Page 5 of Fashionista's Playbook

“What’s it gonna hurt to call your boss and ask?” Madera spoke directly to the repo-guy.

There was a guy with him, a head shorter, with the shadow of a beard, but otherwise he and Great Ass could be twins. He strolled around the truck, lollipop stick dangling from his mouth, and inspected the car.

The repo-guy huffed and pulled out a cellphone.

“You okay?” Great Ass turned his full attention to me.

There was something about Madera’s eyes, they made me feel safe. “Utterly humiliated but fine. I mean, at this point, nothing could go worse than my car being repo’d in front of a hot rich guy after I sold the only thing my grandfather left for me when he died.” I snapped my lips shut before I could babble more, closed my eyes, and pressed my fingertips against the lids. “I didn’t mean to say all that.”

“I get it, more than you can believe.”

The repo-guy’s phone conversation grew more heated. “I cannot repo this lady’s car with Travis fucking Madera standing right here. Yeah,theTravis Madera. The player whose brother st—”

Something shifted on Madera’s face, hardened, and cut the repo guy off before he finished his sentence.

Travis Madera.Great Ass’s name had a familiar ring to it.

“Tell them I’ll buy the whole damn car if you set it down right now.”

“You can’t do that.” I balked and grabbed him by the shoulder. There were men who had nice, sculpted arms and then there was Travis Madera. I dropped my hand to his upper arm and forgot what I was going to say. The muscle there was rock hard. I wasn’t skinny, but I had little doubt he could scoop me up with minimal effort.

The idea of it was so impressively hot, it rattled me.

“And you wouldn’t want to, Bro.” His friend walked back around, made a pained expression, and pulled the lollipop fromhis mouth. “Dude just totally wrecked the frame—twisted it all up. Like this shit was his first tow.”

My heart sank all the way to my second-hand Jimmy Choo’s. “That’s my car,” I squeaked. And if I was going to limp home, wounded and broke, I had to have a car to do it.

Apologetic and pale, the tow truck driver lifted a hand and let it fall like he couldn’t figure out how to use it. “I can let her get her stuff out of it, but they want the vehicle back. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t fight the tears now, but I lifted my chin—ignoring the two attractive men standing with me—and opened the trunk, pulling out the portable file system that cataloged my designs, my leather portfolio, and planner.

On the sidewalk surrounded by the contents of my vehicle, I fumbled on my smart phone to find my ride share app. Travis Madera loomed over me, the sunset casting his shadow over my phone screen. Travis. The name suited the large, tatted up guy, with the innocent smile and dark eyes.

His brother—had to be, they looked so alike—wheeled a white Range Rover into the spot my car had occupied.

“You always this organized?” Travis nodded at my belongings.

Flustered, I answered him with flared nostrils and a restless tap of my foot. “Yes. I like for things to run smoothly.”

“You good with computers, emails, administrative shit?”

I tensed and narrowed my gaze. “This is weird small talk, but yes.”

“Want a job?”

I hiccupped a laugh and made an attempt to hide it behind my hand. Giggling and crying would be a little too close to hysteria. A guy with that much money, offering me a job on the curb at a shopping mall?What kind of woman does he think I am?

He must have read that thought on my face. “I’m completely serious and legitimate. I play football. My GM and coaches want me to hire a personal assistant.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw and grimaced. “The ones they chose that I interviewed were—not going to work so I told them I’d find my own.”

No longer laughing and the tears drying, I opened my mouth to respond that this was the most ludicrous experience of my life, but nothing came out. Everything happening to me today was probably a fever induced dream, and any minute, I would wake up in my bed at the apartment.

I blinked a few times, and he was still there, towering over me and watching me as if I held the answers to all his problems. And while the sincerity on his face made me not want to disappoint him, I was a fashion designer.

“I need a PA, and you need a job.” He gestured between us like it made perfect sense.

“He’s solid,” the guy in the driver’s seat of the Range called out. “Google him, so we can go before he draws a fucking crowd.”

“I wouldn’t know how to do the first thing—”

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