Page 21 of Out of Bounds

“Six? Damn, girl,” Cowboy said.

“Pubs are never a bad idea,” Gunnar tossed out.

“Yes, six. Including Bunz—”

“Wait, Bunz?” Jonah asked, looking at her like he didn’t believe a word she was saying.

“Yes, Bunz. It's a brand-new sports bar—”

“Bunz,” Jonah repeated, cutting her off again. Frustration started to boil inside her, but she reminded herself to stay calm. Lashing out at Jonah was not going to get her anywhere. “Isn’t that Heather Atwell’s new place?”

“Yes, she just opened it a couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m not sure it’s the best idea to associate with her and that…demographic,” he chided.

“That demographic?” Felicity asked. He did not just say that. “You mean local, women-owned businesses? Because, yes, I think that’s a fantastic demographic to target.”

“You’re wrong, Felicity. Heather and her clientele are not who we should be marketing to,” he said. “This is sports—our target market is men. We should be focusing on sponsors that men will recognize and identify with.”

“Pretty sure pubs are something men identify with,” Gunnar commented, glaring at Jonah. Felicity silently wished that glare was in defense of her, rather than just him taking offense to the comment itself.

“The pub partnership would cater to men and women, thank you,” she jabbed back. “And for your information, women are an incredibly underserved market in sports. Having sponsors that appeal to them would set us apart.”

“It’s cute how you women always stick up for each other, but please, let the real professionals handle this,” Jonah said, narrowing his eyes at her.

She swallowed hard, digesting his words. He’d known exactly what he was insinuating with that comment—that she had no place at this table. That she hadn’t earned her job and that there was no way she could ever handle the role of being president. The fact that her brother hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t defended her…well, that told her everything she needed to know. Southland Holdings was still just as much of an old boys’ club as it had ever been.

“I’ve been in contact with a number of national brands that I think would be a great fit,” Jonah started, his words slowly starting to fade into the background. Looking around the table, all three men were actively listening to whatever crap Jonah was spouting, her idea totally forgotten.

Felicity sat back in her chair, resigned to the fact that nothing she said would be heard for the rest of this meeting. It didn’t seem to matter what she did, there never seemed to be a place for her at the table. She had really been hoping that with Dalton at the helm that maybe, just maybe, that would change. That the old, patriarchal attitude would end with their father. Apparently not.

Looking up, her eyes briefly met Gunnar’s. His deep, soulful brown eyes looked at her differently than they had before, almost as if he were trying to see what she was thinking. She quickly turned her gaze toward her brother, trying to focus on anything other than the beautiful man across the table from her. It was bad enough that she felt like complete shit at the moment; she didn’t need him trying to read it across her face.

Right about now there was only one thing that was going to stop the hurt inside her. A drink.

* * *

When Dalton had invited him to sit in on the sponsorship meeting, telling him he’d love his insights from his time as an academy director, Gunnar had been honored. While the business side of things had never been his true love—that had always been being on the pitch and being one with the game—it was nice to know that his new boss recognized that he had a variety of knowledge. Had he realized that the meeting was going to all but suck the life out of him, he would have turned the boss man down.

After finally escaping the meeting, where it seemed like all they had done was listen to Jonah drone on and on about God only knew what, Gunnar had been beyond thrilled to hit the pitch with his team. The fresh air, the smell of the grass, and the sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was just what he had needed. He spent the rest of the afternoon working with the defense while Cullen focused on the offense, running drills and testing out each guy one on one, leaving everyone exhausted by the end of the day.

Walking into the hotel bar that evening, he wanted a drink so bad he could taste it. After so many years in Ireland he’d become rather particular about his whisky, however he was starting to embrace the American stuff, particularly Kentucky bourbon, enjoying the process of finding his new go-to brand. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. All the way down, at the far end of the bar, was a stunning, tall, leggy blonde, sitting by herself.

Felicity.

Gunnar couldn’t help himself, sauntering toward her like some cocky teenager, feeling like a magnet was drawing him to her. The mostly empty martini glass in front of her told him that she’d been here for a while, the pissed off look on her face certainly aided by the content of her drink.

“What the fuck do you want?” she asked, turning to look away from him as he sat in the seat next to her.

“Just getting a drink. What are you doing here?” he asked in return.

“Nothing.”

Nothing? This was not the Felicity he’d come to know. The one he knew was already ready with some kind of jab or comeback, armed to the teeth with just the right thing to say. In a weird way, he’d come to enjoy their verbal sparring. He was not prepared for “nothing.”

“How many of those have you had?” he asked, nodding at the martini glass. Not that she was looking at him to see the gesture. The bartender discreetly held up four fingers, giving Gunnar a look that told him she might need to slow down.

“What the fuck does it matter to you?” she snapped, whipping around and looking at him. Her eyes were glassy, but not because of the alcohol. This was a look he knew. Red, puffy eyes, combined with four martinis, meant only one thing—Felicity was upset about something.