Page 10 of Fashionista's Playbook

When she turned the screen my direction, I swallowed hard. He definitelywasn’tanything like anyone I’d ever known.

CHAPTER FIVE

Moriah

I bit down on my tongue to keep it from flopping out onto the counter. When Travis said we’d discuss salary, I hadn’t expected him to throw that large a number at me. I took the offer he handed me and watched his long-fingered, broad hand retreat across the dark marble.

To keep from hyperventilating or reacting like a crazy person I focused on the very first thing I saw.

Travis Madera was—gorgeous. And gigantic. But not in the crushing, mountain sort of way. The man was sculpted like a statue. A Puerto Rican god with short cropped dark hair, and shoulders as wide as a semi-truck. But he wasn’t—plump. No, his chest was flat and hard; his waist narrow enough to wear a double-breasted suit jacket perfectly. Or not. With the breadth of his shoulders, he could pull off a well-tailored dress shirt and little else. The last thought made my mouth dry up.

Stop gawking, Moriah.

My first day and I was already fantasizing about him. Not a great way to start my new career path, for sure. But…he would look great in a suit, or anything for that matter.

When my gaze traveled to his face, a slow grin spread across his lips in a way that made me want to dance in place and the flash in his eyes had heat rushing to my cheeks. He knew I’d been checking him out.

I shook my head, hid my blush behind my hair, and gestured to the room behind us, eager to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking a lot about colors in here.”

His dark eyebrows knit together as he studied me. From his earlobes, diamond studs worth more than all my jewelry put together, winked in the sunlight. To keep from salivatingover his jewelry—or him—I turned my attention to the kitchen. Dark marble, gleaming stainless steel, a large gas stove with six burners, it was a cook’s dream.

“It’s not a bad room,” his deep voice echoed a bit.

“It’s beautiful. I imagine the entire house is.” I was properly impressed. Not too much, not too little.

“Yeah, let’s do this. My weeks have a lot of down time, but I try to use it preparing for the next game. Season is anywhere from eighteen to twenty-four weeks—one week off during the regular season. I made a bunch of sponsor deals, so my schedule is going to be pretty wild. I’ll need you to keep up with that stuff, it already makes me dizzy.

“I made space in my office for you, you’ll have access to everything here.”

He nodded to the sparsely furnished living room. “You’re decorating this room.”

“I’m excited for that, Mr. Madera.” A chance to spend an insane amount of money on design of any kind? Sign me up.

“Call me Travis, and I hope you’ll have that much enthusiasm for everything else.”

I froze, stupid smile on my face, the way I did anytime I knew that something ridiculous was about to come out of my mouth. The effect, I’m sure, was jarring to Travis.

Not that he showed it. He gave me a toothy grin and turned up the stairs with a one-handed gesture for me to follow him. Easy, right? Except for the fact he dressed like he was going to the gym in thin, moisture wicking material that drew my eye to every inch of well sculpted man.

The muscles in his calves worked as I followed him up the steps. The idea was to focus on an inane part of his anatomy, so I didn’t distract myself with the more interesting parts. This man had given me a chance, a job, and a car. I was one sexual encounter away from being a kept woman.

I peered at his shoulders, down to the narrowing at his waist, and then that ass that had gotten my attention the first day.

Been there, done that.

Following Travis through that door came naturally. No other guy I’d met—not even other athletes—had ever been as comfortable in their own skin as Travis. I could genuinely like him.

“I wrote down everything I could think of…all my logins and passwords, phone numbers you may need.” He was bent over a desk in front of a wall of windows and across from a smaller desk. “You can work over there or over here, wherever you feel comfortable—both computers are synced to each other, my schedule, and all that other shit. I’m not in here much, anyway.”

The office vibe didn’t suit him, he was too big and athletic. But instead of looking large and bulky, he still moved with the same fluid ease as I imagined he did on the field. He stood, as if on cue and made his way around the corner of the desk.

“I’ll reply to some social media stuff, but most of that is on you, now. Emails—same thing. Forward all business stuff to my manager and all team correspondence to my personal account. If you run across anything you think I should see, especially about kids or foster kids, save them for me.” He caught my gaze and held it, serious. “Show me the important stuff, handle the rest. I’ll trust your judgment.”

Standing beside me, he was even larger. I don’t think I’d ever get used to being around a man who made me feel small. There was a little thrill each time I thought about that. He was tailor-made for the oversized, framed action shots of him on the walls around us.

My favorite was a recent one, Travis in the Outlaws uniform, one arm extended to shove a defender away. A football player in all his glory.

I’d spent years avoiding sports and athletes, because of Steven Holt and those traumatic high school days—going so far as discouraging Rumer for trying out of the Outlaws’ dance squad.

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