THE HARDEST YARDS (A BAD BOY FOOTBALL ROMANCE)

by Andrea Rose

  “His mom died or something and his dad had a crazy life. I think he lacked role models.”

  KK perched her chin to her fist with wide-eyes. “It all makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “Ariana Maldova—No one is too broken to fix.”

  “Damn right.”

  Except this doozy.

  “I worry for you, babe. I know you’re good at your job but those bags under your eyes—Have you slept?”

  “Enough.”

  She rested her hand on mine. “The reason I found you is so I could tell you I won’t be here for the next few months.”

  “Months? Where’re you going?”

  “Knew you’d freak out,” she said and rubbed at the wrinkle between my brow. “Derek surprised me last night. We’re going for a trip to Australia.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  Sheer disbelief.

  I knew how long she’d wanted to get out the city since being on the rocks with her boyfriend, Derek. She needed this.

  I needed her.

  “If you need me here as support, I’ll tell him to fuck off the whole thing.”

  “No, no, no. I can’t believe it, that’s all.”

  “Right? Who knew he had it in him? Ultimately, I want to be with him, he wants to be with me. Relationships take as much work as our careers and it’s obvious what needs urgent attention. Hopefully some sunshine and no in-laws will help.”

  “That sounds amazing. Not that I won’t be totally jealous that you’ll be tanning while I’m growing paler in Yuri’s eclipse.”

  “Trapped in an office with Tyler King. You poor thing. Switch places?”

  I giggled. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you. I told Derek, the prick, to change the travel dates so I could be there for you right now. What, with all the Braydon bullshit, but he says dates are sealed. I’m sorry.”

  I forced a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Save your marriage. Prove to me romance didn’t die with Braydon. You’re my only hope.”

  “Babe, relying on Derek and Braydon to inspire your belief in romance is betting on soft, dead horses. It’s not dead. I promise you’ll find your guy one day but for now, take this single time as a chance to kick ass at your job. You have all this extra free time to focus on you. You.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your parents’d be proud of how far you’ve come. I know they would.” I smiled. “Make sure you don’t get lost in this one.”

  “Who, Tyler?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You’re officially banned from working more than forty-five hours a week on this guy.”

  “Seventy.”

  “Sixty hours. Max. Final unsolicited best friend advice,” she said with a stern glare at the doorway, “you were hired to save the public image of this guy, not the real one. Don’t let his own demons stir up that weird fixer gene y’all got. Got it?”

  “Fine.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Seriously. I heard you. Bye!”

  I shooed her off.

  I needed reassurance that my main strategy—Fix the public’s perception of Tyler by fixing the real one—was still the most efficient, though it went against direct best friend orders.

  I couldn’t quit.

  I had time left.

  But I’d grown so desperate for ideas, I’d considered surprising Tyler with a trip for two to Australia as well. Me in a bikini might be my last hope to win him over.

  I shook my hair out. Too tacky.

  Brushing bagel crumbs from my lap, I skid my chair back along the floor and stood.

  KK’s words bounced around my head:

  Don’t try fix this one.

  I suffered a compulsion to improve people:

  Reward-based cleaning games for my college dorm-mates,

  Monetary punishments for friends texting exes,

  Matchmaking football playboys up with well-behaved girls.

  I liked to strategize. I couldn’t control myself—Seeing people change for the better energized me.

  I spun the my GQ magazine cover I brought along with me on the table. Tyler’s bedroom eyes stared back at me.

  I hated KK knew me that deeply. I’d fallen head first into the Change Tyler King Project having grown bored of Braydon’s antics.

  I collapsed back down in my chair the minute I thought about Braydon, my sweet dogs and the trial again.

  Braydon tortured me with a restraining order in place and three hours distance between us.

  “Hey.” KK’s stood back in the doorway.

  “Forget something?”

  “An apology. Mentioning Braydon is not what you needed before a big meeting.”

  She fell on top of me for a tight, appreciated hug.

  “I shouldn’t have said his name. So…uh…think of Tyler Kiiing.” Her arms waved ahead of her, hypnotizing me. “…think of all those line graphsssss, Arianaaaa…Soooo many charts and graphs and plans ahead. Think of Tyler King’s tight end on that cover of GQ, running your hands down those pecs, that six-pack, that…”

  I nudged her shoulder. “Yuri’s contractual boundaries forbid us of fraternizing with the clients and, knowing her, fantasizing over them too. Go, before you plant thoughts this single girl can’t be having.”

  “You don’t want him, I’m adding him to my midnight collection.” She humped the air and I threw a mini-paper airplane I made at her.

  “Get out of here. I have adult shit to do.”

  I dropped my head to the floor. I’d stared so long at GQ Tyler, he’d burned behind my eyelids…toned muscles wrapped in ink…

  …Shirtless, always…

  …Muscles oiled…

  …Hair scruffy…

  He brushed his thumb on his nose then traced it down my cheek. I rasped, giving into be swept up in those big, safe arms.

  My hand rested on his bare chest and a heart beat thudded my palm.

  “I’ll kick his fucking ass, sweetheart,” he’d say, when I’d explain the Braydon situation.

  I’d pay good money to see Tyler King threaten that creep on my behalf.

  Braydon would be behind bars. Tyler would slam me against a wall. He’d thrust against me, snarling wickedly and call me his.

  I snickered, feeling more at ease the naughtier the thoughts became.

  I pressed my glass of water to my cheeks and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows towering over Central Park.

  “Staring out a window won’t help, Arianaaa,” Yuri yelled on her next flyby.

  I sipped the glass, touched my lonely lips and cooled off needing a minute to accept something I didn’t want to yet.

  Nope.

  Nope. I wouldn’t.

  Teeth clenched, I slid the GQ magazine so hard along the table, it flew off the side and hit the far wall.

  Best friend stormed back into the room one last time, slammed the door and held me by the shoulders.

  “You have a crush on Tyler King.”

  I sniffed water through my nose over the conference table.

  She waited for me with eyes almost wider than mine felt.

  I pressed a napkin on her water-sprayed face, rocking my head up and down.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said with a smile. “Totally, totally fine. Doesn’t matter anyway because he’s not coming.”

  12

  Three hours,

  Four texts,

  Five unanswered calls,

  Zero word from Tyler.

  The third time I scurried by Yuri’s office to the coffee machine, she stopped me with a loud clear of the throat.

  Annie ducked and spun into the copier room.

  “One minute,” I said.

  “Right this moment, Ariana.”

  I tilted back, eyes up.

  This woman couldn’t even wait for me to drink what might be my final Nespresso in this office?

  Tyler meant nothing to this queen who sat, one leg snaked around the other, in her tufted throne.

  La Maison’s cl
ient base had enough clout to rule Manhattan. She didn’t need his tainted name on her books. I did.

  Her neck was on the line for me. I needed to prove I was more writing press releases, booking photographers and answering emails.

  I needed him to show.

  “He’s not here,” she noted with a vicious sniff. “Sit down.”

  “It’s not four yet.”

  The end of my career that hadn’t begun was about to crash and burn with the rest of my 10-Year Plan. First my engagement, relationship, then my dogs, money and job too.

  How could someone so organized find it this challenging to hold her life together?

  I bent my elbows on the desk to cradle my head but Yuri fanned me away.

  “Give me until the end of the day.”

  “I might seem calm as a cucumber,” she said. “That’s fresh botox. I’m pissed off, Ariana. You’re this close to losing a contract that will open doors for you. Here you are running back and forth between the bloody Nespresso machine, the conference room window and your laptop. I wanted to believe after all you’ve achieved in the past, you’d have the ovaries to take this on. I have myself to blame for letting you take on such a high risk client. I’d sensed my own hunger in you. I was wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I blurted, unable to hide my panic. “Tyler is stubborn but if anyone knows stubborn, it’s me. I can find a way to get him here.”

  “Not with usual methods. Tyler needs forceful guidance. I bestowed power upon you to crack your whip on any misbehaved limb you needed. Every La Maison resource was at your disposal. All you did was print off the Amazon forest, put it in a binder and set him up with a nobody.” She slow-clapped for me. “Two weeks and you’ve done all that. No wonder the boy’s bored of you.”

  The words rolled from Yuri’s tongue so casually. Ninety-nine percent of my waking hours spent dedicated to masterfully designing and executing Tyler’s comeback.

  That’s the thanks she gives me?

  “I have research and evidence to prove to y—”

  “I’m sure you do. Understand Gavin Spiros—I believe you’ve met the rotten bastard—is giving it to me up the ass, darling. You’re not blowing your whistle loud enough into Mr. King’s empty skull.”

  “Tell him to quit meddling,” I said. “I’ve got this under control. Give me to the end of the day. Please.”

  “Remind me of your potential before I’m forced to make readjustments to the staff. We’re overdue for a pruning.”

  My stomach sat in my throat.

  “I get a few more days?”

  “Oh, God no. I wait for no man. You get…” Her diamond watch caught the sun in my eye. “…Until the hour I’m ready to go home.”

  “Which is when exactly?”

  “My chef rang to say he’s about to put the lamb in the oven. You have as long as that takes to turn medium-rare.”

  “Yuri, I…”

  “Tick-tock…”

  I bowed like a lowly peasant girl and left.

  Outside her door, I Googled something:

  Lamb - Medium-Rare - Between 1-2 Hours ( +2 Hours for Slow Roast)

  My career, the only opportunity of becoming something great in this world in time to retire early and start a family (10-Year plan: Cycle Two) fell to the wayside in less time than a lamb roast.

  Poof! Me disappearing into a sad, underwhelming cloud of smoke.

  Because of Tyler?

  Blaming achieved nothing. I lost him thanks to my lack of research. No other firm would go near him after us. He would stumble and fall; Become another washed-up success who crumbled under the weight of stardom.

  I wouldn’t let that happen to him. Especially now I knew Chrissy and I might be the only people Tyler had left to trust.

  ‘Working nine to five! What a way to make a living!’

  Phone ringing, I saw the death Emoji came up on caller ID:

  My lawyers.

  I tripped further down the corridor back to the conference room to endure what my law team had for me today.

  “What’ll it be today, Harry?” I said. “My tears or my money? Both are in short supply.”

  He gave me a laugh. “Hello, Miss Ari. How are you?”

  “Oh, y’know…Fine.”

  “We’ve just finished the month’s bookkeeping. YOu told us to call you once we were getting down to the your last pre-paid hours.”

  “What’s the damage?”

  “Three hours, y’got. You know, with the other trial coming up we’re not sure how you’d like to spread out our time.”

  I clawed my chest.

  Three hours.

  Life savings drained, credit cards in the red with so much mundane paperwork left to do. I didn’t need this. Not today. Not now. Not ever.

  “Fuck Braydon,” I said aloud. “Harry, I have some important work to finish up right now. Can I call you back?”

  “Of course but I…”

  The tone of my call-waiting blipped. “I have someone on the other line. I’ll call you tonight. Sorry, sorry, bye…Ariana Maldova.”

  “Ari, Tyler. I’m, uh, sorry but I can’t…”

  I threw my phone to the table and fainted into a chair. Waves of urgent nausea pulsed in my stomach.

  “No, no, no…” I muttered and hovered my mouth over the phone. “Tyler, why? Why the easy road again?”

  “Hey, relax…”

  “Relax? I’m finished here. But thanks for calling to tell me?”

  …I couldn’t quit. Never.

  “I fucked this up,” I continued. “I admit it but we can figured it out. I had so much to update you on, things only me and Chrissy know.”

  “Ariana…”

  The phone flew where the GQ had earlier.

  I moped over to turn off the light and stood glooming out the darkened conference room.

  The vastness of dusky New York City in the Fall lay below.

  This would be the highest office I’d be in ever again. At least until I’d worked my way back up this slippery pole. I milked the view with what time I had left before Yuri kicked me out.

  “Sweetheart. You didn’t hear what I said.” I spun to the brooding statue behind me. It flashed me a devilish, pearly-white grin. “I couldn’t find the conference room. Girl wasn’t at her desk. Sorry I’m late.”

  Upside, my nausea passed.

  Downside, I sent it up all over the front of Tyler King’s well-tailored Armani suit.

  13

  “I don’t see the big deal. They’ll love it.”

  Ariana Maldova scurried a ball of my vomit-covered jacket, shirt and tie through the darkened office floor.

  “I don’t care if you disagree. You can’t do the meeting shirtless. In fact, I forbid you to be shirtless in any professional setting from here on out, got it?”

  She swung her arm into a dark doorway, turning to avoid brushing the Abercrombie torso walking right by her.

  A switch clicked.

  The fluorescent rods flickered revealed an over-stacked mess of shelves and racks full of clothes.

  “I’m sure we’ll have something that’ll fit you in here.”

  I let out a low sound.

  Ari spun around to find me flexing on her, fingers linked on top of my head. I brought a hand down to present a bulging bicep and wiggled my eyebrows. “Don’t think they make Size Swol, sweetheart.”

  “Size Swol?” she said and gave me a once-over. “Cute.”

  “Laugh all you want. You’re not feeling so stressed out anymore.”

  I’d never been vomited on by a woman before and wanted to make sure it never happened again. To ensure that, I had to keep Ariana calm.

  “Here.” With a tight-lipped grin, she watched me button the shirt and gave a thumbs up. “Perfect.”

  “You know damn well this is two sizes too small, Maldova…”

  She made a sorry smile and I plucked at the fabric.

  “…and covered in flying cats.”

  “You owe me. Come on.
We have a meeting to attend.”

  Fun ended back when official business begun.

  Yuri Kissinger performed twenty minutes of verbal fellatio on me—How generous I was to take on a “fresh girl” like Ariana, that she hoped the relationship would work out, was everything OK with the contract, blah, blah, fucking blah…

  Two lawyers and an assistant showed half-way through, Ari played witness at me signing the deal I hadn’t read yet.

  “Do your lawyers need this in hardcopy or digital?” One asked.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Both,” Ariana made the recovery, “and list me as the email contact. Tyler’s manager has assigned me to handle Tyler’s legal correspondence.”

  “He did?”

  Finance and law weren’t my thing so I was happy for her to take the load if Gavin didn’t.

  He’d skipped the meeting today, his first ever, to follow the Lightning to Texas this week, wanting to get the message through he was pissed at me.

  Message received.

  Yuri clucked to her subordinates.

  A bored Ariana rolled her eyes dramatically, agreeing with me the meeting was bullshit.

  I hadn’t apologized enough about today—almost making the biggest mistake of my life—witnessing Ariana in the white leather dress she wore today being one of them.

  Devout men would need to repent for thoughts I had about her across that table. This after she’d not only thrown up on me but also never apologized for it.

  The girl endeared me for the simple fact she never stopped surprising me.

  I lived so long in my world where I wanted women to do three things to me: Fuck me, worship me or—with publicists and clingy ex-hookups,—leave me the fuck alone.

  I had no interest in Ariana leaving me the fuck alone. Not yet. She’d fallen into a new category I needed to figure out before I let her go.

  “Lastly, a standard non-disclosure everyone here needs to sign,” said Lawyerboy. “Mr. King, initial these if you’re happy.”

  “Happy’s a big ask. This’ll do.” I dropped the pen and we shook hands across the table.

  Legally bound to a leather-bound enchantress for the two years.

  The room spun a little. My Jack and a few beers from earlier hadn’t worn off fully.