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Maybe her thirties would be a decade for change. Thirty and thriving? She hoped so. Surviving took a toll on a person. So did motherhood, especially at fifteen. From the moment two pink lines appeared on a convenience store pregnancy test, Dee had embraced single motherhood, working day and night to be everything Elijah needed.
Dee remembered their morning conversation, how her boy took control of the situation, finding the solution faster than she could process their options. Did he really need her anymore? Yes, but not like he used to. In a few years, he wouldn’t need her at all. Then what? Mother had been her defining title for so long she doubted she had the ability to be more.
Unless virtual assistant counted.
Only to Booker Watson and his ever-growing mound of errands. Dee replaced her phone on the side table, refusing to worry about her footballer of a boss on her birthday. She needed to find a way to salvage the start of this new trip around the sun. If only she c—
A knock from the front door scattered her thoughts, and she scrambled to get out of bed. She stood up and immediately wished she hadn’t. Pain pulsated from the blue-black bruise, making her cry out. The banging on the door grew louder.
Part of her wondered who she’d find at the door. The other part of her knew.
Booker.
Half hopping, half dragging her injured foot along, Dee worked her way into the living room. She peered through the peep hole. The man on her doorsteps confirmed her suspicions.
Booker Watson, looking much taller and more muscular than on television, knocked again. His hair curled up at the nape in the back and fell over his dark eyebrows in the front. Thick bicep stretched the sleeves of his dry-fit shirt while a boyish smile played on his lips, making him even more handsome.
Even with a door between them, Dee’s heart rate spiked. Though the two of them had worked together every day since Booker had signed with the Miami Tritons and they had met in person on several occasions—all memorable for her—they were far from friends. Dee’s introverted ways kept her from making decent conversation. More than her lackluster social skills, though, the crush she’d tried to squash since taking the assistant position continued to plague her, heightening her awkwardness around him to epic proportions.
Booker knocked a third time, making Dee startle. Stupid, really, since she’d seen him already, but her day had gone off the rails. Why shouldn’t her reactions? Putting her weight on her good foot, she leveraged herself by leaning against an end table and opened the door.
Booker greeted her with a smile. “Hey, Dee.”
“Hello, Mr. Watson,” she said, willing her voice not to crack.
“Haven’t I told you to drop that ‘Mr.’ stuff.” He dismissed the title with a wave of his hand.
Had he? She didn’t remember if he had, but she nodded at his correction and continued. “I am truly sorry about calling in, but my ankle needs time to heal.”
“No worries. I wanted to come over to see if I could help. Sort of, return the favor for what you do for me all the time.”
“Helping you is literally my job, Booker.” Dee felt her cheeks warm while saying his name, but kept going. “I appreciate the offer, but everything here is under control. Besides, I’ve seen your schedule. I know you have plenty more to do than take care of me while I’m sidelined.”
“Ohhh.” Booker’s mossy green eyes widened. “You must not have heard the news yet.”
“You mean the fight?” Dee swallowed hard when he nodded. “I caught about the last five minutes of the report. Since you’re here, we can strategize how you want to handle the media.”
“Later. We’ve got time for that.”
Dee cocked her head slightly and he elaborated. “You must have missed the part where I’m sidelined, too. The committee ruled to suspend me for that punch on Perry.”
“Suspend you?” Pausing, Dee picked her jaw up from the floor. “From what they were saying about Perry, he should be the one sitting out. Not you.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, but the commissioner is singing a different tune. So, I’m all freed up. Except for the team meeting in the A.M. and I don’t think you’ll need me by that time.”
“No,” she answered, voice pitching as high as a wild palm tree.
Working for Booker Watson from behind a computer meant she rarely had to see him and when she did, the rest of the room made sure his attention never solely rested on her. Booker Watson working for her in the flesh with nothing to buffer her from his charm and good looks didn’t sound like a good time. Dee looked him up and down trying to figure out why on earth a professional football player like him would want to cater to her for a day. She needed help, certainly, but not from Booker Watson. Was she some sort of pet project? Boredom buster?
She didn’t know, but having zero desire to find out, she added, “I don’t need you at all.”
Chapter Three
Booker
I don’t need you at all.
The words barreled into Booker with more force than a linebacker, not leaving him stung, but rather crumpled like a balled-up sales flyer. Maybe coming to Dee’s was a bad idea. Not the first he’d had since yesterday’s practice, but the most recent.
