The Rush_The End Game Series

by Piper Westbrook

  In a suit and tie, Simon was already presentable enough to make an appearance at the Bellagio’s Prime Steakhouse where his agent, Shaw Bordeaux, and his wife were treating their daughter and her friends to a damn expensive dinner and a Fountains of Bellagio show in celebration of Sally Bordeaux’s seventh birthday. He’d given his agent his word that he’d stick around to talk business—in spite of the fact that the thought of a swarm of hyper second-grade girls sparked the beginnings of an epic headache.

  Shaw had been his agent since Simon’s sophomore season in the NFL. He knew his shit and—though he was a cynical, glass-half-empty type—he’d never turned his back on Simon in the wake of all the trouble he’d landed himself in over the years. Even jobless, he still had Shaw in his corner, as an agent and a friend.

  Armed with a porcelain doll, Simon stepped into the restaurant to be immediately bombarded by sticky-fingered little girls in party hats and frilly dresses.

  “What’d you get her?”

  “Lemme see!”

  “I’m Sally’s best friend. Let me see first!”

  Shaw and his wife, Ramona, hustled forward to steer the mob of kids to their four-star meals at the elaborately decorated tables, but the girls squirmed free, mulishly hanging around as Sally flew to him with her hickory curls bouncing and a gap-toothed grin dominating her freckled face.

  “Uncle Simon, you’re here! I knew you’d come. Mommy said all of Daddy’s friends are un-re-liable…Did I get the word right, Mommy?”

  Ramona cleared her throat. “Well enough, Sally. Simon, can I get you a glass of champagne from the bar?”

  “Ramona Bordeaux, that’s the closest you’ve ever come to apologizing to me. I’ll take that champagne before you change your mind.”

  “Wise decision.” But she was smiling as she lightly socked his shoulder.

  Sally was staring intently at the pink-wrapped package under his arm. “Is that a present for me?” Batting those big green eyes, the kid all but melted his heart. Amazingly, in spite of what he’d been through and who he’d become, he still had a heart capable of melting.

  Simon handed her the gift. “Of course it is, Mustang Sally.”

  She beamed at the nickname he’d given her when she was still in diapers, testing her father’s patience every time Shaw had been forced to merge his duties as a father and a sports agent and had let her tag along with him to work.

  Tearing at the gift wrap and jetting off like a pale pink cyclone, Sally showed the doll to her friends and left him to pick up the scraps of colorful paper and ribbons.

  Shaw led the way to a table cluttered with dinnerware but free of cake frosting stains and freakish-looking balloon animals. Grown-ups’ table. Hallelujah.

  “I’m starting to think that nickname’s having a self-fulfilling prophecy effect,” Shaw said.

  “What, is she changing too fast for you and Ramona to keep up?” Simon took a seat and a moment later Ramona was there with his champagne before she stomped off again to tend to the distinct screeching sounds of little girls yelling at each other.

  “Hell, yes. It makes me worry about the future. Me, in my fifties, trying to keep up with a teenager? Won’t be fun.” Shaw chuckled, then, sobering, said, “So, ESPN made contact. All that means is they want information on the investigation and have figured out that you’re the best shot they have at getting it.”

  “What does that mean for me?”

  “Nothing concrete. A hope that one of the franchises will grow a pair of nuts—” Catching himself and remembering their environment, Shaw cleared his throat. “A hope that now a franchise will be forward-thinking enough to sign you up. Three weeks are going to go by effin’ fast, Simon. If we’re going to get you on a roster, we’d need to get you in serious talks this week. I have a list of clubs with weak offenses I know who’s hungry for a franchise quarterback.”

  Ramona plopped down onto the chair between them. “Simon, you had yourself a bit of a victory today, so I’m not going to ream you boys out for leaping into football mode in the middle of my only child’s birthday party.” She leaned and kissed Shaw on the lips. “But I will ask you to take the conversation outside.”

  “Fair enough,” her husband said.

  “And, Simon,” she added, getting up. “Not that I’m rushing to make myself president of your fan club, but I didn’t think that even a hellion like you had turned dirty.”

  Simon contemplated that while he downed the rest of his champagne. The moment he’d been released from the team, he swore he was in this fight alone. Getting the shit kicked out of him when he’d moved to Louisiana as a teenager had taught him to fight alone—for survival. Yet the suspicion and jadedness were starting to chip away, unveiling truths that might always have existed but he hadn’t been inclined to see.

  Setting aside his glass, he saw his agent frown. Then he realized a trail of kids were skipping toward their table, as if in a bizarre conga line, with Sally leading.

  “Um, I have a question,” she announced, glancing behind her at the giggling girls.

  “I’ll give you and your dad some privacy, then,” Simon said, preparing to go.

  Sally stopped him with a shrill “Wait!”

  Shaw pinched the bridge of his nose. “Indoor voice, Sally.”

  “But you yell on the phone all the time. Plus you say all the bad words.”

  “Yeah, well, this is one of those ‘do as I say, not as I do’ cases. What’s your question?”

  “It’s not for you, Daddy.” Sally twirled a curl around her finger. “Uncle Simon, since I have a new party dress and you love me and I love you…Um, how about we have a wedding today?”

  Damn, he was not expecting this. Simon looked to Shaw for assistance, but the man had averted his face and his shoulders were shaking with piss-poorly contained laughter. To make it worse, the few grown-ups who’d overheard the girl’s proposal were gushing, “Awww!”

  Sally’s face was so hopeful that even Simon couldn’t justify walking away without setting her straight. “I appreciate that you love me, Sally,” he said carefully. “But we’re friends, and the friendship kind of love is different from the kind that makes it okay for two people to get married. Plus, you’re not old enough to marry anyone.”

  The other girls groaned with disappointment. Then Sally protested, “Today’s my birthday. I’m seven. Mommy bought me roses ’cause I’m a big girl now.”

  “Right. But you’re still a child. I’m an adult. Adults marry adults. So how about we stay friends, just as we are? That okay with you, birthday girl?”

  Sally slowly nodded. “Okay.” Then she and her friends hurried from the table, and within a few short moments they were pigging out on cake, the marriage proposal as good as forgotten.

  “A little help with that would’ve been friggin’ great,” Simon said to Shaw.

  Shaw, whose complexion had turned ruddy during his laughing fit, took a fortifying breath as he shook his head. “A girl’s first choice is always the bad boy, huh?” Seeing Simon’s dark glower, he put up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “C’mon. I’m going to have a cigarette.”

  “Quit the vapor already?”

  “Didn’t work for me. Or the patch. Or the friggin’ gum. Want one?”

  Simon had more than his share of vices, but cigarettes had never appealed to him. He waited while Shaw lit one on the garden patio.

  “That talk show interview,” Shaw said. “The Villains’ GM orchestrated that. She’s been whispering in your ear for a couple of weeks now, and as genuine as she might seem, she is J.T. and Joan Greer’s errand girl. I’ve got to wonder if this is more of a business tactic than a Good Samaritan act. Corday looked good on Monday night, but he’s had a shaky start with that shoulder. Finn Walsh says he’s got confidence in their backup QBs. What if that’s all talk, though?”

  “Shaw, I’m not going back to that mentality. The deal is Veronica helps me sign with another team this season and I don’t come knocking on the Villains’
door asking for my job back.” Except it was more textured, more complex than that.

  “Just because you’re no longer being investigated doesn’t mean you’re going to get an offer. A cynic asshole’s born every minute. Spoken from the best of the breed. As good as you are, you’ve got baggage. Organizations don’t want that. You can talk to the media from sunup to sundown, but you’ll be spinning your wheels. Show the NFL that you’re a new man. A man committed to the American dream.”

  Shaw looked at him through a haze of smoke. “Why not try the family plan and get yourself married? Ever heard of Tiffany Wilder-Gardenshire? Her grandfather’s an oil tycoon, and she’s one of the country’s top philanthropists under thirty. Cancer research, church funding, environmental rescues—she’s all over it. Get a woman like that to wear your ring, show the world that you’re the settling-down type, and you’ll see results faster than you would doing anything else. A connection between the NFL and the Gardenshires would be a win for the league and for you.”

  “What the fuck are you really smoking?”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Shaw said dryly. “There are worse things than getting hitched, and worse reasons to do it than for financial or social gain.”

  “Is that your and Ramona’s story?”

  “Karma must’ve been on my side the day I met Ramona. I don’t deserve her, and I worry that one of these days she’s gonna have that epiphany. But until then, I’m a happy man.” Shaw cracked his neck. “Simon, all I’m trying to show you is a possibility that might work out. Marrying Tiffany, or someone with similar connections, can resuscitate your reputation. Marriage is just like any other business. It needs to make sense. Love and all that—it’s kid stuff. Inconsequential.”

  “Afraid I don’t see it that way, Shaw. Not everything in this life is just business.”

  “Careful, Simon. Your small-town values are showing.”

  “I can thank my lucky effin’ stars for the few values I have left.”

  Shaw didn’t push the issue further, only disposed of his cigarette and shook his head the way he did whenever he thought something was a damn shame.

  His wife poked her head outside, scrunching up her face at the residual fingers of smoke fading into the air. “Babe, we’d all better start herding the kids outside if we don’t want to miss the last show.”

  “Then let’s go.” Shaw gave Ramona’s ass a slap and guided her inside.

  Simon followed, cutting a quick path through the restaurant. He’d almost reached the exit when Ramona called after him, “Won’t you be joining us for the show?”

  Just when he thought he was free…

  ◆◆◆

  As always, Veronica was early. She was having dinner at the Bellagio with her mother and Grace’s mother, Willa, at seven sharp. When it came to the ladies’ appetite for gossip, Veronica’s foresight was 20/20. She could all but visualize them left alone at a table, indulging in wine and small talk about Willa’s recently married daughter, who’d be returning from her honeymoon in a few days. Naturally, the chat would shift to what pointers the expert Willa could offer to Joan’s three unmarried daughters, starting with the one they’d be dining with tonight.

  So Veronica had taken extra-special care to park at the Bellagio at six. That gave her a one-hour cushion to gamble at the casino, tour the hotel, screw around with a fidget spinner, or find a quiet little nook to will away her anxieties.

  On a whim she set her sights on the lake walkway, eager to check out the fountains show’s new repertoire.

  A tepid October breeze tickled her legs as she walked in her cream high-necked swing dress toward the assembly of onlookers outside the casino. The magic had already begun. Glittering spurts of water shot up from the man-made lake, in time with a popular Broadway show tune.

  “Lady, I can’t see.”

  Veronica looked down at the tiny finger prodding her hip. A girl in a ruffled dress stared up at her, saucerlike brown eyes fluttering.

  “Uh, where are your parents?”

  “Pearl, you’re not supposed to talk to strangers!” Another girl, this one in a pale pink bubble dress and shiny Mary Jane pumps, wiggled between them. “We’re supposed to stick together, ’cause that’s how the buddy system works. I’m going to tell my parents you’re not following the rules, and they’ll tell your mom—”

  Veronica crouched down, interrupting with, “Where are your parents, then?”

  “Kissing,” Pearl supplied in a singsong voice. “So there!”

  “Are not!”

  “Are, too. My sister said lots of grown-ups come here and watch the water show and it’s romantic and they kiss. Oooohhhh.” Pearl smirked. “Sally’s parents, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

  Sally thumped her buddy’s arm, drawing a sharp yelp. “They’re not in a tree. They’re standing over there.”

  Veronica looked to the group. Over a dozen little girls stood in pairs, with a handful of adult chaperones. All seemed captivated by the show.

  No one was kissing, though it was apparent that the man and woman snuggled close belonged to Sally. When the man turned his face to say something to the woman, Veronica recognized him.

  “Sally, is your last name Bordeaux?”

  “Yes.” The way her delicate eyebrows rose over a pair of green eyes conveyed, What’s it to you?

  “I’ve met your father.” As if the initial tense meeting with Shaw, when she’d officially released his star client from the team’s roster, hadn’t gotten them off to a rocky start, he’d recently visited her office to dissuade her from “being an enabler” and puffing Simon up with delusions about his career prospects. Emotion had made her sloppy, though, and she’d fired off a rant that revealed she was more invested in Simon’s future than an ex-employer ought to be.

  “She’s met me, too,” a man said.

  Veronica wanted to thump herself for reacting to Simon’s voice with a full-body shiver. He winked at her, and despite the articulate greeting her brain had woven, all that came out was an unintelligible, strangled noise that sounded like “Hooo.”

  The kids flocked to him, Sally tattling, “Pearl snuck off, Uncle Simon. She didn’t follow the rules.”

  “Sally thumped me!”

  “Apologize,” he said. “Tell each other why you’re sorry, shake hands, and move on.”

  Grumbling, “Okay,” the girls faced each other.

  “Sorry I broke the buddy system rules,” Pearl said. “Oh, and for singing the kissing song about your parents.”

  “Sorry I thumped you,” Sally replied, putting out her hand, which her friend shook with an infectious laugh.

  “I only snuck off because I couldn’t see the water,” Pearl insisted to Simon. “I was asking this lady for help. Who is she?”

  “This is my friend Veronica,” he said. “Let’s get you two hooligans back to the group. And this time, stay put.”

  A smile worked its way to Veronica’s mouth as she watched him escort the girls to the rest of their party. The man was emotionally orphaned, had gone years without family connections, yet his heart wasn’t as cold as people assumed.

  He’d make an incredible father.

  It startled her that the thought could flood her with hope.

  In another few minutes he was in front of her again, and her heart was bouncing in her chest. “What’s up, friend?”

  “The lady speaks,” he said with a teasing grin. “What was that strange injured-owl noise you made?”

  “I was choking.” On lust. “How’d you wind up chaperoning a pack of kids?”

  “It’s Sally Bordeaux’s birthday. If I’d thought you’d be out here, I would’ve smuggled you a slice of birthday cake. I know how much you enjoy cake.”

  Veronica could swear the back of her neck tingled. Simon had tasted her there. He’d defiled her slice of wedding cake, too, but somehow in retrospect he was more turned on than offended. They’d done so much more since then. She’d drunk from him, and he’d made her come at Great Exhibiti
ons. Dry-humping in an art gallery…What wouldn’t she do if she got him alone again?

  “I’m having dinner at Picasso, with a matchmaker.” Watching him closely, she saw his jaw tighten, then release. What she’d said had gotten to him. It satisfied her when she knew it shouldn’t. “The matchmaker is Grace’s mother. My mom’s joining us. Make no mistake—neither is pleased with my romantic track record—but I’m not on the prowl for a match.”

  Simon’s gaze cruised her slowly. “How long have you been single?”

  “Months.”

  “You’ve been alone every night since then?”

  Veronica moistened her lips. “Yes.”

  His knuckles brushed her from shoulder to elbow so swiftly she wasn’t sure if she’d daydreamed it. “That’s a damn tragedy.”

  “I get by.” His eyes narrowed with intrigue, and the word how passed his lips. She scrambled to avoid answering. “So, you’re a badass athlete, a chivalrous Sir Galahad type, a man who’s more constructive than destructive, and you’re wonderful with kids. Churchill described something as ‘a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’ I’d say you fit that description.”

  “Then we have something in common.” Simon came closer, and she felt a naughty thrill as his scent fell over her. “Guess you’re finding out there’s a lot about me you won’t see in my file.”

  “I wish I could take my time discovering you,” she whispered. “But we don’t have the luxury of time. I’m on your side, if you haven’t figured that out by now. Football is what’s most important to you, and I’ll do whatever I can to get you in the game. Next step is simply this. Let yourself be seen involved in a cause that people care about.”

  “Veronica—”

  “Simon, I know your secret. I know in here—” she tapped a finger to her temple “—and here—” she tapped her heart “—that you’re not a hardhearted bastard.” She stepped around him to start heading for Picasso. “Think of what you care about, and go there.”