The Wedding Deal

by Cindi Madsen

  “I am. Let me just get some information and a few signatures and then I’ll grab you an employee handbook, and you’ll be good to go.”

  A lot of the paperwork had been done thanks to one of the many emails Lance had sent her—some business and some personal—but she inputted the few missing items into her computer, printed off the forms, and had Sean sign.

  “Is Quaid in yet?” he asked, his knees bouncing again.

  “I haven’t seen him,” she said, since she didn’t know and she didn’t want to know, and holy hell she was going to have to see him and his name was enough to cause her internal organs to deflate.

  “Here’s the handbook.” She twisted in her chair to snag one off her shelves and slid it across her desk to Sean. “I know you’ve got a ton to study and write up as you’re whipping the team into shape, but please make sure to read through the policies, and if you have any questions, feel free to come to me.”

  He nodded and slowly stood, looking unsure what to do next.

  “Did you have the grand tour yesterday?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He glanced around before conspiratorially leaning in, as if someone might be spying on them. “Confession time? I was so excited to be here yesterday, and then I got the official offer, and it was all kind of a blur.” He scratched his neck. “I, uh, don’t exactly remember which office is mine.”

  Charlotte laughed. It surprised her to hear the happy sound come out after days of gloom and doom, but it gave her a sliver of hope maybe she wouldn’t be sad forever. “I’ll show you where it is, and if you’d like, we can grab coffee on the way.”

  “That’s right. You said something about dessert coffee.”

  “If you don’t like it, I’m afraid we can’t be friends.” As she stood, she realized how tall he was. Sure, everyone was tall compared to her, but he had to have even a few inches on Lance. So an extra point to the Viking comparison, but the baby blues swung him back to All-American.

  No doubt he’d be joining Lance on the eligible bachelor list soon, and she really needed to stop thinking about him because the gloom was settling in like a fog again, smothering everything happy.

  Sean ran a hand over his beard. “Wow, and I thought the most pressure I’d feel today was when I meet up with the players this afternoon.”

  It took her a second to realize he was referencing her comment about the coffee, and she laughed again. Not quite as hard, but there was a flicker of happiness that lasted a good five seconds before fading.

  They made a quick stop in the kitchen, and after tasting the creamer—although he’d used significantly less than she had—he announced he liked it. “Ooh, crackers shaped like Texas! How cool are those?”

  “Help yourself,” she said, and damn it, now she was thinking of Lance and that morning he’d complained all their budget must be going to crackers.

  As she and Sean talked, though, she was glad she’d pushed for him. If he was even half as enthusiastic on the field as in the office, the Mustangs were in good hands.

  They continued down the hall to his office, her stupidly happy clack, clack, clack mixing with Sean’s heavier footsteps. Her stomach crawled way up to her throat as they neared Lance’s office, only returning to where it belonged when he wasn’t inside.

  Thank goodness. Their first interaction was going to be hard enough without someone else looking on, and she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready. “Here you go. Right side, fourth door down from the kitchen, just to help you remember.”

  “Ah, you’re assuming I can count to four,” Sean said, and she smiled. He really was charming. Not for her—and not just because she’d learned her lesson about dating coworkers and was going back to her no-football-guys decree—but she hoped they could be friends.

  “If you need office supplies, let the receptionist know, and she’ll put in an order.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Charlotte.” It came from her right, his voice caressing her skin even as it scraped her raw.

  Her heart beat too shallow and fast, and dizziness set in. She’d been better prepared for the inevitability of seeing him while seated in her office, where she would’ve had the desk between them. Since there wasn’t anything to shield herself with or create space, she made do with her arms, crossing them in front of her chest and hoping they’d hold her together.

  Looking directly at him would be too painful, so she merely glanced in his direction. “Oh, good, you’re here. Coach Bryant was just getting settled in. I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  Lance caught her arm instead of letting her stride by, the bastard. All her walls, and all the tape and glue she’d used to put herself together—mostly ice cream and tirades against men—all of it crumbled under his steady blue eyes.

  “You haven’t returned any of my calls,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  “Business?”

  The line of his jaw tightened. “Damn it, Charlotte—”

  She tugged her arm free and aimed a smile at Sean. “If you want to go into your office, Mr. Quaid will be in shortly. We just need to iron out a few details.”

  “You’ll be okay?” he asked, his expression conflicted as he glanced from her to Lance. She appreciated how he was ready to step in if she needed him, even if it meant causing trouble with his new boss.

  “I’m fine, I promise.”

  Sean slowly backed into his office, but he left the door open, and she was suddenly aware of how many people were around, of all the windows and hallways, and all the eyes on them.

  It was good. She would need to avoid places where they’d be alone for a while—forever if the vise squeezing her heart and lungs into a pancake of despair was any indicator. “Coach Bryant’s signed all the necessary paperwork and is ready to get started. I’ve emailed you anything I felt was urgent, so just email me back when you’ve read my messages and I’ll take it from there.”

  Lance’s gaze bored into hers. “I don’t want the robot. I need you. The woman from the beach who wasn’t afraid to tell me when I was a jerk. And I was a jerk—more than that, I was every inch the asshole you accused me of being. I’m sorry that I jumped to all the wrong conclusions. Gavin told me that the press contacted his mom and she was the one who spilled the information. I should’ve never accused you, should’ve never gone through your phone, and I regret the way we left things.”

  Breathe in, breathe out. She took a step away from him, working to rebuild the wall around her emotions, although the pulverized remains no longer fit into place very well. “I’m glad you got to the bottom of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

  “That’s it? You’re just going to walk away like nothing happened?” His voice echoed through the area.

  She spun back to him. “You probably didn’t read the consensual romance in the workplace contract as thoroughly as you should’ve. It states that we’ll act professionally toward each other at all times, even if the relationship has ended.” To her dismay, her voice broke, and she worked to steady it. “Furthermore, we’ll respect the other person’s decision and agree not to engage in unprofessional or inappropriate efforts to resume the relationship or participate in other conduct toward the person that could violate section three of the handbook.”

  “Trying to explain my side—trying to apologize—is inappropriate?”

  “It is in the middle of the hallway with our coworkers looking on,” she gritted out, hoping that to everyone else they simply appeared to be having a business dispute. Yeah, fat chance.

  “Fine. Have dinner with me tonight.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “My week is all filled up.” Be strong, be strong, be strong. “But let me just save us both the trouble of an uncomfortable meal that’d only waste our time. I’m a rules girl. I went against my instincts and broke a few, and I paid for it. It’s not the first time I’ve lost someone I cared about to football, but this time, I’m going to learn m
y lesson and cut my losses. My heart can only get stomped on so many times before it stops working. From now on, all our interactions will be professional and business driven, and I’d prefer most of them be over email.”

  He blinked at her, hurt swimming in those blue eyes, and she did her best to tamp down her rising empathy. She had learned her lesson. Had lost enough to guys who gambled on football. She was sick of being the girl who got used up and tossed away. Maybe it was good that she’d found out sooner rather than later, although good was the last thing she felt.

  “Your wish is…” He swallowed, hard. “Charlotte, it’s not what I want.”

  A deep bruising ache radiated through her chest, and tears stung her eyes. She clenched her jaw against the sob in her throat.

  “But if it’s what you want…”

  She managed to give one sharp nod, words no longer an option. And still her heart rebelled at the lie, throwing itself against the walls of her chest like it meant to break out of its cage and offer itself up to him.

  Silly, stupid heart.

  “Okay.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her cheek, and when she flinched, he limply lowered it to his side. “Okay,” he repeated.

  From now on, her brain was in charge. No more foolishly believing a guy would change, or that she meant more to someone than she did. As she walked away, even it turned redcoat on her, though, whispering that she’d never care for anyone else as strongly as she cared for Lance Quaid.

  …

  It wasn’t fucking okay.

  All day he’d pretended he was fine with Charlotte’s decree. For one, he hadn’t known their relationship had officially ended, and he hardly agreed about respecting the other person’s decision, regardless of the fact he’d signed the stupid contract.

  Guess that was what he got for signing something without thoroughly reading it.

  He paused in the open doorway of her office, bracing himself for the onslaught of misery that would flood him when he peered into her pretty face and saw a mixture of hurt and disdain. It’d nearly killed him this morning. All day it’d played on a loop, merging with the memory of the night when everything went to shit.

  Now you’re the one who needs to find his balls. You’re running a billion-dollar organization, and you need an employee you pay to consult to do her job.

  He stepped inside, and when she continued to type away at her computer, lost in whatever was on the screen, he cleared his throat.

  She jumped, and he bit back a smile. Remorse for how he treated her immediately followed, so strong it threatened to take him to his knees.

  If he thought his dropping to them and begging her to take him back would do any good, he’d throw his pride out the window and attempt it. “After talking to Coach Bryant, we’re looking more seriously at the GM position. Your top pick wasn’t interested— He got an offer from a championship team who’s willing to pay him a lot more than we can.”

  “Too bad,” she said.

  “What about Brett Williams? I know he wasn’t on our original list because—”

  “He had a job elsewhere up until two days ago. I like him.” She picked up the pen on her desk and clicked the end a couple of times. “He’s done good things, and his draft picks have always been solid. Most of them go on to be MVPs and Super Bowl champs, but thanks to the fact that the owner refuses to pay players what they’re worth, they’re always on different teams when they win those accolades.”

  As he’d flown back from North Carolina, he’d worried Charlotte would never talk to him, but this was almost worse. Having her talk to him like a robot. Like they hadn’t shared something. Not just something, but the realest, most amazing connection he’d ever had.

  “So you think the problem was the ownership, not Williams?” he asked.

  She sat back in her chair and adjusted her glasses, but it obviously wasn’t so she could see him more clearly because she was staring more in his general direction than at him. “That and deciding to keep coaching in the family. It’s hard to overcome a bad head coach. I guess that’s why it’s better to have a cold-hearted owner. The Mama Bear McCaskey type who’ll fire her own son if that’s what it takes.”

  Lance wasn’t sure if that was a remark on his cold heart or simply a fact. It’d happened often enough, trying to keep a team and several of its positions in the family, only to realize some members weren’t competent or equipped to handle the pressure, followed by making a hard decision that would benefit the organization.

  “Williams has some family stuff going on, so instead of flying him here, I’m going to go to California to meet with him.” Now he was wishing he’d grabbed a pen to spin through his fingers. Or something else to fiddle with it. Since he didn’t want to add stealing a pen to his list of crimes against Charlotte, he jammed both hands in his pockets. “I’d like you to go with me. Coach Bryant will be going as well.”

  He noticed the hurt that flickered across her features. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her eyebrows pitched up in the middle as she fought to keep her emotions off her face. “I’m sure you guys will make the right decision. I have a lot of work to catch up on here.”

  A helpless, hopeless sensation gripped his body. He’d actually lost her. “If you need me, I’ll be on my cell. Feel free to call it day or night.”

  She turned back to her computer, and he knew she wouldn’t call. He opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn’t sure, but his phone rang for the billionth time, give or take a few.

  Over the past couple of days, his life had gone from hectic to whatever was beyond that. Turbulent? Chaotic? Complete pandemonium?

  All of the above.

  Even if she gave him another chance, he wasn’t sure how he’d fit in dates or find the time to be in a relationship. To console himself, he told himself they’d been doomed from the start. That it was for the best.

  But as he answered the phone and walked away from her, he felt every inch of distance, and each one of them felt so damn wrong.

  It was the worst kind of torture to realize he’d have to constantly see her and deal with the knowledge he no longer could hold her hand or kiss her. That she’d never be curled up next to him in bed, her head on his shoulder.

  That she’d never be his again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It’d been easy enough to stay busy. Over the past week and a half, he’d had countless meetings and phone calls. He’d traveled in zigzag patterns across the US and had several potential employees flown to headquarters. A new offensive and defensive coordinator were in place, every last vacant position was filled, and suddenly Draft Day was here.

  The team was coming together, slowly but surely, and if the Mustangs got even 50 percent of the players they wanted today, they’d be well on their way. Thanks to a trade late last season that his grandpa had made—one he wouldn’t have, but that was neither here nor there, and after securing Frost it might just work out in their favor—they had the number four pick, too.

  Most of the staff was gathered in the war room, including Charlotte, who’d set up in the farthest corner from him, way up top on the back row of the tiered seats. Lance had glanced at her a few times, always finding her looking down at her laptop. Or super focused on her coffee and the jug of creamer she’d brought into the room with her.

  Definitely not at him. Never at him.

  “Ooh, cracker me,” Coach Bryant said, holding his hand out for some of her Texas-shaped crackers as he walked past her. Somehow she managed to pour a few into his palm without lifting her head enough to possibly catch sight of him in even her peripheral vision.

  The two of them seemed close already, not in a way that made him romantically jealous, but every time she laughed at the coach’s jokes—or hell, just the fact that she talked to him—Lance understood the phrase “green with envy” all too well. It made him sick to his stomach, and yet he also experienced a clashing surge of relief that she could laugh and talk with someone.

  He certainly couldn’
t.

  He was avoiding calls with his family, except for one misguided conversation he’d had with Mitch that hadn’t ended up being as safe or as comforting as he’d expected.

  Just look at me, dammit. I’ll… I don’t know. Wave?

  Solid plan. That’ll win her over for sure.

  Of course he wanted to be the one Charlotte was laughing and talking with, but as he’d told himself again and again, he’d lost that right. Had no one to blame but himself.

  The clock up front showed they had seven minutes until the start of the draft.

  Coach Bryant finished his descent to the front of the room, slapping his hands together to wipe off cracker bits before clapping Lance on the back. “Nervous, Quaid?”

  “Not at all. You?”

  “Nope.” Bryant crossed his arms and cast him a sidelong glance. “A team that lies together stays together, right?”

  A chuckle slipped out. Dang guy was funny. “Let’s hope so. I don’t want to ever have to build this team from the ground up again.” His gaze slipped to Charlotte, and he couldn’t help thinking that if he did have to, she’d never agree to come along for the ride. An internal shudder went through him at the thought of having to go about it without her. When he dragged his attention back to Coach Bryant, it was clear he’d been caught staring.

  “Ever gonna tell me what that’s all about?”

  Lance shoved his hands in his pockets and focused on the timer. For some reason it seemed like it was ticking away more minutes of his life without Charlotte rather than heading toward exciting possibilities. “I’m not contractually allowed.”

  “Girl does love her paperwork and contracts,” Bryant said with a laugh. The humor faded from his features, and he widened his stance, planting his hands on his hips in a classic coaching position that made Lance feel like he was about to get told which play to make. At this point, he’d consider anything he thought might actually work. “She’s also pretty tight-lipped about it, but even the new guys can tell that there’s some unresolved shit between you two.”