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“Come on, we’re already late enough as it is. If I’m going to have any chance of getting you to the Olympics, we need to show our faces.”
“You forget I couldn’t give a shit about playing in the Olympics.”
“As your agent, I advise you to give a shit. Right now you’re just a cog in the machine of your team. Getting you out there as the pioneer who brought the NFL to the world—”
Chris was already looking past me to a young woman in a navy-blue skirt. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I remember your little ra-ra speech. Global brand. Legacy. Yada yada.”
I had my hand on the door to the conference room when I noticed a small figure half jogging toward us.
Chelsea.
My dick stiffened when I thought about how I’d just been inside her, and to know the way her hair was laying funny was from when I’d taken a generous fistful. It was like a secret mark I’d left on her, and I liked the way that felt far more than was safe.
She let me open the door for her, then gave a challenging little stare as she passed me and headed into the room.
I stopped her with a hand on her arm before she could get away. Touching her seemed to make the pieces click in place—the way she’d followed me even when I was going the wrong way. The strange looks. I thought I understood, so I took a stab in the dark. “You weren’t even invited to this. Were you?”
Chelsea hesitated, then decided to lead with the stubborn edge that seemed to be her default. “No. But I just showed up with some hot shot agent and the most famous QB in the NFL. I’m guessing nobody is going to ask too many questions.”
“Like hell you did.”
She gestured toward the only three open chairs lined up at the end of the long rectangular table. A woman in business attire was standing and presenting some sort of graphic on fan attendance globally, and our entry only drew a few glances. There were about fifty people in the room, most of which were top athletes in their fields and their agents.
I wasn’t blind to my brother’s curious looks as Chelsea followed us and sat at my side, but I ignored him and the questions he was clearly dying to ask.
“What happens if I out you to the whole room?” I whispered.
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” She stared back at me, her smooth jaw flexing slightly as she was undoubtedly clenching her teeth.
“Is that all it was? A ticket to this room?” I leaned in closer, whisper yelling. I shouldn’t have felt even slightly offended, but the idea that she’d fucked me and used me felt like acid in my chest. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and I’d promised myself not to let women use me again. It pissed me off that I hadn’t seen through her soon enough.
“What we did?” She stared back at me defiantly, even as a slight shade of red splotched across her cheeks. “That was me being too stubborn for my own good. And it was a mistake. But I—”
“Shh,” a man hissed across the table from us.
“Fuck you,” I growled.
The exchange stopped the woman presenting and drew her attention toward us. “Mr. Rose. I’m glad you could join us, but if you would be so kind as to behave, we’ll be able to get through the presentation sooner.”
I spread my palms. “Be my guest. But I’d like someone to remove this woman before we continue.”
“And who is this?”
“I’m Chelsea Cross. And I—”
The director waved her hand, cutting Chelsea off. “I don’t know how you got here or why, but you can either leave on your own or I can call security.”
Chelsea folded her arms. “Security, then.”
With a sigh, the director pulled out her phone and shot me an icy look, as if this was my fault.
The whole room sat in tense silence while we waited for security.
Chris broke the quiet, leaning forward on the table to look over at Chelsea, who was sitting with a pissed off expression on her face. “The first requirement of being an athlete is having balls. And you’ve got a couple.”
I nudged him. “Don’t encourage her.”
“It’s a pun,” Chris was smirking. “You know. She’s got tennis balls in that bag, I’m assuming. And maybe you could confirm or deny if she’s got some between her legs as well. Since you two—”
I pressed my palm to his mouth. The rest of the gathered athletes and their representation were watching our little train wreck with interest by now.
“Mr. Rose. What is he talking about?”
Chelsea shrugged. “Maybe the quick sex he and I had right before this meeting. He was certainly eager to pull his dick out for me after we’d known each other a few seconds. There’s a small mole at the base of it, if you don’t believe me. I bet he’ll be happy to produce his pride and joy for you to confirm.”
