Joan straightened her spine. “We were protecting you and making him see that he has an obligation to you that we expect him to honor. This is how you thank us? By being offended?”
“What should she say?” Aly interjected. “‘Thanks for trying to put me back into an unfaithful marriage’?”
“Not another word from you, Aly Greer.” Joan’s stare bored into her youngest daughter. “Be relieved that you’re not the topic of conversation. Your popularity with men doesn’t bode well for your future in a male-dominated sport. At least Waverly got paid to let random people screw her. You give it to anyone who wants it. Not very enterprising.”
Aly snickered. What type of resilience must she have to just let the dagger-sharp criticism ping off her? “I never kiss and tell.”
“Not necessary, my darling. The masses of men who look at you with pure sex in their eyes are telling enough. Putting you into a respectable career, giving you a home with family, is proof that we haven’t turned our backs on you. Count your blessings, Aly, because between Waverly taking up with Jeremiah Tarantino and Veronica carrying on with God knows who, I don’t have the energy or inclination to reel you back into line. But just keep in mind that your day of reckoning with your father and me is coming. Soon.” Joan held out her phone, waving it. “This man did you a disservice, Veronica. J.T. and I made it clear to him that when he married you, he entered into a contract with binding conditions. And even though the legal system let him slip free, we’re not so forgiving. We encouraged him to take you back.”
“Take me back?”
“Cheating on you is the same as discarding you. So yes, take you back.”
“Well, fuck me for putting a wrinkle in your plans.”
J.T. entered the suite, immediately reading the tension that crisscrossed the room. “Is he causing problems?” he directed to his wife.
“Call him by his name, Dad,” Veronica said. “Chance called Mom’s phone, I answered and got him to talk. All along you and Mom have been pressuring him to stalk me. You have zero say in my relationship with him. We’re divorced, and that’s not going to change.”
“Being divorced has done you no favors.” Joan went to stand at J.T.’s side. “Even Grace downgraded you from matron of honor to bridesmaid, and God couldn’t have given you a more loyal friend. All this change, Veronica, is changing you, and I don’t like it.”
“Waverly and Aly are the secret-keepers, not you,” J.T. added, and Aly’s eyes narrowed in offense. “You were married, settled. We knew what to expect from you. Whatever he found sleeping with other women can’t replace the friendship you and he had. Be mature, Veronica. Don’t turn down a chance to make things right with your husband just for the sake of self-respect.”
“Ex-husband,” she corrected vehemently, storming past the three of them. “This conversation ends here. I’ll be with Finn in the auditorium, asking the offensive men we acquired why they can’t protect the fucking ball. After that, my office door is open to any of you. But please, approach me with team business only.”
Joan blocked the doorway, clasping Veronica’s face gently in her hands. “It’s been a difficult day for us all, Veronica. I’m willing to forgive the way you spoke to me.”
“Don’t give me something I don’t want.” The words, infused with honesty, were almost painful to say. “I am changing. I can feel it as surely as you see it happening.”
And I’m glad.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Epic mistake, or brilliant move. Which one are you?” Veronica asked the email she’d just drafted.
The email on Veronica’s tablet, of course, offered no commentary. Once released into the jungles of cyberspace, the message waiting in limbo in her drafts folder would hopefully trigger two results: reconcile Simon with his sister and get the league’s attention—in a positive way.
“Kill two birds with one stone” was the idiom her father was fond of. But since Veronica still occasionally mourned the first pet finch J.T. and Joan had given her to love and lose, she didn’t prefer the phrase.
Whether her scheme proved worthwhile or backfired depended on Simon’s sister. Last night, it had been child’s play to find Erin Smith online. Everything from her college graduation announcement in The Gunner Chronicle to her YouTube channel and Instagram profile was available for public access. In the time it had taken Veronica to eat chicken chow mein in her kitchen office, she’d found a home organization blog, an email address, and an active phone number registered to Erin.
Just now, in her stadium office, she’d composed a message from her personal email addresses. She’d already gotten through to the right contacts at ESPN, so all she needed to do was scrape up the nerve to hit Send.
Her plan was to get Simon and his sister on an ESPN Films 30 for 30 documentary. Working on the project would retie familial bonds. It would be a story of a young man’s reconciliation with his family, of a quarterback’s redemption. It would be sellable, and the ace he needed to get back on top.
It would be proof that yes, she was that damn good.
And what she and Simon had would end once she helped him get what he wanted. It didn’t seem fair that while she had him in her life, they had to keep it a secret. Selfishly, she wanted to flaunt to the world that—at least for now—he belonged to her.
In times of question, her best friend put faith in semiotics and the metaphysical to point her toward the right path. On the day that Grace had at last accepted Mason Corrine’s marriage proposal, she’d received a “You’ve been preapproved!” offer from MasterCard in the mail and was confident that seeing his initials was indubitably a sign that she should take the plunge.
Veronica set the tablet on her desk to rummage the tray of spiritual stones Grace had gifted her after Veronica’s divorce. Valor. Confidence. Protection. Passion.
She put the tray down. She was okay in the passion department—if this morning’s two-orgasm quickie with Simon was any indication.
A tap on the door snapped her out of a replay of the moves he’d used to leave her feeling wet, sated, and ready to do a touchdown dance. Veronica sat reed-straight in her plush chair and motioned Heather into the office.
“Got the physician’s reports for Shankman and Knowles,” Heather said, approaching the desk.
The owners had called for stat physicals for the second- and third-string quarterbacks following this past Sunday’s loss. Now that the team had reached its bye week, J.T. and Joan were taking the time to regroup and strategize while many rested up.
“Would you forward it, please?”
“Did. Twenty minutes ago.”
Veronica scrunched her face in a frown, realizing belatedly that she hadn’t stopped to smooth the creases away. To prep herself for the last-minute staff meeting at five on the dot, she’d need to review the reports.
She scanned her desk, making sure that she hadn’t printed them already. Neatly organized appointment book. Color-coded directory. Two coordinated calendars.
“It didn’t come through, Heather.”
“Odd. Could it have gone to spam?” Without pausing for an answer, Heather plucked the tablet from the desk and started tapping the screen. “Get this one on its way. Now let’s check your in-box—”
“Heather, that’s not my work tablet—”
“Oh, screw.” Heather lowered the device. “I’m so sorry.”
Veronica reached for the tablet and checked her sent messages. The most recent was from her account to Erin Smith’s. “I…uh…wasn’t ready to pull the trigger on that email yet.”
Heather looked mortified. “I’m going to forward the other one again. Boss, I really am sorry.”
“No worries, Heather.” Veronica’s heart was racing, but whether with dread or anticipation, she wasn’t certain. She spied the tray of stones. Well. How was that for a sign?
After the meeting, Veronica holed up in her office and worked. Nervous jitters did wonders for her productivity, but once every item on her team business t
o-do list was complete, she—in completely twisted curiosity—opened Minesweeper on her computer.
The fourth game-over explosion had her calling the PR department and summoning her sister to the managers’ wing. A bit of Aly therapy would distract her from dwelling neurotically on the outcomes of contacting Simon’s sister. She hadn’t invaded his privacy; she’d reached out to his family as part of an effort to hold up her end of their bargain. She was just being a good friend.
Chances of him seeing it that way? Slim. But it was a gamble she’d pursued for his sake.
Aly entered the office without knocking. “You rang?”
“God. The Lurch impersonation needs practice.”
“Just getting into the Halloween spirit. All that’s creepy, spooky, indecent, and depraved is up my alley.”
“Yeah…I’d be choosy about who I advertise that to.”
Her sister smirked. “So, what’s the problem? Seriously, you only invite me to your office when there’s a problem. At first, I thought it’d be kind of fun to work in the same building—that we’d hang out in each other’s offices. Sort of like being kids again and visiting each other’s rooms. Oh, except you never let me visit yours. So that leads me to ask you, again, why am I here?”
Well, that came full circle, didn’t it? “I just wanted to chat. But if you’re busy—”
“Not.” Aly had no reservations about making herself comfortable. Gathering provisions from the mini fridge—chips, salsa, and the fluffy pastry Veronica had intended to take home with her—Aly made a nesting spot for herself on a corner of the desk. “Are Mom and Dad still mad at you about the Chance stuff?”
If Veronica were in the mood to be technical, she’d point out that it was she who possessed the right to be mad at them. But the details didn’t matter so much anymore. “Apologies were exchanged and we’re focusing on the team.”
“Then all is well in the king, queen, and princess’s court?”
Princess? As in excluding Waverly and Aly? The words had come out naturally, without even a hint of snark. Only matter-of-factness. Veronica was J.T. and Joan’s favorite daughter; that was always painfully clear even to her. But that, too, was changing. She cleared her throat, yet it still felt constricted. “Everything’s fine.”
“The renovations are almost done on the new place. Mom and Dad insist on staying at the Bellagio until everything is moved in.”
“You don’t sound excited for a twenty-two-year-old who’s days away from having an entire wing of a Vegas lakefront mansion.”
“Eh.” Scoop. Crunch. Crunch. Swallow. “It’s an upgrade. Sort of like going from maximum security to minimum security. Still prison.”
Veronica couldn’t disguise her sigh. Would Aly have the same sentiments if she really knew the gap between wealth and poverty in her own city? “Ungrateful and unfair, Aly. Bad combo.”
“But that’s how I feel about it. Our parents, Waverly, and now you—you guys all act as if I need to be monitored. You want to know where I go, who I’m with, what I do, what I’m feeling. You act as if what I feel even matters. But it doesn’t. People who say I’m important to them don’t ever consult me before they do something. They just do it, and ask later, as an effing afterthought, how it makes me feel.”
“I can’t speak for them. As your older sister, I have a duty—”
Aly snorted “Didn’t your sisterly duty expire on your wedding day?”
“Oh, so there is some resentment there. I thought you were just naturally a pain in my ass.” Veronica reached to swipe the pastry from her sister’s junk food stockpile. “And give me my cream puff. I ate rice cakes and cherries for lunch, holding out for this.”
“Veronica, I’m going to say this calmly, okay? You said ‘I do’ to being Chance’s wife and ‘I don’t’ to being my sister. When Waverly was in college, doing her own thing, it was you and me. Then Chance got in the picture, and you married him without ever asking how it might make me feel to lose you.”
“Aly, that’s a distorted way to see it.”
“Lovely. The lawyer-y talk.” She brushed a crumb from her painted-on checkered pants. “I’m not a kid anymore, though, and the scab fell off that wound eons ago. The point is, I was left to manage my feelings alone then and I can do so now.”
So much for Aly therapy.
Despite the flaring tempers, Aly remained on the desk, putting a decent dent in the chip bag. When Heather knocked, she scarcely glanced up.
“Got a visitor outside,” Heather announced; then she dropped her voice. “I know he’s got a rep for being on the…intense…side, but I’m getting an extremely pissed-off vibe from him.”
“Who is it?” Veronica asked, rising from her chair.
“Simon Smith,” Heather replied.
Aly’s head snapped up, and Veronica watched Heather welcome him into the office. He muttered, “Thank you” to Heather, who beamed as she left. He gave a hitch of his chin to Aly, who inadvertently bit her fingertip while crunching on a chip as she eye-fucked him.
“Veronica,” her sister said, untwisting herself from her perch on the desk, not once losing sight of their visitor, “so that thing you told me to be choosy about who I advertised it to…Can I choose him?”
“No.”
Aly glared at her, deflated. “Then can I have the cream puff?”
Veronica slid the pastry over, which Aly promptly carried off with her.
Closing the door behind her sister, Veronica gathered up the chips and salsa. “Let’s get to it,” she said to Simon. “You’re riled up, and you have a bone to pick with me. Prolonging it isn’t going to get us to a resolution any sooner.”
“Are you fucking serious?” His pitch was so low, so rough, that Veronica paused at the mini fridge. “You piss on my explicit instructions to leave my sister alone, and you talk like it’s business as usual. Gunner, my family, they’re my business—not yours.”
Veronica had hoped that Erin Smith would reply to her before contacting her brother, but she couldn’t blame the woman for being suspicious or alarmed that the GM who’d fired him was interested in resurrecting his career. “I only asked Erin if she’d be interested in meeting with me. She’s a grown woman—you do realize that, right? She’s a home organization guru. I subscribed to her YouTube channel.”
“Veronica.”
“The point is, Erin’s capable of making her own decisions. So…what did she decide? Obviously she discussed this with you.”
“She booked a flight to Vegas.”
“That’s great.”
Simon stepped in front of her to stop her from buzzing about the office. Being on the move was the only way to resist looking at the soul-deep fury and disappointment in his eyes. She’d braced herself for whatever irate words he might sling her way, but she hadn’t anticipated that he would look at her in such a hurt way.
“The safest place for Erin is in Oregon, away from the clusterfuck I made of my own life,” he said. “Thanks to you, she now thinks she has the leverage to make demands. She wants to stick around this city, spend time with me.”
“Which you won’t agree to. No shocker there.”
Simon took a half step, forcing her to move back until her ass encountered the desk. And then she was hemmed in with him leaning toward her, his hands planted on either side of her. “I get to be livid here. You and I can handle the Las Vegas and NFL spotlight. But my parents? They didn’t sign up for this. They never would’ve wanted Erin to follow in my footsteps.”
“That’s up to her to decide now. She’s an adult and seems to think it’s a good idea.”
“It’s carelessness that she can’t afford. She’s on pure desperation, trying to get to me.”
Veronica raised her chin. “Ask yourself why. Then, when you’re ready to apologize to me for yelling at me when I’m only trying to help, ask me why I even reached out to her.”
“That’s a question you won’t get. There won’t be an apology.”
“Riiiight. The Bl
ue-Eyed Badass doesn’t apologize. How could I forget?” Veronica pushed his shoulder, and when the solid muscle didn’t budge and his hot stare didn’t even waver from hers, she shoved hard with the heels of both hands. No effect, as though she were striking a brick wall with a feather.
Veronica’s hands fluttered, searching for some softness, some weakness on his body. The quest only discovered more hard planes, chiseled angles. Her fingers settled behind his neck, interlocked through his dark hair and cradled his head, dragging him into her. Finally, his stare released her.
Because his mouth was on hers.
A kiss didn’t do this—turn a woman inside out, shake her entire being, inject her with a cocktail of euphoria and fear. But his did.
The friction of his tongue stroking hers was enough to make her curl her fingers greedily into his hair. But then he used his teeth, sinking them into her bottom lip with the exact amount of pressure to lure a reveal-all moan from her.
Where the strength to end the contact came from, Veronica wasn’t sure. Slapping her hands against his shoulders, she tore away from his mouth, and he slinked across the room. She watched him as he cast an annoyed look downward at his erection and cursed.
He was frustrated with himself for wanting her. Yeah, she could relate.
Teeth gritted, heart skittering, Veronica growled, “I am not doing this to hurt you. I care, you asshole.” She grabbed the folder with the ESPN Films information, thrust it at him. “This was what I was working on—not that it makes a difference to you.”
Simon took the folder and, without another word or glance, strode away.
Veronica dropped back onto the edge of her desk, scrubbing at her lips as if to wipe the memory of his mouth from her tingling flesh.
“Boss?”
It was a challenge to discreetly lower her hand, straighten her posture, and face her assistant. Heather’s gaze passed over her, and Veronica saw the same note of realization that had sparked in the other woman’s eyes when Chance asked if she recognized the signature on Veronica’s arm.
She knows.
But all Heather said was “If he comes here again…?”
The Rush Page 15