Her First Game

by Suzanne Hart

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

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  Copyright 2018 by Suzanne Hart - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  HER FIRST GAME

  A Billionaire & Virgin Romance

  By Suzanne Hart

  Table of Contents

  Description

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Chet

  Dahlia

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content

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  Description

  I held on to my virginity for the first thirty years of my life.

  But never imagined I was saving it for him…

  Taking this job with the Dallas Cowboys was the bravest thing I’d ever done.

  Which wasn’t saying a lot

  My focus was protecting the players

  But I never imagined I would fall for the owner of the team.

  A billionaire that made my knees weak

  Made me feel things I never knew I could feel

  But there is something sinister lurking behind the scenes

  And I don’t know if I can be apart of it.

  I was always content with being the billionaire heir...

  That is, until I inherited the company.

  I didn’t know what I was doing,

  But I knew I had to have her.

  Dahlia

  “Dr. Ralph Little will see you now.”

  Oh God, it was happening. I glanced up to see the secretary that had taken my name standing in the doorway. Her office was right between the waiting room and the head of Health and Safety for the Dallas Cowboys. I adjusted my suit jacket. I had purchased it from White House Black Market on a whim when I had landed at the airport just to get a little confidence flowing.

  I nodded and stood up, allowing my stomach to roll with the storms of anxiety and the rumble of anticipation. This was my first job outside of my fellowship, and I was determined to get it. “Thank you.” My trembling lips wrapped very oddly around that phrase as if they didn’t recognize it.

  I smoothed out my black pants and followed her through the small islet she called an office. She paused in front of the Dr. Little’s door long enough to knock. When she opened it, I caught sight of the man sitting at his desk, a white coat on over his white button down and black tie ensemble. His crusted lips stretched into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stood up and extended a hand to me.

  I brushed past the secretary, a tight smile on my face as I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you-“

  “-Pleasure.” We both said at the same time.

  He sat back down behind his desk, gesturing at the chair on the other side. I let my eyes drift as he pulled out what I recognize was my resume and started pouring over it, an expensive-looking pen in hand. My gaze landed first on his wrinkled fingers, his thick, bushy eyebrows, his grey hair. Then, to his desk, the bachelor’s of science, medical doctor and residency certificates displayed in sturdy, oak frames for all to see.

  He cleared his throat when he looked up at me again.

  I widened my eyes and tried to seem open. Someone told me that I had a beautiful smile, once; it would take me places.

  “So, tell me why you decided to become a doctor.”

  I huffed a quick breath and retrieved the organized answer from my file of interview questions. I had built it over years of being asked this question by recruiters and admissions committees. “I’ve always wanted to help people.” I made sure it was punctuated with a smile.

  His face never moved. “But of course, you know that’s not the only way to do it. Why, specifically, medicine?”

  I nodded. “Because I’m a talented, studious person. And this is the way to take my whole self and put it into something I care about.”

  He nodded, smirking at the confident answer. “So, why sports?”

  Because, my first love, surgery, died to me after I couldn’t make a good residency. “I love sports.” I lied through my teeth.

  He took a sip from the cup of water I just noticed sitting next to his desktop. I only had a second to wonder why he hadn’t offered me one when he said, “What do you like most about sports medicine?”

  That I’m overqualified. “The athletes. I think it's amazing to watch them defy physical possibilities and to be apart of it.”

  He raised one of those bushy eyebrows, clueing me in on the fact that I was exactly on point. “So, what has been your biggest challenge as a doctor?”

  “Well, I take my job very seriously. I always try to do the right thing.”

  “And that’s a challenge, why?”

  “Because not everyone is like that. And not everything is so very black and white.”

  “Well, that is very insightful.”

  I raised an eyebrow, anticipating the next question. The pounding of my heart had subsided. This was going as well as any interview might.

  “So, in any given situation, how do you decide what is right or wrong?”

  This had taken an unexpected turn, but I tried not to make that evident on my face. I trusted my years of training to expect the unexpected to keep me composed. I proceeded with the answer as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I always ask what my dad would say. If I can’t explain it to him with a smile, I shouldn’t do it.”

  He pursed his lips in thought. “Well, that seems like a foolproof method.”

  There was a sinister gleam in his eyes that gave me an unfamiliar and uncomfortable chill. He closed my file and folded his hands on top of it. “So, what would your father say about you working for the NFL?”

  I gulped. This organization had a long and colorful history of bending the rules. Enough books and newspaper articles had told me that there was a culture of superiority and lawlessness within these metaphorical walls. This was the hard question, the one I rarely asked myself because the answer was so laughable. “Well, he’s dead. But if he were here, he’d say they’d be lucky to have me.”

  There was a dense silence right before his crusty lips stretched into a smile. He let out a slow round of applause. “Wow. What an answer.” He started shifting in his chair, telling me it was about time for me to stand up.

  We both stood at the same time, and he gestured for me to follow him to the door. “From an impressive candidate as well.”

  It was the after statement that really told me what he
thought.

  He opened the door for me and gestured for me to leave. I turned to give him one last hopeful look before he shut the door in my face. I nodded at the secretary as I passed through her small office and re-entered the waiting room, where another candidate sat crossing and uncrossing his legs over and over again.

  My interview with the Dallas Cowboys was my last order of business before I got back on the plane to Iowa City, where I had just served as a resident of Iowa State General. I obediently answered the anxious calls from my mother as I got off the plane. I told her that my interviews went great and that we all just had to wait.

  The next week, I spent most of my days in my drafty, cosmopolitan apartment in the city center, enjoying my days off as I waited on call-backs. It had been years since I had more than a couple of days to myself that weren’t over a holiday and I enjoyed the quiet. It wasn’t more than a week before I was standing in my kitchen drinking my second cup of coffee and getting a call from Dallas.

  “Hello?” My heart had already started fluttering.

  “Dr. Waters?”

  It was some secretary. “This is Alexis from the office of the Dallas Cowboys Health and Safety.”

  My eyes widened. “Yes?”

  “We are pleased to tell you that we would like to offer you the position.”

  “Thank you!” I listened to the rest of her instructions through a kind of daze as the butterflies in my stomach fluttered with the thoughts of my whole new life in Texas.

  ***

  I stretched my neck to catch a glimpse of my flight on the automated television screens.

  “Dahlia.” James, my boyfriend of three years, squeezed my hand as he stood next to me, his eyes on the screens too.

  After committing the number of the gate to memory, I turned to face him. “Don’t worry.”

  He shoved his glasses up higher on his face, the loose frames sliding back down almost immediately. He was too set in his ways and too socially lazy to suffer the afternoon at the eye doctors necessary to get himself a new pair. “I’m not worried.” He said the words a little too fast.

  I planted a kiss on his cheek trying not to think about the next time I would feel his skin beneath my lips. “I can feel your anxiety,” I whispered.

  He frowned, the lines around his lips solidifying even more. He had the kind of wrinkles that happen prematurely through unnecessary strain. “Don’t worry about it. I’m excited for you.”

  He didn’t have to lie like that. Still, I squeezed his hand again. It was my job to see through his words. I had to start the conversation he really wanted to have but was too afraid to initiate. “You can come visit me whenever you want.”

  He scoffed. “That just depends on the money.” He was being spiteful. I knew with his job as an analyst, a $500 flight every once in a while was not going to break his bank.

  “Right.” I wished he didn’t have to be like this on my last morning with him. I glanced at my watch. I was approaching the 45-minute mark. It was time for me to at least start the trek through security. I glanced over at my mother, who stood a couple of paces off, clutching her oversized sweater tightly around herself. She glanced this way and that, her phone nudged in her right hand as if she were expecting a call. It was so hard for her to simply be in a place. “Mom!”

  She jogged over in that instant. “Right, then. Is it time now?”

  I cocked my head to one side, wrapping my arms around her. Her soft skin caressed my cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna be fine.”

  She nodded as I pulled away, stretching her pink lips into a half-hearted smile. “I know. I’m used to this now.”

  I raised an eyebrow. She was referring to the time she sent me off to college, then the time I went off to medical school, then my residency, my fellowship and now.

  She let out a weak cough. “I just wished you didn’t have to keep going away like this.”

  “We have already talked about this.” My eyes were starting to water.

  “I know. I know.” She gave me another tight hug.

  I turned and landed right in James’s arms. He gave me several squeezes before he held me at arm’s length, his brown eyes scanning my face as if committing it to memory. His hands slipped to my hips before he drew me in for a kiss. It was the kind of thing that didn’t happen as often as it should, the kind of thing that we planned and over thought and contemplated once it was over.

  As I walked farther and farther away from them and towards the gate, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. It washed over me like a cold ocean spray on a scalding, hot day.

  Chet

  I stood in the back corner of the comfortable hospital room that had my dying father as its centerpiece. Liver disease. He said it was natural causes, but I would bet the doctors would blame his drinking habits. Not an alcoholic, though. Mother would never label him as such. She would just call it an occupational hazard.

  She stood closest to him, her tall and slender body draped in a navy, blue blouse, and slats. Her white hair was neatly combed and folded into an updo at the top of her head. Her nails were perfectly groomed. Even though she had been in this room for the better part of the last several days, she looked as if she had just stepped out of her office back at the Dallas Tribune.

  She gazed down at my father, who, himself looked as if he were desperately trying to hide his illness. He a wore cashmere sweater, punctuated with a Rolex watch. His beard was neatly trimmed and his bald head moisturized. He was tucked into satin sheets, the book he had been reading, Machiavelli’s The Prince, lying leisurely just by his hand.

  Mother had one hand on his bed and the other on the arm of the priest from our local parish. My parents donated about half a million dollars a year to his church. So when they called him for a bedside service, I’m sure he didn’t hesitate. I let my eyes flicker shut, wanting to pretend that I had been listening for the entire duration of that prayer, and not just the ending.

  “Thank you.” Mother’s voice was like a knife slicing through the tension in that room.

  “Great,” I said, then clamped my mouth shut. The word was, ‘amen.’ I rolled my eyes at Mother’s disdainful look.

  My father gave a short wave of his hand. “Chet.”

  I nodded, an open expression on my face.

  My mother waited precisely three seconds before impatiently waving me over.

  I didn’t want to leave my place on the edge of the room. His bed was right at the center. In the spotlight. I hated being stared at. “Yes.”

  I expected my dad to smile at me, or widened his eyes, or at least acknowledge me, considering he had summoned me in the first place, but he barely bat an eye.

  “Give me some space, Nance.”

  My mother nodded eagerly and motioned for the priest to follow her out.

  The door barely shut behind them before he gazed at me. “Take a seat, Chet.”

  “Are you sure you have the energy for a lecture?”

  “I definitely don’t have the energy for insubordination.”

  I slid a chair to his bedside and sat. I had to pick my battles, especially now. “What did you want to discuss?”

  “The company.” He made a difficult move to turn his entire body to the side, putting the full force of his beady gaze and strong jaw on me. I hated that look. “Look, you’re my only son. And therefore, the only one who can have it.”

  I huffed a breath. I couldn’t say I wasn’t at least a little surprised.

  “Of course there are several more qualified men to take this team to where it needs to go.”

  “Then why not save me the trouble?”

  “Our family snatched this team and made it one of the most successful in the league. It is just as much what makes you a Blackwood as the blood in your veins. It is your duty to take it and you will.”

  “Understood.” It was the man’s dying wish. And I barely had a dream of my own to hold onto. I had been told what to do ever since before I could remember. By the time I ha
d realized I might have to decide what to do with myself, my father had been handed a death sentence by a team of very experienced and very reliable doctors.

  In an uncharacteristically swift movement, he took my hand in his. The iron, yet wiry grip caught me by surprise. The last time he had held my hand was my college graduation, almost twenty years ago now.

  “This is my life’s work. It is everything to me.”

  “I know.” There was something ghostly about his hollow cheeks.

  “I’ve never been a religious man. But I have to have faith in something.”

  “Of course.”

  “You are irresponsible, impulsive and cannot finish something to save your life.”

  I blinked, but I was far too old for his little statements like that to bother me. He was dying, so the least I could do was give the man a chance to finish.

  “But you’re all I’ve got,” The way his voice cracked at the end of that made my heart drop.

  “I know.”

  “So don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t.” I felt compelled to make that promise to him, even though I had no idea how I was gonna see it through.

  He pointed at the ceiling. “I’ll be watching you.”

  When he said that, it gave me the first glimpse of what it would be like to say goodbye to my father. The idea that he wouldn’t be around anymore was not one that I had given myself any time to think about. I went through the motions of the funeral services, all taking place in a Catholic church in downtown Dallas, as per tradition. I followed the coffin down that aisle, outside and on to the graveyard.

  My mother clutched my arm for dear life, her thin fingers digging into my skin. “Women always live longer.”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t like how vulnerable she sounded. I was in my forties and should have gotten used to seeing my parents vulnerable, but burying a father is not something you get used to. “That’s true.”

  She swiped her hand across her face, drying a tear. “But I thought I’d be eighty when it happened. I thought I wouldn’t have anything else to do but wait for my death.”