Page 3 of Fashionista's Playbook

“I’ve wasted the entire day on this shit, Linc. Is it necessary?” My voice echoed through the cavernous space as I stopped long enough to glare down at the screen of the iPad.

Leaning back in his desk chair on the other side of the video conference, Lincoln Mercer tossed a football up in the air and caught it. “Part of the deal, Travis my man. You hire a personal assistant, and I don’t have to worry about you.”

The urge to sneer was so strong my lip vibrated with it. I’d spent the better part of five seasons proving I wasn’t the screw up the media made me out to be—no matter what some ignorant podcast said. Of all people, the Texas Outlaws’ General Manager should know my head was firmly in the game.

Even if Vincent was living with me again. People gave my brother a hard time because he’dservedtime. It was bullshit.

“I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

Linc got the ball again, this time in a quarterback’s grip, like he once was. “I always had a thing for Mary Poppins as a kid.”

Six interviews already today and not a damn one of them even close to that. “Ain’t none of these ladies gonna be feeding me spoonsful of sugar. One kept looking at me like I was a tattooed convict and another practically turned into a squealing fangirl every time I asked a question—she’d end up sniffing my boxers or something.”

When the other man laughed, I cracked a grin. Linc was a friend—before he’d ever been my boss, he’d been there.

“A PA isn’t a babysitter, that’s your leech of a manager’s job. Just someone to help you get your shit together while you focus on the game.” He gestured to the empty space and white walls behind me. “Maybe even help you get some furniture in that Mc-Mansion of yours.”

Fair point.The only thing I’d brought with me from Boston had been the bedroom set and the game room. “I had the gym installed last week.”

“We have state-of-the-art facilities here, and a top-notch training staff you should be utilizing. This is why you need a PA, to get your priorities in order.”

“Always too many people there, brother. Trainers up my ass, coaches. Come by, hit some weights with me, we’ll see about state of the art.” I prowled again, unable to ever sit back and wait. The few seconds between the huddle and the snap were some of the longest in my life.

My next interview would be here any minute.

Linc leaned forward and put down the ball, going off camera. There were muffled voices then the sound of a door closing. When he came back, his usually calm face was twisted with the obvious signs of annoyance. “I heavily recommend you hire someone,today, Travis. We need you focused on the game. I’ve got some media fires to put out—make it happen.”

As the screen went blank, a notification popped up, and I immediately buzzed my next appointment through the gate. The non-profit I’d been working on would need more from me, or from someone as a stand in—maybe a PA wasn’t such a bad idea.

But I wasn’t about to hire someone the team or my manager, sent my way.

I was too fucking old for nursery rhymes and babysitters.

CHAPTER TWO

Moriah

Checking out guys’ asses at jewelry stores wasn’t something I did often. But this ass was possibly the best looking I’d ever seen. High and plump. Even the nondescript, gray joggers clung to the muscular aspect.

On first glance, the sweats were out of place here. But the cut, the quality of material, all screamed money.

And I wasn’t the only one noticing. Though the big guy in the ill-fitting suit on the other side of the store probably wasn’t checking out the same thing. He was, however, glancing from Great Ass to his phone screen and back again before texting furiously.

Great Ass turned quickly, and I was confronted with a wall of muscular chest. At almost five feet, ten inches I’m not short, but he was tall, huge, andhot.

Wow.

The smile his lips slid into lit his dark eyes, half-hidden by a ball-cap. He nodded to the watch in my hand. “Nice.”

I glanced down at the antique piece. It was beautiful. My grandfather had left it to me. This was the only real jewelry he’d ever owned and selling it hurt more than I cared to admit. Almost as much as losing him.

“Thank you, but I think it’s time to move on.” The certainty I tried to portray didn’t quite make it to my voice. Not sure whether it was the heartache or the way he watched me.

There was definite interest in his eyes. I didn’t quite know what to do with it, considering guys like that never gave a plus-sized woman like me a second glance.

Unless they were drunk or had an ulterior motive. That thought made my stomach roll, and I stepped away as the youngclerk nearly tripped over himself to show the guy a designer watch. “This one, Mr. Madera is…” The gentleman went on to describe the watch but all I heard was that it was new, pricey, and cheaply made.

Mr. Madera.The name didn’t fit a ripped guy with full sleaves of tattoos.Daddy, maybe.

---