Sack: Eligible Receivers

by Sarah Curtis

  Fucking perfect.

  Both car doors opened, and the occupants got out. Colt recognized them instantly. The non-paparazzo woman and her boyfriend.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shut up, Ivy. Don’t admit to anything.”

  Colt raised his brows at the guy. “You can’t possibly think this is my fault.”

  The pink-haired, gray-eyed beauty made her way to the back of her car. “I can’t believe I did so much damage. I was barely moving.”

  “Ivy—”

  Colt glared, and the guy locked his jaw before he could tell Ivy to shut up again.

  “Don’t worry, I have insurance.” She was bent at the waist, inspecting the damage.

  He forced himself to concentrate on the pink knot atop her head and not the perfect view of her ass. It also helped to focus on how irritated he was. He wasn’t worried about the insurance—he was covered for uninsured motorists. His main issue was the inconvenience of the whole damn thing—dealing with the adjuster, taking the car in, being stuck with a rental until it was fixed.

  She righted herself and reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone and flipping it over to open a compartment in the case. “Here’s my card.”

  He took it from her fingers, noticing her neatly trimmed nails were painted a sparkly dark blue. How he had missed that before while they were playing tug-of-war over her camera was anyone’s guess.

  He examined the business card. A bright, rainbow-colored capital I and V filled a large area of the white cardstock with the word Technologies in cursive font scrawled beside it. Under that was the tagline Get Your Business Noticed. On the reverse side was a list of services from web design to multi-media marketing.

  “My name and phone number are at the bottom.”

  Ivy Clark. I V. A play on her name. Clever.

  He looked up. “You’re a media consultant?”

  The pink ball on top of her head bobbed. “Yeah, and graphic designer.”

  Well, that explained… everything. And made him feel like an ass all over again for jumping to the wrong conclusions. He couldn’t afford those feelings. Time for him to go. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll call my insurance and let them know it was my fault.”

  He dipped his head. “I appreciate that.”

  “I’ll just, um,” she hiked a thumb over her shoulder, “pull forward so you can leave.”

  Again, he dipped his head and waited to get in his car until she got into hers.

  He made the twelve-minute drive home in silence, letting his thoughts wander. No surprise, they wandered to Ivy. He’d made a bad first impression. He assumed sometime before their second meeting that she’d figured out who he was—her boyfriend had probably told her—and now he made her nervous. He liked her sass better. And her gray eyes. And even her ridiculous pink hair.

  He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. Clearly, she was involved with someone and he should be thinking of her as nothing more than the woman who hit his car. His insurance would straighten that out. It wasn’t something he needed to get involved in.

  End of story.

  He pulled into his driveway and hit the button for the garage door. He’d bought the four-bedroom, three-bath, brick house eight years prior when he knew he’d wanted to call Portland his home. It had taken a while to feel comfortable in his new city, but even with all the rain, it had a way of growing on him. And now he couldn’t envision living anywhere else. Not even when he went back to California to visit his folks.

  He made his way from the garage into the house and went straight for the kitchen. Everything gleamed and the air smelled like pine, reminding him the cleaning service had been there earlier that day. He tossed the jacket he held over the back of a kitchen chair and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He drank half of it down in one go. The burger had been damn good, but he was paying the price for the extra sodium he’d consumed.

  Grabbing an ice pack from the freezer, he headed to the living room. Sunset had the room shrouded in shadows, but he didn’t bother turning on the light as he retrieved the TV remote from the coffee table and plopped down onto the couch. He should’ve hit the remote’s power button, but instead, he tossed it on the cushion beside him and dug the business card from his pocket. He flicked the corner as he studied the name and the phone number attached to it. And he sat like that until the room grew so dark, he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore. Tossing the card on the table, he scooped up the remote and clicked on the TV, angry with himself.

  He had the season mapped out. Play hard. Win more than lose. And make it to the Super Bowl. Nowhere in that plan was there room for a woman, no matter how intriguing.

  “Is everything set for next Saturday?” Colt grabbed a bottle of water from the center of the round, conference table and sat down in one of the swivel chairs. He’d arrived at the corporate office of Colt’s Kids straight from practice and had yet to rehydrate. He cracked open the bottle and took a long drink.

  “We will be,” Pam, the charity’s administrative assistant, said. “We’re just waiting on Lender to give the final tally on the food vendors.”

  Colt glanced around the table at the three other employees. Colt’s Kids was still small and very informal. Everyone wore jeans and t-shirts. “Where is Lender?”

  “Parent-teacher conference.”

  Colt nodded. Family always came first. “Did we get enough volunteers to set up the game booths?”

  Cindy, their operations director, answered. “More than enough. Between our staff and the group of volunteer students from the college, we can have things set up in a matter of hours.”

  “Perfect.” Colt polished off the last of his water. “Anything else that needs my attention?”

  “Hank calculated our quarterly report,” Pam supplied. “Figures are down another five percent. This will be our last fundraiser until the end of your season, and he’s worried we’re not going to meet our projected earnings.”

  “Don’t worry about meeting obligations. I’ll put money in if I need to.”

  “I know you will, but you shouldn’t have to. There’s got to be a way to raise more awareness.”

  He did have a way, and the card with the solution was burning a hole in his pocket. He thought about pulling it out, passing the responsibility off to someone else, but something stopped him. Or should he say someone. He was just given the excuse he needed to give IV Technologies a call.

  After all, it was for a good cause.

  Ivy

  The ringing of her phone pulled Ivy’s concentration from the article she was reading on P. Colton—or Colt as she now knew he liked to be called. She’d become borderline obsessed with uncovering all there was to know about the guy since her run-in with him the day before.

  After the accident, she and Jason had still gone to the movies, but even though it had been one she’d been dying to see, she’d had a hard time paying attention. Her thoughts kept drifting to Colt. Understandable as she’d had only one other accident in her life—and that one hadn’t been her fault—but it was more than that. Her reaction to him boggled her. Instead of worrying about her insurance rates going up and how she was going to come up with the deductible to get her car fixed, she’d been thinking about the play of his muscles as they flexed when he shoved her business card in his pocket, and the way the hazy light had tangled with the tips of his eyelashes, making them almost glow.

  Was it any wonder she’d googled him as soon as she got home? There’d been a lot of results, but she’d hit a gold mine of information to quench her thirst for knowledge when she stumbled across a P. Colton fan page. That had led her down a rabbit hole of chasing articles late into the night.

  Her phone rang again, and she absentmindedly reached for it before it went to voicemail. Unknown caller was displayed on the screen. She answered using her most professional voice. “IV Technologies.”

  “Ivy Clark?”

  “Yes.”

  �
��This is Colt.” Slight pause. “P. Colton.”

  “Oh, yes!” As if he could see her computer screen, Ivy clicked her mouse with the speed of The Flash, killing the browser. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t had a chance to call my insurance company yet.” Because she’d gotten sucked into the life of P. Colton. And darn it, nowhere in her search had she discovered what the P stood for. Her neurotic brain needed to know.

  “Actually, that’s not why I’m calling.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.” Another brief pause. “I’d like to hire you.”

  Well, that was… unexpected. “What do you need my help with?”

  “Have you heard of Colt’s Kids?”

  She had. It was one of the things she’d run across during her search. But seeing as she hadn’t known of his existence until the day before and not wanting him to know she’d been stalking him, she played the ignorance card. “Colt’s Kids?”

  “It’s a non-profit I founded a few years ago, focusing on child abuse awareness and providing resources for victims.”

  “Noble cause.” And she believed that. After doing some research, she’d been appalled by the number of children who were abused or neglected in the United States.

  “I feel like we’ve hit a plateau this past year. I was hoping with a wider reach, we could get donations up, and I think a stronger social media presence is the way to go.”

  “And that’s where I come in.”

  “Yes.”

  She’d seen the charity’s website. It was sparse and had the personality of a gray, brick wall. Not that she could tell him that. Yet. “I’ll need to do a little research to see what’s already out there before I can tell you what you need and where I can help.”

  “Sounds fair. I have practice all day tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to do that? I can take you to dinner tomorrow night to discuss options.” Another pause, this one longer than the one previous. “That is, if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “The guy you were with yesterday.”

  She couldn’t stop the laugh that burst forth if she tried. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said once she was able to catch her breath.

  “Oh.”

  Was that disappointment she detected in his tone? Weird. “I think I can have something together by then. Where do you want to meet?”

  “I’ll pick you up. Does six work for you?”

  That surprised her. It wasn’t a date. One usually didn’t get picked up for a business dinner. Even with her reclusive, cyber lifestyle she still knew that. But maybe it was something hot-shot celebrities did.

  She mentally shrugged, rolling with it. “Six is fine. But really, you don’t need to bother coming to get me. I can easily meet you somewhere.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for both our cars to be in the same parking lot at the same time.”

  Not good at reading people who she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell if that was a joke. She decided to chuckle to be on the safe side not wanting to offend a prospective client if he were, in fact, trying to be funny.

  She discovered she’d made the right call when she heard him chuckle, too.

  So, Mr. Grumpy did have a sense of humor.

  Ivy rattled off her address, and they exchanged pleasantries. After hanging up, she went right to work investigating the online presence of his organization, not once getting sidetracked from that goal by reading news clips about his career and personal life.

  And there’s some oceanfront property in Arizona for sale, too.

  At precisely five-oh-five the next night, Ivy stood in front of her open closet, trying to decide what to wear.

  She should have asked Colt where they were going. He was a celebrity athlete, he could be taking her anywhere.

  She didn’t have much business attire, but she figured that would be the safest bet. She owned one pair of black slacks that she could pair with a navy blouse. She flipped through the hangers, finding the slacks still wrapped in the dry cleaner’s cling from the last time she wore them about a year ago to her Great Aunt Ruth’s funeral.

  Tossing the clothes on the bed, she went to the bathroom to do something with her hair. She untwisted it from the towel and shook the wet, clumpy strands from her face. She usually let it air dry before pulling it up in either a bun or a ponytail, but to go with her professional attire, she wanted a more styled look, so blow drying was on the agenda.

  There wasn’t much she could do to the pin-straight locks that fell to the middle of her back. They wouldn’t even hold a curl for more than an hour unless she used enough hairspray to poke someone’s eye out. She opted for the sleek look, trying in vain to curl the ends under with a paddle brush.

  She’d thought about cutting it all off into a cute pixie or a short, layered shag, but had never bit the bullet. She was worried she’d hate it and then be stuck with ugly hair until it grew back. Also, if it was short, it would be impossible to throw it into a ponytail if she were having a bad hair day.

  She was ready and downstairs waiting by five forty-five. Early as usual. She couldn’t stand to be late. Not a bad trait, but it often left time on her hands to dwell. Like at that moment, waiting for Colt to arrive, second-guessing what she’d chosen to wear, why she’d decided to let him pick her up, and, most importantly, if he would like the proposal she’d drawn up.

  As promised, she’d spent the day researching Colt’s Kids, and discovered its online presence was sorely lacking. Other than a bare-bone website and an unimpressive Facebook page, there was nothing else. No Twitter. No Instagram. No LinkedIn. Ivy was amazed he got any funding at all.

  “Where are you off to so dressed up?” Jason came stumbling out of his room in a pair of basketball shorts, no shirt, and mussed hair.

  She had a flashback to when they were teens. He’d been just as lazy then as he was now. And not for lack of their parents trying. Growing up in the suburbs with parents who made decent money, they’d had every advantage. They’d been constantly on Jason to try out for sports or to join a club, but he wanted no part of the high school social scene. Jason liked to blame his lack of fitting in on his sexual orientation, but Ivy knew better. He just lacked motivation. Not that she could talk, she hadn’t been Miss Social Butterfly herself, but at least she’d participated in school activities—even if they were of the nerdy variety. Computer lab and yearbook committee had been her claim to high school fame.

  Things hadn’t improved in college either. He went from lazing around the house to partying all night. To this day, Ivy wasn’t sure how he ever graduated. If it hadn’t been for Charlie, he probably wouldn’t have. He had kept Jason on the straight and narrow, for a time at least. Until shit had all come crashing down and Jason had reverted to his unproductive ways. Charlie had been a love story and a tragedy all rolled into one and someone who was never talked about.

  “Have you been sleeping?” It was hard to miss the accusation in Ivy’s tone as she eyed him up and down.

  He went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and came out with a beer. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said after taking a long pull.

  “You’re supposed to be looking for a job.”

  “And I did. This morning. Before I came home and took a nap.” He shrugged as though that explained everything.

  And to Jason, it probably did.

  “Just promise me you won’t give up.”

  “I don’t plan to. I have an interview lined up for tomorrow.” He eyed her again. “You never answered my question.”

  “I have a business meeting.”

  His brow rose. “This late?”

  “Yes, unlike you, the person I’m meeting with works all day.”

  “Fuck you. Why the bitchy attitude?”

  Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a long breath. “I’m sorry.” And she was. “You know I get quarrelsome when I’m nervous.”

  “What’s to be nervous about? Either you get it, or you don’t.” />
  And that attitude right there was the reason she’d gotten upset he was sleeping and not out looking for a job. “This is a big deal. If I land this account, it could pave the way for bigger things in the future.”

  That got his interest. “Yeah? Who’s it for?”

  “P. Colton.”

  Both eyebrows raised at that revelation. “Are you shitting me?”

  Ivy shook her head. “He’s looking to up the media presence for his charity, Colt’s Kids.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  Ivy wasn’t surprised, but it did make her wonder how many others never have either. “But you have heard of Colt and how influential he is so you get how big this could be for me if I land the account.”

  “Colt, now, is it?” That damn one eyebrow again.

  “You know it’s nothing like that.”

  “Why not? He’s a good-looking guy, and you’re passably cute.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes.

  “All I’m saying is, you could do worse.”

  The knock at the door gave her the excuse she needed to drop the subject. Her heartbeat quickened, and she snapped, “Go put on a shirt.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.” He threw in a heel click and salute for good measure.

  “Just do it,” Ivy hissed and made for the door, praying Jason would stay in his room. Not one to miss the opportunity to gawk at a hot guy or rub elbows with a celebrity, she doubted he would, but one could hope.

  She opened the door expecting P. Colton. She got Colt. Old, faded jeans that probably felt like butter. Not that she would be checking to find out. A white, Disarm smile t-shirt—surprising her he was a Smashing Pumpkins fan—covered with a black, leather jacket. And at least a day’s worth of growth along his jaw, making him a little scruffy and a lot sexy. It was a very nice look and the complete opposite of hers.

  “Well, kriff.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled, debating whether she should go upstairs to change and deciding she was definitely going to.