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Shoving my hands into my pockets, I force my feet to stay still while my father continues. “Quite frankly, you’re lucky we gave you until now before we asked for more from you. We wanted to give you time to find your bearings on the team. You’ve got Max to thank for that. I was ready to start counter-attacking the narrative months ago.”
As calmly as I can, I push, “Thank you,” from my lips and wait to be dismissed.
Lucky for me, his phone rings just then. Max turns to me as Dad sits back down. “Guess we’re done here.” We both head for the door. “Don’t let Scarlet intimidate you. She’s a bit of a ballbuster.”
“Yeah? Does she want to go to the Union League with me Saturday night?” I shove my hands in my jeans as we walk along the hallway.
“Nice try. She’s already going. My family goes each year. Before my father died last year, he was a huge supporter of local politics. It’s not that bad, Declan. We just need a few photo ops. An in-depth interview. Something to get the press to stop talking about the fact your father drafted you and my father died fucking a wannabe celebrity while his pregnant wife, who happens to be younger than most of my siblings, was sitting at home.” Max pinches the bridge of his nose. “Drafting you was the right move. You were the best quarterback. But we’ve got to change the damn narrative now.”
We take the elevator up to the next floor. When the doors open, Max grins. “This is your stop. See ya Saturday.”
An hour later, I’ve lost the fight with the tension headache that’s been building all morning, and I’m ready for this meeting to be over.
“I’ll have an outline of everything we discussed sent over to you today, Dec. Take a deep breath. My team will get you through this.”
Scarlet reaches out and grips my hand with a stronger handshake than most men.
“Thanks, Scarlet. I appreciate your help. See you later.”
I wait until I get into my truck to pull my phone out of my pocket and call my sister. She answers after one ring.
“Hey, hey, big brother. Miss me already?” she chuckles.
“Not much. What are you up to, kid?”
I hear paper moving in the background. “I’m just sketching something I’m working on for my art class. What’s up?”
Looking out over the mostly empty parking lot of the stadium, I breathe deeply before answering. “I need a favor.”
“Anything for you. You know that.” We’ll see if she still feels that way after she hears the favor.
“I need you to give me Annabelle’s phone number.” There. That wasn’t so hard.
Nattie squeals into the phone like she did when Mom gave her backstage passes to see One Direction a few years ago. “It’s about damn time, Dec! Took you long enough.” Annabelle owns the dance studio where Nat teaches. She’s a few years older than Nattie, but Annabelle and her brother Tommy are close with Nattie and her friends, and my dad treats them like family.
“Cool it, kid. I just need her number to ask her for a favor. No need for the excitement.” Even as I tell her that, I know it’s a lie. This girl has made my head spin every time I’ve seen her since the day last spring when I landed in Philly. My brother, Cooper, picked me up at the airport and drove me to Dad’s house. Cooper, Nattie, and their friends were barbecuing in the back yard, and there, on a teak chaise lounge, sat Annabelle Hart. Light purple plaid bikini, caramel-colored hair held back with a matching purple headband, emerald-green eyes, and the prettiest smile I’d ever seen.
I hear Nattie pout through the phone. “Whatever. You can lie to yourself if you want, but I don’t buy it. What’s the favor?”
“Nat.” I grind my teeth. I’ve kept my cool throughout this shit show of a day. I’m not about to lose it on my sister, no matter how close I am right now.
“Nope. Not getting it unless you spill the deets. What’s the favor, Dec?”
I close my eyes and rest my head against the headrest. “I’m being forced to go to an event this weekend and was informed that I need a media-appropriate date. I don’t know anyone in this town. I thought maybe Annabelle would do me a solid and go with me.”
Hands clapping echo through the line. “Perfect. Okay then. I’ll text you her number.” I hear a door shut, and what sounds like her hand covering the phone before whispered words are exchanged and... What the hell? Was that a moan?
“Nattie...” I wait for her to answer.
Nothing.
Speaking louder this time, I try again, “Natalie!”
“Oops. Sorry, Dec. Brady just got home. I’ve got to go. I’ll text you later.” The call ends, and I try not to think about what would have had my sister making that noise.
After a quick glance down at the card Scarlet gave me, I’m plugging an address into the GPS.
I guess it’s time to get a tux.
