Page 11 of Fashionista's Playbook

But Travis was different from the high school wannabes like Steven. Travis’s body and skills were honed, where all Steven had was a used sports car and a pot belly now.

And Travis didn’t make a habit of humiliating others for sport.

I steadied myself with a deep breath and tucked the old memories away. Damn it, I needed this—not just the job, but the tentative confidence it was bringing me.

“Got it.” I tucked my skirt under me and sat at the smaller desk, beneath a rather cool portrait of a very young Travis breaking a tackle with a giant smile on his face.

Even young, Travis looked so different from Steven.

“College.” He stated when he caught me staring.

I flicked a glance at the adjacent wall, almost the exact shot, older with a different uniform, same thrilled expression. “Some things don’t change, it seems.”

“When you find something you like...” His eyes narrowed. “You’re going to get me into trouble, Moriah Stanhope.”

Then he turned with a shake of his head, his playful chuckle following him from the room.

What’s happening, Jersey Chasers? Anybody make the trip to check our guys out? A few of our jersey chasing sisters, though, might have been living it up at the home of the tightest tight ends with his rather messy older brother. Be on the lookout for that one, ladies. If you like ‘em a little dangerous, good looks definitely run in the family.

However, this podcast host would have to agree with team management. The crowd that spent the weekend at the tightest tight end’s mansion home doesn’t shine a great light on theteam. Coach Caley and the man upstairs have made it very clear that this time is going to be different… but did the players get the memo?

CHAPTER SIX

Travis

Getting called into Linc’s office usually didn’t feel like being summoned by the principal. When the head coach sat across from him and the team’s owner stood gazing out the window—it was worse than that.

I paused in the doorway, letting that painfully familiar rush of fear roll over me. It had been more than fifteen years since my parents died—since I’d walked into the school office, the uniformed police officer and my principal gazing at me with pitying, sad eyes.

“What’s up?” I managed to keep the brittle edge from my voice.

“Have a seat.” Linc gestured to the chair beside Jason Caley, the young head coach with even more to prove than me.

Linc steepled his long fingers and exchanged a glance with Jason. “In your contract, we put in some pretty stiff stipulations. Convincing the Yates family to sign you was a matter that required contingencies.”

My body tensed, the way it always did. Never flight—always fight. Especially when I’d done everything they required me to do. “I hired an assistant, Linc.”

“That’s not why we’re here.” Robert Yates said from behind me, near the back window of the office. “Care to explain why the cops were at your house this weekend?”

“What?” I straightened. I’d been at the game, just like the rest of the team.

“It’s not you we’re worried about, Travis. Never has been. But the fact that you didn’t even know…” Linc trailed off, the coldness in his eyes was what he wasn’t saying.

“I can handle Vincent.” The anger that rippled in my voice was fueled by a loyalty that none of the men in the room could understand. My hands were tied here—no matter how much I wished they weren’t.

But Lincoln Mercer knew what Caley and Yates didn’t know.

“Can you?” Yates moved around the office, like a fighter around the ring. The man had come from nothing, clawed his way to the top of a tech boom before I’d been born, and he was Texas royalty nowadays. He was so respected in the state his last name might as well have been Bush. “That type of story isn’t the press we expect around here.”

“And not reflective of the culture we are building.” Caley added with quiet authority.

I gripped the arms of the chair to keep from shooting to my feet.This was bullshit.

I’d only ever done one thing wrong, one moment I couldn’t take back. No drugs. No guns. Nothing illegal since. I’d put that bad decision in the rearview—but Vin hadn’t, couldn’t. “That would be a waste of time and resources for a noise complaint. Should I call my lawyer?”

Linc turned to Yates and rolled his eyes with a dramatic flair. Considering the men in the room, I almost laughed.

“No one is going to raid Travis Madera over a house party for fuck’s sake.” He kicked back in his chair.

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