by K. Bromberg
“Wait, what?” I chuckle to cover my surprise. Now he’s playing hardball. “I can’t control what someone does or doesn’t do.”
“Sure you can.” He grins. “You do it every day.”
Our gazes hold and challenge each other’s almost as if he’s daring me to back out now. And while this whole thing might seem underhanded, there’s a challenge to it. An allure for me. If I win something hard-fought and well-earned all while redeeming myself in the eyes of my family . . . how could I say no?
“Who?” It’s a single word, but it’s enough to tell Cannon Garner that I’m not backing out.
His grin widens. “Rush McKenzie. You’ve heard of him?”
I stare at Cannon, blinking several times as I internally swear at myself.
My brain should have connected the dots.
It should have said: Rush Mackenzie is here in the United States, the MLS is wanting me to win over a star player, and therefore two plus two equals four.
I should have connected the dots.
But I didn’t.
I was too goddamn busy being mesmerized by every damn thing Rush was when I should have been thinking like an agent instead of thinking like a woman who wanted him to kiss me.
Because I did.
I’d be stupid to say otherwise.
I even dreamt of his strong hands running up my torso and then over my arms to frame the sides of my face. Of his lips so full and freaking perfect pressing against mine where they were gentle at first before turning demanding.
As I lay in bed last night, I admitted to myself that I wanted him and had every intention of acting on it.
Funny how fate just stepped in the way and told me I couldn’t. No way in hell could I after Finn’s accusations.
Either that or she’s testing to see just how much restraint I have.
“Surely you have, haven’t you?” Cannon asks, and I give a quick shake of my head to pull myself back to the here and now.
“Have what?”
“Heard of Rush McKenzie.”
I almost choke on my next breath of air.
Great. Perfect. Should I dare to mention how last night I’d vowed to have sex with the man? I mean, wouldn’t that complicate things?
“Of course, I have.” I swallow over the sudden disbelief. “Premier League. The star Liverpool is hanging their hat on to win future championships. Kicked that tremendous goal in the World Cup match last year between England and France. And is currently embroiled in a scandal in the UK.”
“No press is bad press, right?”
“Are you telling me that Rush McKenzie is the man you’ve hired to be the face of the MLS? The one you’re centering this campaign around? The ambassador?”
“He’s charismatic and an incredible player. A man who guys want to be like and women want to be with. He’s a marketing team’s dream.”
First of all, why would Rush ever agree to something like this? From an agent’s perspective, it’s a poor decision.
Second, landing him as a client would be a huge boost for Kincade Sports Management.
Third, seriously? I finally decide that I’m willing to break my sex drought with someone, have some fun, and he’s now the someone I have to recruit? I can’t accomplish my second point without forcing myself to abandon my third point.
But it’s okay.
I can do this.
I can do my job and recruit Rush, because the long-term professional outcomes will outweigh the short-term satisfaction I’d most likely find with him.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I attempt to abandon my overthinking and focus on Cannon and this clusterfuck.
“Why would Rush ever agree to this?” And of course, the comment comes out with a bit too much snark so I try to correct it. “I mean—”
“Look at it from my standpoint, Lennox. While many people in the US don’t follow MLS, some do follow the Premier League. Rush is a well-known name. His presence spans from product endorsements to People’s sexiest man candidate to future Hall of Famer. Add to that, his club is currently questioning renewing his contract. There’s pressure for them not to, from what I understand.”
I emit an unladylike snort. “Since when does a football club give up its strongest player due to pressure? The British love their controversy, so why give up the one thing that might attract more crowds . . . as if they need to worry about that at all?”
“Look, I’m in agreement. One hundred percent. But you can’t fault a guy like me for seeing an opportunity and seizing it.”
“So is this what you mean about knowing Finn?” I ask the one question I was trying to figure an answer to. “Obviously you brokered this deal with him to get Rush here for the short while.”
“Yes. I’m not a fan,” he says as I slowly nod. “Wouldn’t it be great if I could swoop in and grab him to play for the MLS? Pay him more than he could ever dream of, secure him a place to play—when he’d most likely have to retire over there—all while having him stay stateside. He could promote the league at the same time he’s dominating it. It would be a win-win for both of us.”
And it would be the end of his illustrious career.
“The US pays nothing compared to what other leagues pay. I mean, surely you’re aware that players play for the MLS with the hopes of someday getting picked up for the Premier League and not the other way around, right?” I ask.
The look he levels me with says I’ve insulted him and his knowledge. “I’m aware, but I’m also a manager who’s trying to do his job.” There’s a sharp bite to his tone that reaffirms I’m now his employee, and I need to keep my opinions limited.
“Noted,” I say with a definitive nod while silently shaking it in disbelief.
I get it. I really do. In fact, I don’t even fault him for trying, but he’s reaching for the stars when he should be reaching for something a little closer to earth.
“Look, I get what you’re saying and appreciate the outside opinion. His contract is for the next three months. After that, we’ll go from there.”
What Cannon isn’t saying is that he hopes Rush isn’t picked back up again so he has no choice but to stay here and play.
What type of agent would ever recommend this to their client?
I walk to the window that overlooks a practice pitch that connects to the league offices. The turf is a vibrant green and the two rows of bleacher seats that surround it are a dark red. There are a few men down on the grass going through ladder drills before sprinting to the far end to try to head across into the undefended goal.
I stare for a few seconds wondering if Rush is down there, but I don’t see him. And why would he be if he’s here to be the face of the MLS? Regardless, I take the time searching for him so I can piece my thoughts together.
“He’s the golden ticket, Lennox.”
“Nothing is ever the golden ticket, Cannon.” I turn to face him, my back now to the glass and my arms crossed over my chest.
“True.” He nods, but doesn’t continue until his eyes find mine. “But he’s here. The opportunity presented itself so I took it. You know that anyone else in my shoes would have done the same. Besides, fingers crossed, he’ll get a chance to get a feel for the league, to fall in love with America, and maybe stay.”
“Maybe,” I murmur while silently kissing that full bonus away. However, now I’m more determined than ever to steal Rush away from Finn for the sole purpose of telling him not to fall for any of this.
And isn’t that the predicament Cannon never figured into the equation? That I would think he’s crazy, trying to steal one of the best players of his era from the place where he shines the brightest?
“Rush is what this whole venture hinges on.”
“And when you introduce me to him, he’ll have no idea about your plan or why I’m really here?”
“Other than to make him happy by ‘making the league a better place for all footballers,’ no. Besides, I’m sure he can come to his own conclusion that we’d w
ant him to stay here long-term.”
“That’s it?” I quirk an eyebrow and wonder if he sees how many million ways his plan can backfire.
Sleep with Rush and not only screw the integrity of this recruiting and job, but also prove every damn guy that was talking shit about me right.
Don’t sleep with Rush, recruit him, sign him, and give Finn exactly what he deserves.
Fate doesn’t give opportunities like this that you can take advantage of very often in life.
“Seems like I have my work cut out for me.”
“Shall we get started then?” Cannon asks and I nod. “Let’s bring him in and get the two of you acquainted. We have a lot of work to do.”
RUSH
BLOODY HELL.
Seriously?
This is my reward? Lennox as my babysitter while I’m in the States?
The thought has been on repeat in my mind since walking in here and seeing her. Since hearing Cannon explain that the two of us would be working side by side, despite the original solo arrangement I signed on for.
Shocked? Yes.
Complaining about it? Fuck no.
I definitely don’t mind sharing the spotlight with her, but I can’t say I understand why Cannon has a sports agent on board when promoting and being an agent have nothing to do with one another. If her role is being a player’s advocate, then why will she accompany me to dinners, functions, and matches?
He’ll hear no complaints from me though. Not a one. Because the introduction of her just made the next three months that much more manageable.
I say more manageable, but I’m still fucking pissed about even being here. About that hand fate fucking dealt.
“You’ll be heading to Los Angeles in three days. I’ll find you a house for rent—something—but we need you to lie low, Rush. Stay fit. Keep your nose clean. Smile pretty as you push the MLS, and then kick serious ass when you play the exhibition games. Word will get back to LFC about how good you look.”
“Los Angeles? The MLS? C’mon, Finn. Are you kidding me? That’s bollocks. That will be like going back to the Liverpool reserves. Fuck that. Surely you can see how stupid that—”
“You don’t get choices, Rush.”
Finn was right. I don’t get choices at this stage. And now, glancing at Lennox again, I take in her hair piled on top of her head in some fancy bun, the length of her neck, the blue of her eyes behind a set of black frames, and willingly accept my torture/punishment.
I must have done something right in my past life to deserve this—or this is my reward for taking the blame for everything back home. Getting to stare at her in the pinstripe power suit she has on definitely isn’t a hardship, especially when I know what that banging body beneath it looks like.
The funny thing? She doesn’t look the least bit happy about this.
Not at all.
“So,” Cannon says as he rises from his seat at the conference room table, “I think everything you need to know is right here in your portfolios. Schedules of events, press junkets, the like. Inside you’ll also find the three exhibition games you’ll be playing in, Rush. A little something to whet the appetites of American fans.”
“We’ll have a look,” Lennox says, refusing to make eye contact with me still. “And make plans.”
“Perfect. Anything you need, Rush, Lennox will make sure you get it.”
I don’t think he wants me to take him up on that offer. She has a lot of things I need and not a one of them has to do with football.
“Okay,” I say.
“Great. Good. Then I’ll leave you two to go over everything.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder beyond the closed blinds on the conference room windows to the cubicles beyond. “I have a meeting I’m late for, but as you’ll find in the itinerary, we’ll announce your position with the team tonight at the kick-off party, Rush. Then we’ll set off on a two-week press junket to get the word out.”
It’s still hard to drum up excitement for this, but at least there’s Lennox.
“Sounds good.”
We both watch as Cannon grabs his stuff and leaves the conference room. When he shuts the door behind him, bathing the room in silence, I turn to look at Lennox sitting across from me.
“We meet again,” I murmur.
“I can’t seem to escape you,” she says shortly, standing and walking to the window to stare out at the pitch beyond.
“Is that love I feel from you right now?” I ask. “I’m kind of feeling like it is.”
But she doesn’t turn my way, she doesn’t look or break a smile, and I’m confused as fuck over what I’ve done to piss her off. The woman who stared at me in the bathroom last night, with eyes begging me to kiss her, and the woman obviously pissed off are not one and the same.
“This is a horrible decision on your part, Rush. You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice is flat and stern, and when she turns to face me, those eyes of hers say more than I could ever fathom.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
And where does she get off judging me when she doesn’t know me or the reason why I’m here?
Then again it seems that’s par for the course these days.
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I just wasn’t expecting you or this, or anything really.” She gives the explanation but it takes a few seconds for her shoulders to relax and her expression to soften. Yet, I still don’t buy that she’s happy.
“Neither was I,” I say.
We stare at each other across the space with the game that I love at her back and a future of unknown for me in between us. It’s shit. I can’t explain anything to her.
“Rush.” She says my name as if it’s an olive branch she can’t quite understand why she’s extending. There are so many things I can read into her tone—confusion, disappointment, question—but she shakes her head just as quickly and offers a smile for the first time. “Are we really stuck together in this?”
There’s something in her eyes. Something that tells me she’s on shaky ground, when I’ve never seen her be anything but confident.
“Stuck together?” I ask with a laugh. “Wow, the flattery.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
There goes that stiffening of her spine again.
“Then what do you mean? Is there something about this pairing that I should be worried about? It’s not the bathroom situation, is it? You’re worried that now you’ve seen me naked it’s going to be too hard for you to concentrate on taking work seriously? Is that it?”
“Rush.” My name is part-sigh, part-exasperation, but both confuse me.
“Or is it that I know your negotiating skills leave something to be desired.” She doesn’t crack a smile, so I move toward her. “What’s the deal, Lennox? Something about this situation is bugging you and you’re not telling me.”
“It’s nothing.” She twists her lips as she stares at me—almost as if she’s caught in indecision—and she’s such a shit liar that I know something is off.
“You know,” I murmur, thinking humor might bridge the gap and get that smile back on those full lips of hers. “We should stop beating around the bush and just admit to what’s really going on here.”
“What’s that?” she asks in an equally soft voice, as if there’s someone else in the room listening to us.
“That you concocted this whole scenario just to get me into bed with you. I mean, I get it. I do. It’s not every day you’re faced with a handsome, tattooed, talented, British bloke like me.”
Her sigh fills the space as she turns to face me. “Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly right.” She throws her hands up. “Let’s go right now and get it over with.”
“Get it over with?” I laugh. “Because that’s not a blow to my ego or anything.”
“I don’t think anything affects your ego.”
“Guilty,” I say and raise my hand giving her a sheepish grin. “But since Cannon implied your job is to make sure I’m happy, the least you can do i
s keep a smile on those gorgeous lips of yours.”
She gives me the smile I’ve been working for, and my balls don’t draw up in a good way at the sight of it.
“I assure you that nowhere in my contract does it say ensuring your happiness is a requirement.”
“It does. I saw it.” I move closer to her, unable to resist tucking that errant strand of hair that’s fallen from her bun behind her ear. I hear her quick intake of breath at my touch, and know this woman will be beneath me within no time at all. And I’m not quite sure what it is about her that causes such an urgency in me to want to do so. “So what do you say? Should we sit down and make a list of all the ways you could make me happy?”
She lifts a lone eyebrow and eyes me, a smile gracing her lips. “I’m flattered. I truly am,” she says in that prim yet irritable tone as she takes a step away from me, “but nothing’s going to happen between us.”
My chuckle fills the room as I step back from her and take a seat at the conference room table.
Something’s shifted in the way she looks at me. She wants me, but she’s somehow pulled away.
What the hell happened in the last twenty-four hours? And how do I get it back?
Challenge her.
Lennox Kincade is a natural-born competitor. That will get that spark back.
I grab a pen and look up at her with a devilish smirk. “Shall we get started on that list?”
LENNOX
I’M IN A SHITTY MOOD.
I’m standing here with a smile plastered on my face and Rush is standing beside me as Cannon puts us through the paces of his dog and pony show-announcement, but I don’t feel an ounce of excitement toward any part of it.
None.
Truth be told, I regret the decision to take this job with Cannon, but hell if I’d ever admit it, because that would make my sister right about him being shady—and she’s always right.
But I am the one who signed the contract without getting the particulars answered . . . so that’s on me.
And it makes me grumpy and surly and hating the entire day’s events.