Double Score

by Violet Paige

  I stared at him. “This has something to do with how many vacation pictures I post?”

  Steve chuckled. “No, sorry—off track. You need to get engaged to one of the Warriors.”

  I felt my heart beat in my chest, pounding wildly. My palms became sweaty. I didn't know if I had enough space in my ribcage to take a full breath. My chest was closing in on me.

  “Are you crazy? That’s your plan? You want me to marry one of the football players? That’s not even possible. I can’t do that. It’s unprofessional. Unethical. No way.”

  He presented another graph. I didn't bother to look at it. Nothing made sense right now. I just had to keep myself from falling through the floor, and sinking deeper into this universe of nonsense he had created.

  “If you look at the numbers here,” he explained. “You'll see that fans react well to interpersonal relationships with the team. And I don’t think interpersonal relationships get any stronger than engagement. You are a young beautiful woman who has just inherited the team. A team that has sent out a clear message of hatred toward ownership. But if one of these guys will agree to be your fiancé, at least through the end of the season, then it will look as if he represents the entire team and that the team is united. They don't hate ownership, they love ownership. Love ownership so much that one of their own is going to marry her."

  “This is the most insane thing I have ever heard.”

  “Just listen, Vanessa. This one man will represent the entire team. You’ll be like their queen bee. And he is the figurehead who says to the world the whole team would marry you if they could.”

  “There’s no way. I have only met a few of them today. And on top of that, I don't want to get married. My grandfather just died. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” I waved my hands in the air, I knew I was acting as erratic as Steve, but it felt like the world was spinning out of control. “I'm not getting married. It's not going to happen.”

  “We can spin this several ways. Think about all the support you need in your time of grief. Falling for someone during that time would make sense to the fans.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not getting married.”

  “Listen, you don't have to actually marry anyone. You only have to be engaged for the season. We need the publicity. And there's nothing better for publicity than a love story,” he assured me.

  “Your love story will change the entire perception of the team. You can turn everything around for the Warriors. It’s your job to protect this corporation. Isn't that what you want?”

  My eyes flashed to his. “Of course that's what I want. I don't want the team to fall apart. But what you are suggesting is a lie. You want us to trick the fans and mislead them. I can't do that.”

  Steve looked agitated. He pressed his palms into the front of my grandfather's desk. The desk that was now mine. I noticed how worn his fingernails were. He was the nervous type. The kind that chewed his nails to the quick when he didn't know what else to do. It was a gross habit. I was starting to dislike him more and more.

  “Vanessa, I have come to you with the perfect solution. This will get the team on your side. This will get the press on your good side. I’d rather roll out a plan for positive press than try to deal with the fallout of a scandal.

  “Think about it this way. Staying in the headlines will lead to the higher paying stations wanting a better schedule for their lineups. Imagine Sunday Night Football. Monday Night Football. They call that money. And money equals higher paid players. Do you see where I'm going with this? It's all connected. The more money you bring in, the more you pay the guys. The more negotiating power you have to find better coaches and trainers. It just keeps getting better, and everyone is happy.” He folded his arms across his chest, remaining still for the first time since I had met him.

  There was something to his argument. As insane and ludicrous as it sounded, I saw where he was going. If the Warriors really were somewhere on this confusing list of spreadsheets and graphs labeled as the most unpopular team in America, I had to do something to get them back on top. I knew that much.

  I might not have wanted to inherit the team, but I did. They were my responsibility now.

  I inhaled. “And if I did go along with this PR stunt, who do you think is going to volunteer to be my fiancé?” I folded my arms to match his. There was no way this would work.

  He grinned. “Why don't we get the team involved? I think they might enjoy it. It could bring a real sense of unity to everyone right now.”

  “I thought you might already have someone in mind. A candidate for fake fiancé status?” I questioned him. “Someone the public would accept immediately.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I think involving the guys will bring a sense of team togetherness they haven’t had in a long time. Could be exactly what they need.”

  I felt my mouth go dry. Was he seriously suggesting that the team decide who was going to play the role of my fiancé?

  “The guys will love a little competition. You'll see. Let me handle the details for you. It's going to work out. It's a brilliant plan.” I watched as he collected the scattered graphs he had strewn next to my lunch.

  “Competition? No way. Absolutely not. I don’t want that,” I argued. I already regretted my decision. Had I actually agreed to go along with this idea?

  “It’s going to work. Let me talk to the guys. It’s going to be fine. I’ll handle everything from here on out.” His words were meant to reassure me, but instead they made me feel sick. I didn't want the future of the team in his hands. What was worse was that I knew my future rested in those grimy palms too.

  8

  Isaac

  I looked sideways at Dylan. I didn’t know why Steve Drucker had called a team meeting. Hell, I didn't know he had the power to call a team meeting. I looked around the room. There were no coaches. There were no trainers or staff members. There were only offensive players. And when I looked at the offense, I realized Sam wasn't here and neither was Ben or Luke. Where was our damn quarter back?

  I shoved Dylan in the ribs with my elbow.

  What do you think is going on here? Where’s Luke?” I asked.

  “Hell if I know,” he responded. “But this is some weird shit.”

  Steve walked to the head of the table and sat. He looked like a dwarf in this room, surrounded by professional athletes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and stared out at us. He cleared his throat.

  “Thanks for coming guys. I have something I need to run by you.”

  I wondered if he was sent in instead of human resources to talk about the ways the team might be cut. How staffing might change. How we could lose some of our trainers, or even more of our equipment. But we were down to the bare-bones. I didn’t see how we could become any more of a skeleton then we already were.

  This was fucked up. We’d had a rough practice. The sun was killer this time of year. If they thought we would sweat and bleed on the field and then come in here to get the crap kicked out of us, I was going to say something.

  “Here's the deal,” Steve started. “We have a unique situation since Mr. McCade passed away and left the Warriors to his granddaughter Vanessa. Some of you may have met her today. It was her first day in the office. A big day for her. A historic day for the team, certainly.” He looked at each one of us.

  “What I'm going to say in this room must stay in this room from this point forward.” He opened the folder on his desk and retrieved a stack of papers. He began to pass them from player to player.

  I read the title when I received my sheet. It read, nondisclosure agreement. Dylan punched me in the side before I had a chance to hit him.

  “What the fuck is this?” I saw the crease on his forehead.

  I shrugged.

  “Gentlemen, I need you to read every single line, every sentence, every word on this piece of paper before I continue,” Steve directed. “If you do not, or are not willing to sign this NDA then I must ask that you leave the
room now before I proceed with the information.”

  Fuck. I didn't know if we were about to join a cult, give away our firstborn, or inherit a chunk of the Warriors’ dividends. The room felt heavy and thick. I could tell everyone was weighing the options. But no one stood to leave. Instead, I watched as my teammates signed the documents and tossed them back to the head of the table where Steve sat. Dylan and I exchanged looks before we each signed on the bottom line.

  Steve clasped his hands together. “Now that that is taken care of, I do want to make sure that you know if you violate the NDA in any way we will come after you with the full force of the Warrior's legal team.”

  I was tired of his bullshit. “Just tell us what the fuck you have to say, Steve,” I barked. “We signed your damn NDA. You can cut the threats.”

  He groaned. “You need to realize how serious this is. Because once I tell you what is at stake, it’s going to change the course of the Warriors. This season isn’t going to be like any of the others.”

  I leaned forward on the conference table. The bastard had my curiosity at an all-time high.

  “It’s already unlike the others,” I snarled.

  Take it easy, Isaac. I have spoken to Ms. McCade today. I’m aware a lot of you had meetings with her too.”

  I felt a strange jolt of jealousy from out of nowhere. I didn’t like the idea of all these guys being alone with her in her office.

  “We have agreed to launch a media public relations campaign that will help us sell tickets. The more tickets we sell the better our TV ratings will be. And the better game times and networks we will get. That means better advertising spots. All of this comes down to money, gentlemen. This is about money. Your money. Plain and simple.” He pressed his palms onto the table, rocking his small body toward us.

  “Get to it, we’re aging here,” Dylan joked. He let the front of his chair legs push off the floor. I knew he took his position on the team seriously, but he didn’t put up with bullshit meetings like this. He was too stir crazy to sit through corporate talk.

  But what Steve said next grabbed everyone’s attention.

  “I need one of you to be, Vanessa McCade’s fiancé for this Warriors’ football season.”

  “What!” I was the first to speak up.

  Dylan slammed his fist on the table. “What are you talking about, man? Don’t say shit like that. We’re listening. You have our attention without making up shit. What’s this really about?”

  Steve didn't let up. “She’s available. She needs a fiancé for the season. I should say, the Warriors need her to have a fiancé for this season, and that fiancé is going to be one of you. Now you all can decide in this room who that man will be, or I will choose one of you.”

  I didn't know how many of the men had met Vanessa today, or if they’d even seen a picture of her. Hell, most of these guys were friends. We were a brotherhood. None of the ones among us were married or in serious relationships, and there was a reason for that. We liked to fuck. When and where we wanted. Life was easier with no strings attached. No one wanted to be a fucking fiancé.

  I heard the guys around me groaning and growling. They weren’t interested. But then Rocks Salzman raised his hand. “I’ll do it. She's damn hot. It does mean I get to fuck her, right?”

  Steve laughed. “That's up to you two. It’s not a requirement. But thanks for stepping up, Rocks.”

  “Wait,” I growled. “That’s not happening.”

  “Yeah, it’s not," Dylan agreed. “Sorry, Rocks. You’re out.”

  I looked at my best friend, and realized he was being just as protective of Vanessa as I was. I didn’t know where it was coming from, other than Dylan was highly competitive. He didn’t like to lose at anything.

  Rocks snarled, “I volunteered first guys. She’s as good as mine. You’re looking at the new fiancé of the Warriors’ owner.” he laughed. I was tempted to throw myself across the table and punch him to the ground. I didn’t like how they talked about her.

  She wasn’t here to defend herself. How did we know any of this was legit?

  “I don't think that’s how it works. Steve said we had to decide together. And I'm not letting you walk out of here as her fiancé,” I taunted.

  Dylan leaned forward. “Neither am I. Rocks. It’s not happening.”

  He glared at both of us. “Are you two going to share her? Because I don't think you can split a woman down the middle. She needs one fiancé, not two.”

  “You’re a dick,” Dylan spat.

  I bared my teeth at him. “You’re not getting her.”

  “Why? Because you’re suddenly so interested in warming up to someone? You’re a cold-ass washed-up Seal.”

  I jumped from my chair, clambering to get my hands around his neck.

  “Shit, Isaac.” Dylan yanked on my bicep, holding me back.

  Steve laughed. “Wow. I wasn't expecting this. What if we settle this like gentlemen? Why don’t you take a seat, Isaac?”

  I tried to settle my pulse, and sat in the seat again.

  Rocks took his eyes off me for a second. “What's your idea Steve?”

  “We’re all doing this for the good of the organization.”

  “That’s what you keep telling us,” one of the tight ends made his voice carry over the scuffle.

  “Then why don’t you make a personal investment in the team. Let’s see how much this actually means to you.”

  “What are you saying?” I pushed him. I didn’t like the games he played.

  He grinned. “A gentlemen’s auction. We’ll start the bidding at a thousand.”

  Dylan’s hand shot. “I’m in.”

  I stared at him. “You’re going to bid for her?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Rocks called out. “Two thousand.”

  It happened so fast, I didn’t have time. My hand was up next. “Five thousand.” I glared at Rocks over the table.

  Dylan chimed after me. “Fifty-five hundred.”

  Rocks exhaled. “Fine. I'll go up to six grand.”

  A few of the other guys threw bids in. We were up to fifteen thousand. Steve looked pleased with himself. I didn’t know where we would land, but I knew between Dylan and me we had a pretty good chance of keeping Vanessa out of Rocks’ hands.

  The rest of the guys moved out of the way as the bidding got too rich for their blood. One came back from the locker room with a bottle of bourbon. And someone else broke out a box of cigars. The last time we were together like this was Luke’s bachelor party.

  Although, now one of us was ready to give up being a bachelor even if it wasn't for real.

  Steve looked pretty damn pleased with himself for concocting this entire scheme.

  I wanted to ask Dylan how high he was willing to go. But I kept upping the bet every time Rocks raised his hand. Damn him.

  “Gentlemen,” Steve taken his role seriously. “We’re up to almost thirty grand. Do you want to keep going, or is Isaac the lucky winner?”

  “Hell no,” Rocks growled.

  “I’m still in,” Dylan reported.

  Fuck. I didn’t know how much longer we would up the money like this. And what was the point? Did I really care about the Warriors? Or did I just want to make sure an asshole like Rocks wasn’t the one who spent the season with Vanessa?

  Hell, I’d only spent an hour with the woman. That was it. And I was acting as if I had to defend her. Protect her. Like our meeting meant something. It didn’t mean a damn thing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted her. I wanted to walk out of this room the highest bidder. The winner. The man who would take Vanessa McCade for the entire season.

  Dylan grinned. He had the worst fucking poker face. “I can do this all night. You up for it, Rocks?” He looked at Steve. “Forty thousand.”

  “Fifty,” I cast another bid for her.

  “You two are fucking crazy,” Rocks groaned. “No woman is worth that much. I’m out.”

  “So I’m the winner?” I smiled.
r />   “It appears so,” Steve agreed.

  “Not so fast, brother.” I stared at Dylan. Slowly he raised his hand above the table. “Seventy-five thousand.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Are you going to bid again?” he dared me. “You know I don’t like to lose. I’ll keep going.”

  I shook my head. “If you want her that badly, I’m out.”

  “So, I guess I have a fiancé.” He slapped me on the back. And I suddenly realized, I had just lost her.

  9

  Vanessa

  I realized sleep wasn't an option for me. Too much had happened at the offices today. My mind raced with the conversations I’d had with all the people I’d met, while still trying to get my feet on the ground. It was hard to think that was ever going to happen. My grandfather had run the team as if it were a hobby. Maybe that's why it was in the shambles that it was. Or maybe that was the secret. I needed to care less. Worry less.

  I padded to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. I drank it much too fast. The dizzying effect went straight to my head before tingling through my fingertips. Sure, there was a lot to think about. But there was only one thing I couldn't get over. I had agreed to Steve’s insane plan. A plan that would tie me to a man for the entire season.

  Right now, he was somewhere deciding who would be my fiancé. What if it was someone I hated? What if it was someone I couldn't stand to be around? For the full season, I was going to have to do fake interviews and photo shoots with a man I didn't like. I chugged the wine faster.

  I poured a second glass, my hands shaking with nerves. It hadn’t happened yet. All I had to do was go to work tomorrow and tell him the plan was off. There would be no fake engagement. No fake wedding, no fake proposal. I could control this. I was the Warriors’ owner now. I was in charge or Steve and every one of those players.

  I wandered out of the kitchen and toward the living room, clutching the glass of wine in my hands. I turned on the TV, but the first story that popped up was about the Warriors new ownership. I cringed. I hated hearing stories about myself. It was a hot topic in Austin. With only two weeks until opening day, the fans wanted some kind of certainty. They needed to know there was leadership. But I wasn't leadership. I’d never managed anything in my life. I liked to work independently. I loved working with my hands in the studio. I loved studying art and artists. I hadn’t been able to find the beauty in men chasing after a ball on the field. I couldn’t see the art in them pounding each other into the ground. In fans screaming and hollering for more violence. Football was the opposite of grace and artful lines.