Going for the Goal

by Sara Rider

  “I’m doing it!” She looked up with a huge smile, which turned out to be a mistake—not just because her precarious sense of balance nearly disappeared from the slight movement, but also because it meant seeing the absolute confidence on Nick’s face as he eased backward on his skates, gliding them seamlessly through the crowds. Was there anything sexier than a man with utter mastery of his body?

  She kept her head down for the rest of the lap around the rink, determined not to notice the way his powerful thighs flexed beneath his jeans and his hips swiveled as he moved. There were millions of athletes in the world she could fantasize about. This one was off-limits.

  By the second lap, she managed to move her legs in a way that emulated skating rather than just being pulled around like a hitched tractor. Even though she was the only one above the age of six needing to cling to a human crutch, she was having a blast. She’d spent too much of her life watching others from the sidelines. This was one of the first times she stopped worrying about her complete lack of coordination and let herself live in the moment.

  By the third lap, she was able to let go of his hands and skate on her own for brief stretches. But despite her newfound confidence, Nick never once left her side, no matter how tedious it must’ve been for him to skate at a fraction of his normal speed. Eventually, she lost complete track of time, too enchanted by the freedom of floating on the slippery surface. It wasn’t until she managed to complete a full lap without bumping into any of the hundreds of other skaters that she realized the place had drastically thinned out.

  “It’s getting late,” she huffed after stopping herself by running inelegantly into the boards.

  He pulled to a stop next to her. “We’d better get back if you want some of Ben’s molten lava cake. He’s not used to having to share his dessert with anyone.”

  In spite of how much she had eaten only hours ago, her stomach rumbled at the thought. They returned the rented skates and headed back down the path toward Nick’s apartment. The sun had long since set, but the darkness only amplified the holiday magic of Central Park, showcasing the dazzling array of yellow Christmas lights wrapped around the tree trunks lining the paths.

  As they approached the edge of the park, it occurred to her she hadn’t yet thanked him for the skating or the dinner. In fact, they hadn’t spoken much at all since they’d stepped onto the ice. It wasn’t an awkward silence. It was nice. Comfortable.

  That thought made her shiver. She tugged off her gloves and rubbed her hands together.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She nodded, not sure what else to say.

  “This’ll help.” He caught her hands between his and brought them to his chest. Even with his black wool jacket partway unzipped, heat radiated from his body.

  Her throat went dry. The air around them was suddenly charged with too much electricity, prickling the skin along the back of her neck. She needed to stop this before it went too far, but her body protested, sinking into the feeling of his hard chest beneath his soft blue sweater.

  “Uh-oh,” he said with a wicked smile.

  “What?”

  “Someone hung mistletoe from one of these trees.”

  He dipped his head before she could react, brushing his lips against hers with teasing softness. Heat wound through her body, stoking her desire. She rose up on her toes and parted her mouth, inviting him in. He threaded his hand through her hair and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along hers until her knees were weak. His beard scratched her skin with a delicious friction, an intoxicating blend of sweet and rough that drove her crazy.

  The world around them melted away until she was lost in the moment. Lost in him. She stroked her palms along his chest, feeling every hard inch of muscle beneath the soft wool. He followed her lead, trailing a hand down her back, cupping her backside, and pulling her in even closer. The kiss was exhilarating. Overwhelming. Wrong on so many levels.

  Panic jolted through her like a streak of lightning. She pulled back, panting for breath. He caressed her cheek where his beard had scraped against her delicate skin. “We should’ve done that nine years ago,” he said with a lazy grin.

  She caught his wrist and moved his hand away from her face. “No. We shouldn’t have done that at all.”

  A small crease etched into the space between his eyebrows. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m your agent.”

  He crossed his arms. “It’s just a kiss. We didn’t set off a nuclear bomb.”

  Maybe he didn’t think so, but it sure felt like an explosion had gone off inside her. “This is a professional relationship. Nothing else.”

  He recoiled like the words hurt, but she knew that couldn’t be the case. He’d said himself it was just a kiss. “Fine. Let’s go back and have dessert and pretend like it never happened.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

  “Don’t let this ruin a good night.” He reached for her, but she took a few steps back, needing to put some distance between them.

  “I’m closing in on some endorsement opportunities. I’ll call you when there’s news.” She spun on her heel and set off before he could say anything else. It didn’t matter how many years she’d fantasized about him or how easily he could set her insides on fire with lust. They both had too much riding on this partnership to let a little bit of mutual attraction ruin everything.

  11

  “Without stronger internal regulations, we’re sacrificing the future of our profession and the future of professional sports for the financial gain of a few. We need to enact stricter policy changes to protect young athletes from jeopardizing their amateur status because of sports agents who skirt the rules. We also need to protect the elite professional athletes from bad contracts and financial mismanagement that detract from their ability to perform. And if you elect me to the board of the New York Association of Professional Sports Agents, that is exactly what I’m going to do.” Jillian straightened her shoulders, glanced around the room full of hostile faces, and realized her speech was falling as flat as a pancake.

  They weren’t listening. Maybe it was because she was a woman, or because her colleagues hated any change to the status quo. More likely they were all deep in Lou Parsons’s pocket already, and nothing she could say would matter in this election.

  Screw it. She tucked the last of her cue cards into her purse and decided she might as well speak from her gut, since they wouldn’t listen to her brain. “I know you think that my platform is going to make things harder for us to do our jobs, and it could. But only for those among us who are crooked, selfish jerks who couldn’t care less about professional sports and the athletes they represent. I believe that most of us are in this job because we love what we do. If we let the corrupt few continue to run the show, there isn’t going to be room for the honest young agents out there looking to break into the big leagues. We all get a vote, and I’m urging you to do the right thing.”

  Adrenaline pulsed through every vein in her body, making her head feel light and dizzy. Public speaking wasn’t her favorite thing, but she had to believe she got her message across. That someone was listening to her. She was too keyed up to properly gauge the expressions in the room, with one exception. Lou Parsons was definitely fuming.

  No one had challenged Parsons’s coalition in the past seven years. Her opponent didn’t even bother much with his own speech, other than to toss out a couple of platitudes to some of his buddies. It was obvious Parsons was confident his crony would win, but that didn’t mean her candidacy didn’t piss him off. Probably because, as standing president, Parsons actually had to do the work to get the official election up and running. He didn’t like extra work, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t accomplished a single thing in the last seven terms.

  “Boo! Get the skirt off the stage!”

  Her fingers curled around the edges of the lecter
n, but she didn’t let her frustration onto her face. “Well, Mr. Richards, I hope you negotiate contracts with more attention to detail than you use for voting, because I’m clearly wearing pants.”

  She earned herself a few laughs as she strode off the stage, but her confidence was shaken.

  “Didn’t think you were going to pull off a nomination,” Lou whispered to her as she stepped off the platform. “You know you need a roster of at least ten clients and at least one million in gross client earnings annually to even qualify for membership.”

  Suspicion seeped into the pit of her stomach. Parsons had poached two clients from her in as many months—since she’d made her intention to run in the election public. She’d chalked it up to coincidence because there was no way he could know who she was in negotiations with beyond the usual gossip mill. And yet . . . No. It had to be just an unlucky fluke. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware I’ve recently signed Nick Salinger, which puts me well above the necessary thresholds.”

  Lou’s gray eyebrows furrowed. “So I heard. Signing a brute NHLer with an attitude problem is an interesting strategy for someone running a campaign based on ‘ethics.’ ” He had the gall to make air quotes with his fingers for the last word.

  Years of pent-up anger spiraled in her chest, ready to burst out, but she bit her lip. “You should know by now that I like to keep things interesting.”

  He caught her upper arm as she tried to walk by. “I know you stopped listening to me long time ago, but take this one last bit of advice for free. If you try to act superior to everyone else, it only takes one slipup for the masses to drag you down and eat you alive. Don’t slip up.”

  He let her go with a smug grin. She marched back to her seat, fully aware that his advice was nothing more than a thinly veiled threat. Let him come at her. She had nothing to hide.

  Nothing except that kiss with Nick Salinger four weeks ago.

  But Parsons didn’t know about that, and since she’d vowed to herself it would never happen again, there was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

  “Earth to Jillian.”

  “Huh?” Jillian looked up from the menu to meet Genevieve’s smirk.

  “Ready to order yet? You’ve been staring at the menu for the last fifteen minutes. I’m starting to wonder if you’ve forgotten how to blink.”

  Crap. She rubbed her temples and scanned the menu quickly, hoping her brain would focus enough to make sense of the jumble of words. A yawn escaped her throat.

  “Two bellinis to start. I’ll have a pain au chocolat with a side of fresh fruit and yogurt,” Genevieve said to the server before fixing her attention back on Jillian. “I suggest you order the same.”

  “Uh, sure. Sounds good.” She handed the menu to the server and met her friend’s curious stare.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you lately, or do I need to bleed it out of you?”

  She should’ve known Genevieve would notice her distracted state. They’d been close friends ever since they met at an event for young female entrepreneurs four years ago. They’d bonded after they walked out in disgust when a speaker emphasized using sexual wiles as a way to get ahead in male-dominated industries. “The usual. Up late working.”

  “You need an assistant to handle some of the burden. It’s not healthy to function on so little sleep.”

  Jillian shrugged. “I know, but it’s not the amount of work keeping me up.” An assistant would be great, but even an extra set of hands in the office couldn’t unload the thoughts of Nick Salinger invading her mind every night for the last month. The easiest way to deal with lust-induced insomnia was to work until she dropped from exhaustion.

  “One of your clients giving you a hard time?”

  “You could say that.”

  Genevieve leaned across the table and narrowed her dark brown eyes. “Which one?”

  “A new one.” She sighed, knowing her friend would pester her until she spilled every last detail. “Nick Salinger.”

  Genevieve’s mouth dropped. “The Punisher? You’re working with the guy you named your vibrator after?”

  Of course the server appeared at that moment, setting their drinks down with a snicker.

  “Remind me again why I share the details of my life with you?”

  “Because I’m the only one with a heart black enough to appreciate them.”

  Jillian raised her glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to that. But this time it’s not the client giving me a hard time. It’s me screwing up.” The truth was, Nick was behaving like the perfect client. She recounted everything that had happened from the moment Nick stepped into her office until the kiss that she couldn’t get out of her head, and the way she’d been avoiding him like a coward ever since. It felt good to finally get this off her chest with the one person she could trust to keep her secrets.

  “Wow. Kissing Nick Salinger in the middle of Central Park on Christmas. That’s so romantic, I got a toothache just listening to you. So what’s the problem?”

  Jillian took her time unfolding her napkin and setting it across her lap before responding. “He’s a client. Kissing him is completely inappropriate. I just broke every single one of my rules.” Never work with arrogant jerks, never work with someone I don’t trust, and never, ever work with someone I’ve pictured naked. She’d been repeating those words to herself so much lately, she might as well tattoo them to the insides of her eyelids.

  “Rules are meant to be broken. Sometimes you need to take a risk in life.”

  “I’m running for the board of the New York Association of Professional Sports Agents, which means I’ve already got enough colleagues scrutinizing my conduct, waiting for me to screw up. This isn’t the time for risks.”

  Genevieve flipped her sleek black hair over her shoulder and shrugged. “You could drop out of the election.”

  God, some days she wanted to do just that. Trying to win over the most obnoxious, sexist jerks in her profession was exhausting, but she owed it to her dad to see this through. She didn’t want vengeance for what had happened to him. She wanted justice. She wanted to be a force for good. That was why she’d become an agent in the first place. It’d taken years to build up her business enough to finally become eligible to run for the board, and she wasn’t giving up her chance. “I’m not a quitter.”

  “You’ve been lusting after this guy for years. If you dump him as your client, you’re free to do what you want.”

  “I can’t afford to lose him as a client. Besides, he’s a loose cannon and I’m too smart to get caught up with someone like that. Signing him is nothing but a business decision.” She took a quick sip of her drink. Her ability to bullshit was unparalleled, but even her own ears weren’t convinced. All her ugly preconceived notions about Nick had begun to unsnarl as she got to know him better. Yeah, he was stubborn and gruff, with the temper of a grizzly bear, but he’d also shown her a different side of himself. A side she could grow to like. “Speaking of business, how is the design coming for Jaime Chen’s Sport Fitness Awards dress?”

  “Are you trying to distract me from talking about Nick?”

  “Yes. Is it working?”

  Genevieve laughed. “Yes. And the dress is going to be fabulous. Do you want to see a picture or do you want to be surprised?” She pulled up a photo of the garment on her phone and handed it over without waiting for Jillian’s answer.

  “Wow. It’s gorgeous.” Even on the small screen, she could tell the bright pink fabric and simple lines would be killer on Jaime. Getting Genevieve to design a custom gown for the event wasn’t just a matter of calling in a favor from a friend. It was a shrewd business decision. Genevieve had designed athletic wear for a major brand before launching her own fashion line. She understood athletes’ bodies and how to blend comfort with glamour. Jaime’s rising popularity combined with the global platform of the Sport Fitness Awards
was a great opportunity for Genevieve to showcase her talent to a wider audience. These types of mutually beneficial arrangements were incredibly satisfying—especially when two of her favorite people were the beneficiaries.

  “My offer to design a gown for you still stands.”

  Her yearning to accept the offer tugged right at her gut, but she shook her head. “I’m not going to the ceremony. No ticket.”

  “That’s not fair. You work your butt off and you deserve a reward. We both know that working too hard without any fun is the quickest route to burnout. If only there was some way you could reap some side benefits from your job to make up for all the stress and shitty paycheck.” Genevieve dropped her chin into her hand with a pensive look, tapping her fingers along her jaw. “Oh right, you could get your rocks off with that hunky slab of pure manliness who can’t seem to keep his hands off you.”

  Jillian groaned. “I admit it’s tempting—too tempting—but I can’t. Turning Nick’s image around and securing his contract extension is the toughest challenge of my career. If I can do it, Nichols Sports Management will become a real contender for other NHL athletes needing representation. This is my chance to finally expand my business. Hell, at the very least I’d finally manage to get a steady flow of interns to take some of the load off. I can’t screw this up just because my libido is misbehaving.”

  “You won’t,” Genevieve said with the kind of absolute confidence Jillian wished she felt. “But I’ve never seen you this flummoxed over a guy. Have you considered this might be more than just lust?”

  The question made her jaw clench. “It doesn’t matter. There’s so much riding on this, and for the first time in my life I’ve doubted my ability to do my job. I don’t want to let him down. I don’t want to let myself down.”

  All traces of humor left her friend’s face. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’ll figure out a way to work through this like the bad-ass, take-no-prisoners agent that you are.”