by Aubrey Irons
Like I said, I don’t do this, and this is exactly why I don’t see women more than once. This is why I have rules. Clearly, breaking them by seeing Ashley twice now is coming back to bite me in the ass.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ashley,” I say it evenly as I reach behind me and open the door to my office.
Her jaw drops a little.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Quite.”
“I left work early to come here, you know,” she snaps.
“That was certainly your prerogative.”
I made myself abundantly clear to Ashley the first time I slept with her. And I’ll admit at least half fault for letting her wear me down the second time, but there was nothing ambiguous about how clear I’d made myself after that. No, I’m not looking for anything, serious or otherwise. No, I can’t come to dinner on Tuesday. No, I won’t spend the night. Women like Ashley hear what I’m saying to them, but they’re not actually listening, because they want to pretend if they don’t, then it’s not true. Women like Ashley think they’re the exception.
There are no exceptions. Not to my rules.
She narrows her eyes at me.
“You’re seriously kicking me out of your office?”
“I’m not kicking you out,” I say evenly. “But I’m very busy, I have a lot of shit to do, and we’ve already been over what this is.”
“This?” she says icily. She darts her finger between the two of us. “You mean this thing between you and me?”
I shake my head. “There is no you and I, Ashley. You know that.”
Yep, there’s the indignant rage building up like fire behind her eyes. There’s the realization that all those things I said about how I didn’t date, or that I was only looking for something extremely casual weren’t some sort of game or me ‘playing hard to get.’ This is her finally listening to me.
“You’re an asshole,” she hisses.
I shrug. “I’ve been completely upfront with you.”
“You know what!” she snaps, her hands on her hips. “I came here today to fuck you, but you can go fuck yourself!”
She storms past me, past Lydia fastidiously looking at something on her computer, and out the door to the waiting room, letting the door slam shut with a rattle behind her.
I clear my throat and Lydia just shakes her head with her eyes still locked at whatever is so important on her screen.
“I heard nothing.”
A smile crosses my lips for a second.
“Could you hold all calls for the next hour or so?”
She nods.
“Thank you.”
With the door closed, I sink into my office chair with a heavy sigh.
Jesus Christ, what a day.
I almost reach for the bar cart by the window behind my desk, but I turn to my laptop instead. Forget Ashley Kemp, I need to find out exactly who the hell Serena Roth is.
I do the standard internet stalking - Facebook, Google, Linkedin - and see exactly what I already know. Lives in Houston, works for the Houston Bulls as internal head of advertising and marketing, best friends with Bulls head scout and negotiator London Jacobs, who’s father, Archie, owns the team.
How in the world did this happen?
I scowl as I lean back in my chair and lace my hands behind my head.
So I have to split this temporary ownership with someone else - fine. That I can handle. That I’m actually somewhat grateful for, to be perfectly honest, seeing as I still have my job as the board chairman for this team along with all the other responsibilities of my life. But sharing this with some rich clown or some other football guy who I could micromanage and show the ropes to would be doable.
Her, though?
How in the hell does Sam even know this girl? He’s never mentioned her, and the only remote connection I’m seeing through Google is that her dad was actually the late, great Billy Roth - probably one of the best defensive coaches in the league. But he worked for Houston, never Denver, and I’m fairly certain Sam doesn’t know him either.
Sam, who I could almost look at as a father, but who’s somehow given control of half his legacy to a girl who works for a rival team, with zero management experience.
I should go see him.
Obviously, he’s still in his induced coma, but still. I should ask him these questions, even if I know he can’t respond. Except it’s getting late.
Shit.
I glance at my watch and swear as I jump from the desk. It’s not getting late, it is late.
I’m late.
I shove the laptop into my bag and grab my keys before running out the door.
Forget Serena Roth and her mysterious appearance. Forget Ashley Kemp sitting on the edge of my desk like some cartoon lounge singer on a piano.
I’ve got the main girl of my life waiting for me.
And I’m already twenty minutes late.
“You’re late.”
Emily crosses her arms and glares at me, her bottom lip sticking out.
“I know,” I nod solemnly. “I know, honey.”
She sighs dramatically. “This is going to cost you.”
I grin.
“Yeah? What’s the price?”
“We’re watching Frozen tonight.”
I die a little inside.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep.”
“Not getting tired of that one, huh?”
“Nope,” she says smugly as she marches past me towards the car.
“Let’s go.”
I shake my head, grinning.
It’s hard to get mad when you’re getting chewed out by an eight-year-old.
“Dad!”
I glance back to see my daughter standing by the car.
“Let’s go?”
I turn back to Mrs. Dearborn, her second grade teacher.
“Look, I’m sorry for being late.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Dearborn laughs and waves a hand at me. “Don’t you worry about it, Mr. Reece. We did some reading, started a little homework, and went over some words for the spelling bee next week.”
I nod. “Thank you, but you really shouldn’t have to wait here just because I-”
“I’ve got plenty of things to do here after class ends, believe me,” she says with a smile. “Don’t you fret.”
I nod at the older woman. “Thank you, really.”
“I know it’s hard, Mr. Reece.”
Her hand lands on my arm as her smile turns more into sympathy than anything else.
God I hate that look.
“When I lost my Albert, it took a long-”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dearborn,” I say again quickly, pulling my arm back from her hand and smiling at her. “I’ll be sure to be on time in the future.”
She looks like she’s about to say something else, but she only smiles and nods quietly as I turn back to the car.
“Ready kiddo?”
“Duh?”
Chapter Five
Serena
I sit in the silence of the car for a minute, staring up at the Rattlesnakes logo emblazoned across the side of the stadium.
What am I doing here?
I dodged London’s texts and calls after my meeting yesterday, instead retreating to the hotel room mini bar and trying to make sense of this whole mess.
I’ve been with the Bulls for my entire professional career. No, scratch that. I’ve basically been with the Houston Bulls since before I was born, back when my dad worked for Archie Jacobs as head defensive coach. And after he died, all I had was the Jacobs family - London and her dad Archie, who treated me like a sister and a daughter.
And now there’s this, and this feels like treason. This - walking into the headquarters of the enemy for my meeting with Landon - feels like betrayal.
Except as of yesterday, and my signature across about two-dozen documents, I now partially own the enemy.
Twenty-four and a half percent of the enemy, to be specific. Somehow, through
some surreal, fantasy-land mechanics, I now own twenty-four and a half percent of a voter share of the Denver Rattlesnakes.
Voter share. For now, that means my opinion matters, but it doesn’t mean anything more than that until after a month when the board decides if this arrangement is working for the team. After that, my voting shares become holding share. And holding shares means money.
Lots of money, apparently.
More money than I’ve ever conceived of before.
Now I just have to get through thirty days working with him - the man from my one night…whatever back in Houston. Which would be fine, if it didn’t turn out he was such an arrogant prick. Because past that grin, the polish, the manners, and the charm, that’s all he is. And I can’t believe I fell for it that night in Houston.
But I have a rule about arrogant, demanding assholes like Landon Reece, and that rule is “avoid.” I’ve had enough of that type to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
Like when I almost married one.
The thought of David brings a flash of rage to my mind, as it always does, and I quickly shake the thought of him as I step out of the car and make my way into the Rattlesnakes administrative office.
Whatever, I think, as the elevator doors close. I can get through this, and I can deal with Landon. Because however charming, however dangerously attractive, and however wildly out of character and mind-blowing our night in Houston was, it’s time to knuckle down and get serious about this.
This goes beyond my utter confusion about the mystery surrounding Samuel Horn giving me half his team. This is beyond my own embarrassment at my off-the-rails, one-night stand being the man I now have to intimately work with. And this goes beyond dealing with said man’s cocky arrogance.
This is now officially about money.
An obscene amount of money.
For twenty-four and a half million dollars I can definitely forget about our little thing and I can certainly put the awkwardness of having slept with Landon Reece out of my head.
I step off the elevator into the empty waiting room, and move towards the door marked with his name and “Board Chairman.”
Whatever our sordid, embarrassing back-story, there is no way I am going to let it remotely affect the job that I’ve been thrust into.
I reach for the doorknob, turn it, and move to stride inside.
Yeah, this’ll be fin-
Oh.
Landon is shirtless, sweating, and grunting through a sit-up on the floor of his expansive office.
I suddenly find myself frozen in the doorway, swallowing quickly as the heat floods into my face.
His body is as insanely perfect as I remember - hard, chiseled chest, broad, defined shoulders and arms, and a flawlessly grooved abdomen leading into the waist of his gym shorts. There’s the tattoo ink that you’d never imagine was under the expensive suit and the pressed white dress shirt if you met him in a board room.
And for a second, every single dirty, filthy detail of that night comes rushing back, turning my face beet-red and sending a shiver through my body. Every demanding touch, every gasping moan, every thrust of his hips against mine.
Landon looks up at the sound of the door, frowning as he sees me standing there staring at him like a weirdo.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, forcing myself to drag my eyes away from him and look at the wall to the right of me.
“No, it’s fine,” he says brusquely as he stands. “I lost track of time. My secretary is at lunch.”
I clear my throat. “I can, uh, I can come back.”
“I said it’s fine. Have a seat.”
Well, looks like that attitude is still firmly in place.
I scowl at him as he turns his bare, muscled back to me and grabs a towel from his chair. He wipes the sweat from his shoulders, the muscles beneath his skin rippling.
I don’t realize I’m still staring again until he glances back to me and smirks.
Shit.
“So,” I say quickly, shaking my head as he slips a Rattlesnakes t-shirt over his head and sits back into his chair across the desk from me.
“So what’s next?” I say brightly, trying to ignore the way the shirt molds to the contours of his chest and stretches tight across those broad shoulders.
Smile. Be positive. Whatever happened before means nothing in the face of what’s at stake here. Enemies, rivals, strangers who’ve seen each other naked?
Yeah, it’s time to put that all aside and make this work.
But he says nothing, and just looks at me in a way that has me squirming in my seat, so I do what I always do.
Keep talking.
“Do we have some sort of a press conference or something? What’s the first order of business now that we’re both-”
“Who are you?”
His words catch me off guard, tripping mine up.
“Excuse me?”
He nods slowly, clasping his hands in front of him, his elbows on the desk. The mix of the “all business” stance while he’s sitting there dressed like a jock at a sports bar is almost funny. Almost, except for the intense look that’s halfway to “scowl” etched across his face.
“Honestly, who are you to Sam.”
Great, the attitude again.
“I already told you, I have no idea. Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.”
He narrows his eyes at me, his mouth pursing shut.
Fuck this. I’m not going to keep playing this game with him.
“Look, are you accusing me of something?” I say sharply, my brows knitting.
“No, I’m not.” He sits back in the big leather chair. “I just find it interesting.”
“Interesting. You find it interesting.”
“You did sort of come out of nowhere.”
“This came out of nowhere,” I say icily. “You’re acting as though it wasn’t a surprise to me to suddenly find out I owned half a football team from a man I’ve never met before.”
His piercing gaze holds mine. “So you just got a call out of the blue and boom, you own half of the Rattlesnakes.”
I spread my arms. “Yep.”
“Really.”
“Look are we going to be adults about this or are you going to spend the next thirty days being an asshole?”
Landon barks out a laugh as he eases back in his chair. His eyes never leave mine.
“Here’s the deal, Ms. Roth.”
“Serena works just fine.”
He pauses, his lips going tight as if mulling it over, his hands steeling in front of them.
“Fine, Serena.” His eyes flash green flame at me.
“I do rules. I do plans.”
He leans forward.
“You aren’t in those plans.”
I smile thinly, holding those eyes of his for another second before I sigh.
“Well, Mr. Reece,” I stand suddenly, shouldering my bag.
“Landon works-”
“I don’t care.”
His brow perks at the sharpness in my words, and for a second, I almost think I see a grin in the corners of his lips.
“Well, Landon, whether you like it or not, it sort of looks like I’m in those plans now, now doesn’t it.”
His eyes narrow, and I smile.
“How’s that work for your rules?”
I flash another smile before I turn and stride across his office. I pause at the door and turn back to him.
“When you’re ready to stop acting like a child, we can move forward with actually running this team instead of throwing sand at each other, okay?”
There’s that almost hint of a smile again, but then it’s gone.
“I’ll be in touch. Close the door on the way out, please.”
I leave the door wide open when I turn and stride towards the elevators.
Chapter Six
Serena
“Well holy shit.”
London stares at me in shock over the counter in my kitchen. This was something I had to do in per
son, not over the phone from Denver.
“Sam Horn,” she says incredulously.
“Yeah.” I raise my brows as I shove the cork back into the top of the wine bottle and put it back onto the marble countertop. “Sam freaking Horn.”
London bites her lip as she arches a brow at me. “Who you know…”
I groan, slumping onto counter.
“I have no fucking idea! We’ve been over this!” I slump against one propped up arm while I bring the giant glass of wine I’ve just poured for myself to my lips and take a huge sip.
“This is bad prank, right? I’m being pranked for some stupid new T.V. show, right?”
London makes a face. “Well, it wasn’t a Nigerian Prince, at least.”
I snort a laugh before I remember that I’m freaking out and drop my face back to my hands.
“This means you’re leaving, doesn’t it.”
I look up somberly, not ready to answer that question.
London smiles wryly. “It does, I know.”
“London-”
“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, reaching across the counter and grabbing my hand.
“Look, I know it’s not like you’ve got a choice or anything. I get it.”
“This sucks,” I mope, giving my best friend’s hand a squeeze. “This seriously sucks.”
“Oh, yeah,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “And exactly how many gazillion dollars are you worth now?”
I snort.
“Zero. I am worth zero gazillions. Actually, between my credit card debt and my student loans, I’m worth negative gazillions.”
London grins. “Well, you will be worth all the money.”
“Not if they don’t okay this whole thing.” I sigh before taking another big slug of Chardonnay. “If the Rattlesnakes board vetoes this, my ‘voter shares’ are worth diddly.”
London makes a face as she nods and looks down.
“I can’t believe you’re going to the Rattlesnakes.”
“I know,” I grumble. “Your dad is going to lose it.”
“He’ll understand the situation, believe me.” She laughs. “And besides, Archie’s ‘freak out’ card is already filled up with all of my shit.”
I grin. “Oh you mean your shit like getting knocked up by his new star quarterback?”