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“Well, yeah, but there’s a box for players’ friends. B
ri’ll be there.”
I hesitated. Part of me couldn’t fathom trading a chance for a job for anything. Then again, this meeting didn’t guarantee Gretchen’s interest.
And I really wanted to see Ryan.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and ducked my head. “Maybe I can reschedule.”
When I peeked at him, his intense, straight gaze startled me. “What?”
“Nothing.” He immediately focused on the tree behind me. His words came out quickly. “I’d be really glad. If you came.”
I nodded, and then also rushed my words out into the strange moment. “I’m really sorry about last time.”
Our eyes connected, and warmth unfurled inside me. “I’m only sorry about how it ended,” he said.
My cheeks heated. “Me, too.” And then, before the butterflies carried me away, I flashed a grin and headed back to the others.
Chapter Eighteen
I couldn’t reschedule.
Alexandra Wilson sounded sorry but firm. She had a brunch on Sunday morning, which she seemed utterly unable to change.
But I had a plan. Alexandra had booked a suite at the Easton Hotel, overlooking the river and the Leopard Stadium. I could meet with her for an hour or two, and still manage to get over to the stadium by the time the game ended. That wouldn’t be ridiculous, right?
Okay, it would probably be ridiculous if I followed Bri to meet everyone at the end after not watching the game, but I was determined to try.
I met Alexandra in the Easton’s lobby at four o’clock, just as the game started a handful of blocks away. I played it safe in a black skirt and high-necked, sleeveless blue blouse. My kitten heels clicked reassuringly against the marble floor, and the sound of belonging almost made me believe the emotion.
A domed ceiling rose above the slick floors of the Easton’s lobby, but unlike the echoing, enclosed public spaces mid-town, this rotunda felt more like the Pantheon than a food court. Along one curved wall, hotel employees in green and black lined up behind a row of grey quartz counters. Uniformed men with small caps pushed silver trolleys loaded with expensive luggage. The guests milling about looked prosperous and well heeled, like the economy was merely a nightmare used to scare children into business school.
I scanned for likely Alexandras, nerves kicking a jig in my belly. She had described herself as very tall with straight blond hair, and I was doing my best not to feel intimidated. What kind of person stayed at the Easton rather than crashing with a friend?
Oh, right. A proper adult.
To the left, a blonde sat in an armchair, but lines crossed her face and white streaked her hair. Another stood by the elevator, wrapped in a fur coat, but she couldn’t be more than five six I swiveled around. Maybe Alexandra hadn’t arrived yet?
No—there, standing at the back of the lobby, frowning down at her cell, stood a tall, willowy woman, a perfect hanger for runway fashions. She’d pulled her fine pale hair back into a tight chignon, and her face had drawn together like a thundercloud. Dressed in a pencil skirt and blazer, she resembled any number of the businesswomen filling the lobby.
I took a deep breath and crossed the floor, making sure my shoulders were back and my back straight. “Hi—Alexandra? I’m Rachael.”
She looked up and the scowl dropped away, replaced by an astonishingly pretty smile. She couldn’t have been much older than me. “Alexa’s fine. Shall we go to the café?”
I agreed, even though adding caffeine to my jitters wouldn’t be a good idea. You are professional, I told myself. You know what you’re talking about.
And since I did, that reassured me. Besides, it was possible she was just as nervous as I was.
With that in mind, I tried to make small talk after we ordered our pastries and drinks. The café opened into the lobby, and our seats were right along the edge. For a moment I watched the constant stream in and out, and then I focused on Alexa. “So, what brings you to New York?”
Her mouth tightened again and her pale lashes swept down. Embarrassment flooded through me. I’d just been trying to make her comfortable before jumping right into book-ese, but maybe that was unprofessional?
“Family matters,” she finally said. “I’m meeting my father.”
Instead of shutting up, I continued babbling. “That’s great! Does he live here?”
“Yes. He does.”
