Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love)

by Agnes Canestri

  Wait a minute…is he embarrassed? Could it be that Henriette wasn’t so far from the truth about Bill’s interest in me?

  That Bill might be flirting with me makes my chest feel a little dizzy and takes my mind off my crucial task for a second.

  Then Bill says, “Your boss has two visitors this morning. Did you know?”

  And with that, my full focus is back on my mission.

  “Visitors, you say?”

  “Yeah.” Bill nods, and his combed-back bangs flutter. “Two men entered her office not long ago. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “OMG,” I squeak as the significance settles in. My heart picks up.

  Our clinic never turns down appointments with potential clients—it’s one of our golden rules. So when those men Bill saw had scheduled a meeting, they hadn’t been informed that my boss can’t take on new cases with her due date.

  What were the chances?

  Brand new patients turning up on the exact day I plan to persuade my boss to entrust me with more responsibility? Stephanie might be reluctant to hand over one of her ongoing cases to me while she’s gone, but perhaps a fresh one?

  As if Bill can read my thoughts, he grins. “You should hurry. This might just be the chance a talented, junior assistant has been waiting for to try her wings, huh?”

  I blush. “Maybe.”

  “I hope you get your own case assigned.” Bill’s eyes sparkle at me as if he has a lot of confidence in my abilities.

  “I hope so, too.” Anticipation drums in my temples.

  I’m about to turn and sprint to Stephanie’s office when Bill adds, “Would you care to report back to me on how it goes?”

  My eyes widen, then I nod. “Of course. I’ll send you an email when—”

  “Or perhaps I could buy you a coffee?” He gives me a shy smile.

  “In the cafeteria?” I ask.

  Bill rubs his neck. “Well… I was thinking of something cozier.”

  When I don’t answer after a few seconds, Bill smiles. “You know what? Don’t answer now. Focus on speaking with your boss first. We’ll get back to my invite.” He winks, and without waiting for my reaction, strides away.

  I stare at his muscular shoulders, my jaw slightly loose.

  So my hunch wasn’t off. Bill has asked me out. Why didn’t I accept his invitation right away? Bill is gorgeous, and his smile makes me feel woozy. Then why was I hesitant to say yes to his proposal?

  Is it because Bill is a coworker? Or perhaps I’m just too occupied with Stephanie’s visitors to consider all the ramifications of going on a date with Bill.

  I shake my head to clear it of these doubts. I can think about my puzzling reaction later, but right now my mind needs to be on the prize.

  I march to Stephanie’s office and knock twice then push the door open when nobody answers.

  I expect my boss to be sitting on her blue egg chair, her favorite place when chatting with clients, but she’s standing beside her desk, her back slouched forward and her forearms leaning on the beech surface. She’s panting heavily and murmuring numbers under her breath.

  I sprint over to her side and pat her between her shoulder blades. “Is everything okay?”

  She flinches then slowly pushes herself up to a straight position. I jump back to avoid bumping into her belly, which is huge and low.

  Very, very low.

  Counting, sweating, and the position of her bump… Oh goodness, is she in labor?

  “I’m fine.” Stephanie gives me a confident whisper. “It’s probably just a few Braxton Hicks. Have been getting them since this morning.”

  I furrow my brows. I’m no obstetrician, but I know those prodromal pains don’t come in the fortieth week. “You’re almost at your due date. Sure these aren’t regular contractions?”

  Stephanie shrugs. “And what if they are?”

  My chin drops. “If they are, then we should time them. To know how far along you might be.”

  Stephanie skipped all her prenatal preparation classes because the times collided with her work schedule, but given that she’s a renowned psychologist, I didn’t expect her to be this clueless about this topic.

  “How many minutes apart are they now?” I ask.

  She twitches her mouth left to right, grabbing the side of her desk so briskly that the pencils on it jiggle. After a loud moan, she says, “Perhaps six minutes?”

  “Six? Oh, gosh,” I exclaim. “We should get you to your hospital, then.”

  Before she can answer, another wave hits her. Her face distorts into a grimace of pain, and she falls forward to her desk again.

  I pat her back while humming “one, two three” in a tone as soothing as I can, considering the circumstances.

  When her contraction is over, she pushes herself up and shakes her head. “Not yet. My baby won’t come yet.” She glances down at her abdomen. “Did you hear me, Frank Jr.?”

  “I don’t think it’s possible to will a labor to stop,” I say. I’m actually sure it’s not possible, but I don’t want to sound obnoxious in front of Stephanie while I’m trying to get into her favors.

  “I don’t need it to stop. Just to pause while I secure this deal,” she answers. Her eyes are still fixated on her belly which is rumbling and drifting like an alien is trying to break free from it.

  Of course!

  In all my worry that I might end up becoming an impromptu midwife, I’d completely forgotten that Stephanie is supposed to be with her visitors.

  My eyes dart around, scanning the spacious office, but it’s empty.

  “Weren’t you having a meeting?”

  Stephanie blinks up at me and nods. “Yes, I still am…with a new client. The guy just stepped outside to talk with his agent. They wanted to discuss the timelines I proposed to them.”

  My chest tightens.

  So it didn’t even occur to my boss that she could pass this case to me. Okay, I have a little time. First, I need to learn more about this new client and find an angle to prove how beneficial my involvement would be. “Why does this man have an agent? Is he some celebrity?” I ask.

  “Sort of…he-he-ho-ho…” After her lame attempt at Lamaze breathing, she brushes a hand through her blond pixie and adds, “At least in sports circles. He’s a football player.”

  My eyes widen. “A pro?”

  “Yeah. NFL.” Stephanie grins at my reaction. “I know, right? It’s fantastic. I never had a football player before, but his kind could be a gold mine. All that violence these guys use on the field is bound to transfuse into their reality. Which makes them ideal candidates for therapy.”

  Stephanie is right.

  If we get in with our local NFL team, the Arizona Cardinals, and they start to refer their problematic players to us, it could mean a steady influx of clients.

  And suppose I were to become the referral person in Stephanie’s office for these athletes. It could mean a guaranteed promotion.

  My boss sniffs. “Let’s just hope they’ll accept my conditions. They’re in a hurry, but with my state”—she caresses her stomach with both palms—“I can’t start the guy’s treatment for another four weeks. Maybe three, if my C-section heals fast.”

  That’s my opening.

  I quickly shift into my power stance and level my boss’s gaze. “I could begin with this player right away.”

  Her eyes round. “You?”

  I ignore the utter astonishment in her voice and continue, “This way, you could accommodate the client’s desired timeline. Also, I know a lot about football. You could use me in this case.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Seriously? I didn’t take you for an NFL fan.”

  “But I am. Huge, huge fan. Yes. I watch all preseason games too, not just the Super Bowl.” I hit an upbeat tone and bob my head, hoping these gestures will cover up my lies.

  In reality, I haven’t seen a football game for a long time. Not since Wyatt got drafted and left. And even before, I wasn’t a super fan of the sport.
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  More like a super fan of him.

  No, I can’t be bogged down with his memory now. Instead, I search my mind for all the fancy terms I heard him throw around when we were dating. When I locate three that might impress my boss, I say, “I know what a Shotgun Formation is, and a Squib Kick, and a Horse Collar. I’m your gal for this job.”

  Stephanie scratches her chin. “What’s a Horse Collar?”

  “That’s a…” My brother’s frustrated yell when he watched a fault in Wyatt’s latest game while his fiancée and I prepared dinner flashes through me. My shoulders relax. I give Stephanie a confident smirk. “It’s when a defensive player brings down a ball carrier by grabbing onto the back of the man’s collar.” Or something similar.

  Stephanie clicks her tongue. “I thought you were just bluffing.” She chuckles. “Not that I’d have known. I don’t know a thing about football. I never even heard the name of the Atlanta Kites’ quarterback before he walked into my office.”

  My heart skips a beat.

  Atlanta Kites?

  No, I must have misheard. There’s no way my boss mentioned that team. It’s my mind playing tricks on me. Wyatt has nothing to do with this case. Absolutely nothing.

  The door clicks behind me. “Ah, Mr. Harrison,” my boss exclaims. “Welcome back!”

  I freeze, and my heart leaps to my throat.

  Oh, sweet heavens. Shoot. Me. Now.

  Chapter 5

  (Ellie)

  Stephanie’s features move into her usual serene, I can solve your problems. Just pay me for it, expression as she peers over my shoulder.

  “Did you and Mr. Nelson reach a conclusion regarding the proposed timelines?” she asks.

  A masculine yet melodic timbre fills the room. The well-known cadence sends my stomach on an instant wild roller coaster.

  How can Wyatt be here? How?

  “Yes, Mrs. Walles, we did,” Wyatt says. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to work together. I need to begin my counseling immediately.”

  My boss’s calm mask wavers. “You mean you need to start ASAP?”

  Instead of Wyatt’s baritone, a raspy voice with a strong New York accent resounds behind my back. It must belong to Mr. Nelson, Wyatt’s agent.

  “That’s exactly what my client means,” he says. “Wyatt has to complete impulse control therapy by the third week of July.” He clears his throat, and even in the middle of my shock, I can’t help but notice he sounds like he’s gargling with rusty nails. “We need a therapist dedicated solely to Mr. Harrison, and we need that person now. Or preferably, yesterday.”

  My fingers fidget with a button on my coat. I notice a thread dangling free and try to split it without tearing off the button itself.

  While my hands are busy, my mind is whizzing with thoughts.

  I can’t believe I was begging Stephanie only a minute ago to assign me this case. What kind of mess was I trying to work myself into? How lucky that my boss hadn’t conceded.

  Stephanie’s chin quivers, and she grips the side of her desk with one hand. “Of course, I understand your point perfectly,” she says in a grave voice that either expresses her sorrow at missing out on the fantastic opportunity of treating Wyatt or masks a contraction. Possibly both.

  I let my lungs expand. They’ve just established that my boss’s schedule isn’t acceptable. There’s nothing else for Wyatt and his agent to do other than leave, right? I don’t even have to turn around. Wyatt will never know I was standing in the same room as him.

  Stephanie throws me a calculating glance. “—which is why I’m thrilled to say that while you were conferring, I came up with a solution to accommodate Mr. Harrison’s needs.”

  Panic grips my throat. I can’t be assigned to work with Wyatt. No way.

  “What do you propose?” Wyatt’s agent inquires.

  Stephanie points to me. “My assistant is also a certified RTAT counselor. She has valuable experience with similar cases. And, best of all, as luck has it—”

  As luck has it? Valuable experience? Oh, jeez… she’s going there…

  “—her schedule is clear at the moment,” my boss finishes, tossing me into a black hole she doesn’t even see.

  I suck in choppy breaths as I try to keep it together.

  Okay, maybe Wyatt will say no. Perhaps he’ll think being treated by an assistant is beneath him. After all, he’s a frigging star.

  But Wyatt doesn’t answer as I hoped. “Ah, that’s excellent news!”

  He sounds relieved. I can tell because his voice fills with that extra-smooth undertone that used to make my chest stir.

  Stephanie smiles. “It is. You can even start your first session today if you so wish.”

  She blinks at me and lifts a brow as if to indicate, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  But I don’t move. I can’t. My limbs are numb.

  Stephanie withdraws her glance from me. “As I said, Ms. Griffin is just as—”

  “I’m sorry, who?” Wyatt’s cry cuts through the air.

  “Ms. Eloise Griffin, my assistant.” Stephanie steps over and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  I hear a soft gasp behind me.

  Did it come from Wyatt? Is he as bewildered by the unlikelihood of this coincidence as I am?

  Stephanie nudges me to whip around, but when I don’t comply, she whispers into my ear, “Ellie, what’s wrong with you?”

  I withstand her stern gaze while mouthing, “I can’t do this,” at her.

  But she either can’t read my lips or interprets my desperate words as cold feet because she answers in a low voice, “This is what you wanted. Now get a grip and introduce yourself to your client properly. If you don’t, I’ll fire you.”

  I grit my teeth and slowly pivot around, a staccato hammering in my chest.

  I wish the years had made Wyatt fat and ugly, but of course, they hadn’t. If anything, he’s in better shape than ever. Probably since keeping in form is part of his chosen career.

  And I know better than anyone how dedicated he is to that.

  “Ellie?” Wyatt’s face moves into a shocked grimace. “So it’s you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I say while trying to control my heart rate, but it isn’t easy because Wyatt Harrison isn’t just some guy I dated.

  No, he’s a whole different ballgame, pun intended. Wyatt is more than a successful NFL quarterback, he’s also one of my brother’s best friends. And, if that isn’t enough, he was also the biggest crush of my life—with a capital C.

  At least, until he broke my heart.

  My boss bounces her glance between Wyatt and me. “You two know each other?”

  Wyatt nods. “Yes, Ellie and I come from the same town.”

  His voice is flat, with no particular emotion in it, which I find particularly weird. Not only because of our history, but also because we’re in a behavioral clinic. If Wyatt can keep his calm so easily, while I struggle to breathe, then what can I possibly teach him about impulse control?

  While I muse about this, Wyatt turns to me. “I didn’t know you worked here. Devon never mentioned it.”

  “And I didn’t know you returned to Phoenix,” I reply and pat myself inwardly for the sass I injected into my tone.

  He rakes a hand through the wavy blond hair he still keeps at chin-length, same as during his college years. “I told your brother I’d be here for a few weeks a while back. Didn’t he mention it to you?”

  “Nope.” I cross my arms across my chest. “Devon’s lack of chattiness goes both directions.”

  I’m not surprised by my brother’s omission.

  Devon knows I’m not fond of Wyatt, only he isn’t aware of my real motive. I’m lucky my brother is a reserved person, because he never subjected me to serious interrogation about why I disliked his friend. He accepted my (somewhat flimsy) excuse that Wyatt and I had an icky argument, the details of which I preferred not to divulge.

  “But this is wonderful.” Stephanie claps her hands. “Given the sh
ort timeframe at your disposal, Mr. Harrison, it’s beneficial if you and Ellie aren’t strangers.” She grabs my elbow and squeezes it.

  I’m not sure whether she’s having another contraction and needs to hide her pain, or if she wants me to agree loudly to her statement.

  I ignore her grip and stay silent.

  Wyatt’s agent, a skinny man in a grey suit, fiddles with his mustache then coughs. “I’m not an expert, but I always thought that in therapy, it’s better not to have ties between the patient and the caregiver. Or am I misinformed?”

  “No, you’re not.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Stephanie throws me a nasty, ‘What are you trying to do?’ glance, then smiles at the man. “Mr. Nelson, that’s absolutely correct. But only if those ties imply positive or negative emotional involvement. Past baggage like love or resentment.” She waves with her hands in a big circle. “You see where I’m going with this?”

  Mr. Nelson’s face lights up. “Ah, okay. All the better.” He pats Wyatt on his shoulder. “I imagine your relationship with Ms. Griffin shouldn’t be an issue, then?”

  Wyatt shifts his weight. His white T-shirt bulges appetizingly on his muscular chest as he squares his shoulders.

  I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

  Wyatt’s gaze moves to my face.

  I try to channel the right answer to Wyatt. I can’t refuse to work with him, not after the threat Stephanie has just thrown at me.

  But if Wyatt backs out, it would be different. He could easily claim that he doesn’t feel comfortable working with someone he knows. If he says that, we can quickly forget that this meeting ever happened.

  Wyatt withdraws his eyes from me, and his glance drifts to the window, then over to my boss’s encouraging grin, and finally stops on his agent.

  His Adam’s apple twitches, and his jaw tightens. Then he says, “No. Of course, not. My history with Ellie won’t be a problem.” He blinks back at me. “Right, Ellie?”

  I pull my hands behind my back and touch my thumb to my fingertips one by one. Thanks to my dedicated practice, my secret tactic works its wonder—I’m able to stare back at Wyatt with no muscle flinching on my face while I say, “Right. No issue at all.”