Offsides: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 3)

by Jami Davenport

  In high school, rich, spoiled Kelsie had been a mean girl. So strong was her need to belong to the “it” crowd, she’d done everything uber-popular Marcela Winsley dared her to do, too afraid to stand up to her and jeopardize her standing with the clique. When Marcela concocted the scheme to get even with Zack for usurping her boyfriend from the first-string linebacker position, Kelsie had balked. Zach had always been kind to her. She’d known he had a crush, and she’d never have dated him, but she had genuinely liked him. Marcela would not be denied, and Kelsie followed the plan.

  At first, he’d taken their abuse with barely a reaction except for a twitch in his jaw and the hurt in his eyes, a hurt that haunted her even sixteen years later. She’d almost broken him that night with her cruelty and betrayal, and she’d never forgiven herself.

  Truth be told, she’d always harbored a bit of a crush on the rough yet kind boy who’d followed her like a faithful hound all through high school.

  She owed him more than an apology, but he’d made his opinion of her clear. She was in a different place now, and she liked to think she was a better person.

  With one last glance in his direction, Kelsie walked purposefully across the rain-soaked parking lot to the main double doors. Security let her in and escorted her to a small, cramped office upstairs, not quite the space she’d expected for the owner’s daughter.

  Veronica waved her in, all business and dressed in a severe black suit with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. “Have a seat.”

  Kelsie sat, clutching a folder that outlined her program. “I’m so grateful to have this opportunity.” She bit the side of her cheek to staunch the desperation seeping into her voice.

  “Lavender and Tyler spoke highly of your service.”

  “They did?” She couldn’t conceal her shock. They didn’t know her or whether her service was any good.

  “Are you surprised?” Veronica lifted one perfect brow and waited impatiently for an answer.

  “Oh, no, but the mention was very kind of them. I appreciate it.”

  “Tyler’s word carries a lot of weight around here. This is his team more than anyone’s. We have a few players who might benefit from your services as an image consultant.” Veronica leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, and studied Kelsie with a look that dissected her every weakness.

  Kelsie gripped the folder tighter and breathed through her nose. “I have a resume here listing my credentials, Ms. Simms.” She pushed the folder across the table.

  “Call me Veronica. This is a new business for you? You don’t have any additional references? I was under the impression Tyler had worked with you.” Veronica was all business, and Kelsie couldn’t get a read on her.

  “Uh, yes, I’m acquainted with Tyler.” A half-truth. Willing her hands not to shake, Kelsie pulled some papers from the folder. “As you can see, I’m quite well-versed in creating a positive image.”

  “You were runner-up to Miss Texas?”

  “Yes. I’ve been on the beauty pageant circuit since I was a child. I’m an experienced public speaker along with—”

  “Why were you working as a banquet server?” Veronica’s violet eyes narrowed as she assessed the woman across from her.

  Kelsie cleared her throat and decided the truth was best. “I’ve just come to town after a messy divorce, and I’m still trying to establish myself.”

  Veronica leafed through the remaining papers and tapped a long fingernail on her desk. “I may live to regret this, but I’m going to give you a chance because everyone deserves a break now and then. Divorces are hard to recover from.” Veronica’s harsh face softened imperceptively. There was a story there somewhere.

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you! You won’t regret this, I promise,” Kelsie gushed.

  “These are your fees?” Veronica pointed at the other paper in the folder listing the costs of her services. She’d googled similar agencies to get an idea of what they were charging.

  “Yes, they are, and I believe you’ll find my pricing very competitive.”

  “I’ll pay you twice your going rate if you succeed. You’ll get half now and the rest when the task is completed to my satisfaction. If it’s not, the deposit is to be refunded to the Steelheads’ organization.”

  “I—I—”

  “That’s my offer. Considering your lack of experience, it’s a reasonable one. Are you interested or not?”

  “Certainly.” Kelsie nodded vigorously, as her stomach growled at the thought of a decent meal. “What exactly is the task?”

  She held her breath and waited.

  Veronica wasted no time telling her. “I want you to work with Zach Murphy, for starters. His other team allowed him to do as he pleased. We’re not quite so flexible here. You’ll work on polishing his rough edges and working on his tact and approach.”

  “Uh, Zach? I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We knew each other in high school.” No, not Zach. Of all the players on a fifty-three-man roster, why did her first real client have to be him? Her luck might not be turning after all.

  “And there’s a problem? Zach is the one you’ll be working with first if you want this job.” Veronica’s hand paused over the half-written check.

  “No, none.” Kelsie swallowed, staring at the check, her ticket to getting out of the hole she was in. “Uh, no. No problem. I appreciate you giving me this opportunity.”

  “Good. You’ll start tomorrow. The guys are off, but late afternoon should work. We’ll notify Zach.” Veronica stood, and Kelsie followed suit. She’d been dismissed.

  “Thank you.”

  “And Kelsie, Zach will have a test. He’ll be throwing a charity gala for my favorite charity near the end of the year. We’ll see how well he learns his lessons.” Veronica picked up her phone, turning her back on Kelsie, who hustled out of the office before the woman could change her mind.

  Several hours later, Kelsie crawled between the cool sheets with Scranton. She fell into a disturbing sleep filled with visions of a shaggy-haired football player with furious brown eyes.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  With more than a little reluctance Tuesday morning, Zach walked into the office of Coach Hubert Jackson, a.k.a. HughJack. HughJack sat behind his desk looking grumpy and out of sorts. The defensive coordinator, a big, burly guy known as Rocky, sat in one of the chairs in front of the head coach’s huge desk.

  The short but formidable HughJack was one of the few men who struck fear in Zach’s heart. But then, the guy possessed the power of life and death over Zach’s career. Younger guys vied for his spot as starting middle linebacker, and Zach hung on by a shoelace. They breathed down his neck every time he stepped on the field, gobbling up his every word of advice and using it to their advantage to one day win his job. That was the way of things, and Zach accepted it.

  One more season. Just one more season to earn that elusive ring. That’s all Zach needed. He’d do whatever it took, even dealing with the team’s asshole quarterback. Well, almost anything. Playing nice with the quarterback might be taking things too far, yet he knew he had to figure out a way to get beyond his animosity toward Harris, most likely the subject of this meeting.

  “Coach, you wanted to talk to me?” Tuesday was the team’s day off, but Zach always came into the facility for weight training and to watch film.

  “Yeah, sit down.” HughJack motioned to the empty chair across from his desk and next to Rocky.

  Zach sat, certain whatever they wanted couldn’t be good, and just as certain Harris was behind it. He clenched his hands on his thighs and took a deep breath.

  “So, Zach, that little performance at the charity ball last Saturday couldn’t come at a worse time. We’re heading into our second regular-season game, and every team in the NFL is gunning for us. We don’t need this kind of distraction.”

  “It’s not a distraction. It’s long past.”

  “Maybe for you, but the front office doesn’t see it that way.” HughJack stood and paced the floor. The
guy was a frigging perpetual motion machine, never sat down for more than a few seconds.

  “Uh, Zach, you groped the governor’s wife.” One corner of Rocky’s mouth twitched, as if he found it amusing. Zach didn’t find humiliation the least bit amusing.

  “Mr. Simms is livid. I convinced him you were salvageable for now, but Veronica’s on the fence about you. She wields almost as much power as her father does.”

  Boy, did he know that. Zach kept his distance from the woman. “It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, just like it was an accident that you toweled off the first lady’s boobs? Then there’s your feud with Harris. You’ve only been here a few months, and you’ve already gained a reputation as a troublemaker.”

  “I’m just being me.” He hated answering to anyone and being forced to behave in a certain way.

  “Things have to change, and like it or not, we have a solution.”

  Zach looked up. His throat dried up like grass during a hot Texas summer. He held his breath, waiting for the barbell to drop and his career with the Steelheads to be crushed beneath the weight of his disregard for social niceties.

  “You’re going have an image remake.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Image. You’re going to attend charm school.” HughJack grimaced as if glad it wasn’t him, and Rocky snickered behind his hand.

  “Like hell I am.” Zach sat up straight and squared his shoulders.

  “You have two choices. Charm school or be traded.”

  “Then trade me.” Zach wouldn’t play these stupid-assed games just to make the rich owner and his snobby daughter happy. It was bullshit. They signed him to play football, not waste his time on some pansy-assed thing like this.

  “You might want to reconsider when you find out what team is interested in a trade for you.”

  “Interested in me? What team?” Dread filled Zach right down to his size-fourteen feet.

  “The Marauders.” HughJack paused in his pacing and waited.

  “No. You’ve got to be kidding?” The very name Marauders struck fear in any player’s heart, especially one possibly playing in his last season.

  “There’s not a big market for linebackers of your age and salary, Zach.” Rocky shot him a sympathetic look, and Zach knew he was hosed. Even Rocky was throwing him under the bus.

  “How long do I have to go to this damned charm school?”

  “You’ll attend private sessions in the small conference room at the training facility twice a week, starting tonight at seven sharp. We’ll work around your schedule as far as games. By the way, for your graduation test, you’ll host a black-tie affair, a charity gala during our bye week in December. This homeless charity is Veronica’s baby, so learn your lessons well.”

  “A black-tie affair?” They’d lost their fucking minds.

  “Yeah, didn’t you buy a historical Victorian mansion on Queen Anne Hill?”

  “Uh, yeah, but—”

  “Perfect. We’ll hold the gala there.” With that last kick to his ass, the men stood, excusing him.

  Zach headed for the door, not happy at all. “Fine.”

  “Don’t be late. It’s bad manners.” HughJack winked at him, and Zach fought to control his middle finger. Gritting his teeth, he walked out of the office and down the hall.

  Harris lounged against the wall a few doors down, a shit-eating grin on his face. Zach itched to wipe the floor with the bastard. Instead, he pushed past him and out the front door. Harris’s laughter followed him.

  Frustrated, Zach slammed his fist into a tree trunk. The impact jarred his arm and hurt like hell. He stared at his skinned and bloody knuckles, not giving a damn.

  Like hell did he need to attend charm school. There wasn’t a thing wrong with his attitude except he didn’t have a filter. He was a football player, damn it, and a helluva good one. A defensive guy known for his toughness and try, not for his ability to make small talk. No fucking way would a stranger lecture him on the finer points of all that bullshit social crap.

  Except—

  The Marauders. League doormats. The only team perpetually worse than his old team.

  After getting into his truck, Zach rested his forehead against the steering wheel.

  He was screwed.

  Chapter 3—Charmed, I’m Sure

  Kelsie stared at the conference room door and waited for her student to arrive. She tapped her fingernails on the thick oak table, then stopped herself when she realized what she was doing.

  A lady never showed impatience or revealed her weaknesses.

  In other words, never let them see you sweat. She distracted herself by studying the pictures on the wall in front of her—several scenes taken of the celebration after the Steelheads won their first Super Bowl. She recognized Tyler Harris holding the large trophy over his head, while his cousin, Derek Ramsey, stood nearby, one arm around Rachel, his now wife, while giving the number-one sign with his free hand. She scanned the rest of the pictures, unconsciously looking for Zach. Of course, there were none. He’d signed with the team during the off-season. Maybe at the end of this season, there’d be a new photo of Zach hoisting the coveted Lombardi. She’d like that for him. She’d followed his career over the years, cheered his victories, been saddened by his defeats, because of the guilt she’d felt over her treatment of him, she supposed.

  Her stomach churned with more than just nerves. In anticipation of seeing Zach again—as much as she hated to admit it.

  She didn’t have a clue how he’d take this new twist—or maybe she did. He wouldn’t take it well, not well at all. First of all, he’d resist her tampering with his image with his typical determined stubbornness. Second, he’d be pretty darned upset to have her as his instructor.

  She wasn’t doing splits and cartwheels over working with him, either, but neither of them had much choice in the matter.

  The best thing for both of them was to let him believe she was still the same selfish bitch she’d always been. Yes, she could do this, be coldly businesslike and lead him to believe she didn’t care a bit about anything but her bottom line. Yet as far she’d come from her mean-girl past, she still owed him an apology. A big one, straight from the heart even if it wasn’t well received.

  Kelsie looked down at her dog-eared autographed copy of Mabel Fay Buchanan’s Book of Southern Charm and smiled to herself. She’d start with chapter one: “Must-Have Social Graces.”

  Call her weird, but she loved this book. Mabel Fay was like an old friend, a purveyor of common courtesy but also practical advice. Kelsie had met the woman once at a dinner in Atlanta and thoroughly enjoyed the grand old dame’s spunky charm and grace.

  She thumbed through the first chapter and wrote down notes, brimming with her old confidence. The book outlined courtesies so basic she found it hard to believe people didn’t already understand them, but not everyone had the formal upbringing she’d had, groomed from birth to be the charming wife of doctor, lawyer, or politician.

  Zach hadn’t had the advantages she had. He’d cared once about impressing her, and she’d thrown it in his face. In one moment of weakness in high school, he’d confided in her about his alcoholic mother and abusive father. That’d been when they’d still been friends, before Kelsie sold her soul to the devil to be popular. Later, she’d used that information to betray and belittle him.

  She patted herself on the back for leveraging one of the few talents she had besides shopping, cheerleading, and competing in beauty pageants. Her experience at being evaluated under a microscope would finally amount to something. Currently, that experience amounted to a full belly and a warm—though small and shabby—place to sleep.

  Just this morning Kelsie had cashed her check and rented a small room from an ancient widow who lived in a decrepit mansion not far from Steelheads headquarters. She’d left Scranton curled up on the futon that doubled as a bed. The next thing she’d done was eat an early dinner at a trendy restaurant. Maybe she’d spent a little too much, but
she had been celebrating. Soon. She’d use the Steelheads job to get her foot in the door with other sports teams and businesses in the area. But first things first, to get through this initial meeting with Zach.

  Kelsie smoothed the wrinkles out of the skirt of her tailored designer suit, the only one she’d brought with her from Texas. She rubbed her palms together and cleared her throat. She could do this. She’d stand on her own two feet, control her own life, and be successful.

  Sure, Mark had emotionally beaten her down and destroyed her self-confidence, but she was slowly gaining it back. She’d be successful, and she’d be nice doing it. Never again would she be labeled a mean girl or a selfish bitch or even a diva. Nope, from now on, people wouldn’t get so much as a glimpse of the old Kelsie. They’d see her as gracious and kind and giving.

  Except Zach. She doubted he’d be so forgiving.

  Then the door opened, and her good intentions flew over the goalposts.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Zach stopped in the doorway and stared. His mouth went dry, his body tensed, and he clenched his jaw. Anger built to detonation inside him. This could not be happening. His worst nightmare had come to pass.

  Her being here had to be Harris’s idea of a sick joke.

  Hatred, as thick and hot as molten lava, flowed through his veins. He fisted his hands, his back rigid and his jaw so tight it was close to shattering.

  “What the fuck?” He prodded himself forward and stepped into the conference room lined with pictures of the Steelheads’ two Super Bowl wins. He kicked the door shut behind him.

  Kelsie Carrington sat at the conference table, all prim, proper, and fucking-kill-a-man-with-one-pouty-look beautiful. Her sexy red lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Her beautiful face with those high cheekbones and striking features sent all the wrong message to his groin, infuriating him all the more. His dick might be ready for action, but there wasn’t going to be any action. Not now. Not ever. That train had fallen off the trestle miles ago.

  Kelsie sniffed as if she smelled something foul. “Lesson one. Four-letter words are not necessary to get your point across.” She stood and smiled at him with her cool, composed smile and held out her hand.