Page 8 of Broken Play
"I had them delivered. One of my employees has a bakery as a side business."
We sit at the kitchen table built for eight, overlooking their grand gardens, complete with a boxwood-maze courtyard. I can't stop eating long enough to tell him how good it is, so instead he gets little hums of appreciation.
"So, um... some news. I bought the Austin Armadillos. It will go public later today, and I wanted to make sure youknew first."
I choke. "The football team? You don't have that kind of money, do you?" Not that I know much about football, but you can't miss all the talk on the radio and people everywhere wearing green and gold jerseys.
"I do. I sold a couple of properties in North Dakota to a Texas oil company, sold two condominium buildings in Miami, and brought on a silent partner. Are you ready for the surprise?"
I drop my fork, and it clangs against the plate. "Oh, that wasn't it? Dad, I hope you're not strapped now."
"Don't worry. I have plenty. I've worked hard for it, but this opportunity came, and you know what I always say."
He looks at me until I answer, "Don't be afraid to take a chance. One day your chances will run out."
"That's my girl." He brings his napkin to his mouth before setting it on the table. "This isn't just my chance. I want you to take the chance with me."
My forehead creases, my brows drawing toward the center. "I don't understand."
"I want you to be the general manager."
I laugh. "You're kidding, right? I know absolutely nothing about football. I've watched a handful of games in my life."
"It's about being business-oriented, athletically minded, determined, and dedicated. You're all those things," he says in a confident and paternal tone. It's like when a kid sucks at tennis and, instead of finding out what they truly love, their parents tell them how great they are. Dad grabs my hand. "This is my chance to build something with you, although I won't be around the office. The coach used to be a professional quarterback for the Armadillos but was never the same after an injury, something you know a lot about. Hewas named head coach last year. I thought we would make a great team. Coach O'Ryan, you, and me."
"Dad. I'm a tennis player."
"You're so much more than that. Life has so much to offer. Just meet Coach O'Ryan, and then you can decide. If you think he's someone you can work with, then hopefully you'll take this chance with me."
"Okay, when?"
"He'll be here any minute, so eat up."
My jaw drops open. My dad is ambushing me under the guise of working with him or of setting me up on a date with his football coach.
The doorbell rings, and Dad strides through the grand foyer to answer the door. I check to make sure there's nothing in my teeth. Dad could have told me to dress better, but no, I'm in my tennis skirt and tank top with my hair in a ponytail since I coach Gabby and Paulina in a couple of hours.
I hear the voices of two men and my dad as they stand in the entry hall, making introductions.
When my dad ushers the two men into the room to discuss that he's the football team's new owner, I do my best to look professional—poised, interested, completely calm—in tennis attire, of course. But the moment I see one of them, something electric skitters down my spine. Our eyes lock and, for a split second, the memory of dim lights, pulsing music, and the rush of a forbidden kiss takes me back to that night in Denver.
My cheeks flush, my heart taps out a frantic rhythm, and it's like there's not enough air in the room. He holds my gaze a beat longer than necessary, a twinkle lighting up his eyes, and I can't help but wonder if he remembers, too. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to focus on the conversation,every nerve buzzing and alive with the secret and the hope that he remembers, too.
They reach out their hands. The first one says, "Coach O'Ryan." He wears a wedding band.
The man making my pulse race adds, "Greyson O'Ryan, brother to this guy." He hooks his thumb, pointing to the coach. "And the new quarterback for the Austin Armadillos."
As he shakes my hand, my stomach swirls like a kite spiraling in the wind. No wedding band. This could get interesting and completely inappropriate.
FIVE
GREYSON
It's the woman from the nightclub the weekend we won the conference championship. How do I know?
I could never forget her eyes and lips. When I say her body is heavenly, it's not a lie. I mean, when we danced, I felt every smooth curve of her athletic legs, and with her arms tossed over my shoulders, I was completely entranced by her aura. That night, she didn't show her cleavage or wear a skirt that was too short. Today, it's just the opposite; she's wearing tennis gear clinging to her abdomen and chest as well as showing off thosefuck melegs.
"Gentlemen, I wanted to introduce you to my daughter, Sutton, because I'm hoping she'll run things for me as the general manager. I have so many businesses that I need someone I can trust to make good decisions. Sutton is perfect. Do you have any concerns about working with a woman?"
