouldn’t be leaked to the press before she had a good explanation to offer. Snorting delicately, she wondered if the right words even existed to justify marrying a man she didn’t know.

  Harper wrung her hands. Mom is going to kill me.

  Right after the reading of the will, Nora Richmond left for a grieving tour of Europe—whatever that was. She wanted to see the Scottish castle Harper’s dad had built for the two of them but never got to visit because cancer sucked his life away. She would probably spend time in the Italian countryside as well. Hopefully she would eat a lot of pasta. Jake Richmond wasn’t the only one who lost weight because o
f chemo. At the funeral, Mom was all bones and tears in her black dress. Though Harper understood her mom’s need to run away, she had the feeling of losing both her parents at once and struggled against the emptiness in her home and her heart.

  Looking around, she tried to take her mind off the sadness that lingered when she thought of her dad. The BMB office was modern and decorated in calming tones, which did absolutely nothing to calm Harper’s nerves. Being here was the most stupid thing she’d ever done—even more stupid than firing Payton. If she hadn’t exhausted her contacts … If she hadn’t conducted half a dozen horrible interviews … If there was anywhere else she could turn … If Pamela didn’t run a stinking marriage brokerage! Why couldn’t she have just run an employment agency like a normal person?

  Harper had balked at the whole wedding aspect, but Pamela held firm to the position that a marriage was necessary. And she promised results; her batting average was better than Ty Cobbs’s. Not that Pamela gave away any confidential information on her clients. However, the three references Harper spoke to were more than complimentary and assured her that if Pamela says she has a good feeling about things, then all would be well.

  To top that off, Pamela was recommended by one of her dad’s best friends as being completely legit. Otherwise, she would have run out of there and never looked back.

  Brushing her hair off her face, she closed her eyes and prayed Pamela had the inspiration necessary to bring Harper—nay, the entire Redrocks organization—out of the mess she’d created.

  The whoosh of a heavy wood door opening behind her caused goose bumps to break out on her arms. Rubbing them quickly, she got to her feet as gracefully as her stiff shoulders would allow and turned to greet the answer to all her problems. The guys were caught up in a discussion about Dustin Colt, the Redrocks’ shortstop, as they made their way down that hall and hadn’t noticed her yet. Which was fine—Harper took the moment to study them.

  Harrison, BMB attorney, had an athletic build with thick shoulders. College football, Harper guessed.

  Her gaze snapped to the groom, drawn there of their own accord. Cautiously thrilled at the idea of taking this guy home, Harper discreetly fluffed her hair. His eyes crinkle when he smiles.

  Harper had anticipated a kinder version of Payton. Perhaps someone who was missing hair or had a large gap in his teeth and a paunch stomach. They were on a tight turnaround and this would be the first time she learned her future husband’s name. Besides, BMB contracts were for professional marriages—she didn’t need to be attracted to her husband; she just needed to be able to work with him.

  What she found was a thirty-something roguish man with an athletic build and olive skin. His dirty blond hair was long and styled up and kind of messy, and he had a scruffy jaw, giving him that bad-boy air that hit right at Harper’s weak spot. Oh, how she loved those bad boys. Unfortunately, in her experience, they lived up to their title. Isaac’s gray suit fit nicely over his broad frame. A blue and silver striped tie hung askew as if he’d been tugging on it, and Harper had the surprising desire to straighten it for him. The goose bumps fled as her skin flushed. This was her groom? Where did Pamela find this guy?

  Suddenly feeling shy, Harper’s gaze traveled to the young man trailing behind. He grinned when he saw her, like he knew who she was and why she was here and he was kind of happy about it all. Harper’s curiosity perked up. Almost as tall as the two men in front, the teen had a leaner look about him but was nonetheless graceful in his movements. He had a high forehead, a cleft in his chin, and his hair was shorn on the sides. When he filled out, he’d look a lot like Jackie Robinson. What drew Harper in was his optimistic attitude. It radiated off of him.

  Harrison stopped when he reached the waiting area and greeted her with a smile and an outstretched hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Richmond.”

  “You too, Harrison. Please, call me Harper.”

  The teen elbowed her groom in the side. Her groom gave him a play-it-cool look as he tugged at his tie. She bit back a grin at their antics.

  Harrison began the introductions. “Harper, I’d like you to meet Isaac Wolfe and his son, Logan.”

  The name set off a series of memories. Since inheriting the team, she’d immersed herself in all things baseball. Isaac Wolfe had an interesting background—one she would need to clear before she’d let him anywhere near the front office.

  The kid didn’t have any resemblance to his dad. His black hair was cropped short and his chocolate-brown eyes were encircled by long, black lashes.

  There was something manly about Isaac his son had yet to obtain. Isaac’s firm jaw and sharp cheekbones bespoke a maturity in body and soul that spoke to Harper.

  When she finished her cursory appraisal of his features, her eyes landed on his and she thought she might be sucked right into his tiger-intense stare. Pale green in the center fading to a deep ring of emerald at the edges, Isaac’s eyes were as intense as they were beautiful.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Isaac, his voice as deep as center field and as steady as a season ticket holder.

  Harper shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch spread up her arm with surprising speed. “You too,” she managed before moving on to greet Logan.

  “Hi.” He pumped her hand.

  Harrison pointed down the hallway. “Pamela will be with you both in a moment. However, she instructed me to give you two private time together. If you’d like to use my office, I’ll hang out here with Logan.”

  “Yes.” Harper nodded. Right, the interview.

  Isaac motioned for her to go first, and Harper led the way at a steady pace while her mind raced through the questions she’d used in other interviews. Tossing them aside, she decided to start with the most direct and interesting question.

  She settled at the small, round table in Harrison’s office. Isaac shut the door behind them and a whiff of spice and cream drifted over Harper, enticing visions of laying her head on his oh-so-nice chest.

  Clearing her throat and her head, Harper pulled out her laptop, did a quick search for the latest article on the Bulldogs controversy, and swiveled the screen so Isaac could see.

  The moment his eyes hit the pixels, they darkened like the sea before a storm.

  “Tell me what really happened,” she invited.

  “If you read the article, then you already know,” he groused.

  Harper shook her head. “If anyone knows that there’s more to a story than what’s onscreen, it’s me, so spill.”

  She crossed her legs and leaned back, careful to keep her hands on the arms of the chair and not fold her arms across her chest. She wanted her body language to say “I’m listening.” Isaac’s answer would tell her three things. One, if she could trust him. Two, if he could trust her. Three, if this was the man she was looking for. Though at this moment, with the attraction zinging back and forth between them, she wasn’t sure if she was more interested in finding a man to be manager for the Redrocks or a man to be her husband.

  On the outside, Isaac was a whole lot of unexpected wonderful. She hoped that, on the inside, he was even better. Of course, if he was just as gooey scrumptious on the inside, she’d have a whole other set of problems on her hand. Not the least of which was her vow to never date a ball player—ever again!

  Well, at least if I marry him, I won’t have to date him.

  Resisting the urge to twist her fingers, or sit on them, Harper stilled herself, waiting.

  * * *

  Isaac rubbed his right thumb up the palm of his left hand as if he were oiling a new first base mitt. To say he was intimidated by Harper’s beauty and obvious intelligence would be as much of an understatement as saying it got kind of dark when the sun went down.

  Her long blonde hair hung loosely over her left shoulder. She had blue, almost navy eyes with small specks of silver thrown in like scattered jewels. She was taller than the average woman, putting her forehead at kissable height … and her curves! What could Isaa
c say? He loved a woman with curves, and Harper’s knee-length, fitted dress showed hers off nicely.

  Logan had insisted they watch her last press conference. She was like a struggling relief pitcher who was blowing the lead. Despite being frazzled, she’d toughed it out and finished the interview. Thinking about her late into the night, he came away with a deep sense of respect. Few people could do what she did.

  Which is why, when she said she knew there was more to his story than the printed word, he believed her and opened up, giving the condensed version of his confrontation with Coach Jerk and his frustration with the idea of winning at all costs. “Don’t get me wrong, I love to win. But I really, really hate to lose.”

  “And there’s a difference, isn’t there,” she quipped, finishing his reference to Moneyball. He grinned; the image of the two of them on a sofa, watching a movie together, his arm around her shoulders and her head on his chest filled his mind. The image was so clear, so inviting, that he blinked when she spoke again.

  “So why not put the injured kid in the game? He’s a closer, that’s what they do,” she asked in reference to the reason he was fired. She folded her arms.

  A sense of being let down washed over Isaac. Baseball was big business and the Richmonds were as big as business came. “I recruited this kid. He has potential to play pro. He was injured off the field, but if he pitched, he’d blow out his arm. I couldn’t see him throwing away a future for a single inning.”

  “Especially since you were going to lose the game anyway.” Harper lifted an eyebrow, challenging Isaac in a way he couldn’t get a read on.

  He could let it slide, agree with her, and get the job. But it mattered to him that she understood. With all the interviews, questions, and prodding, he just wanted someone to understand. He thought, maybe, that someone could have been Harper. Guess not.

  “No. Not because we were going to lose. Even if the game had been on the line, if he had been the deciding factor, I would have sat him because a player is more than their throwing speed or batting average.” He stood quickly, his heart running the bases. Coming to California had been a mistake. “Maybe I’m not the one you’re looking for.”