After All These Years (One Pass Away #2) (6 page)

Another woman disappointed by Gerald Preston
, Riley
thought. It was a long and varied list. They could start a club. A sad,
pathetic club.
No thanks
. With a shake of her head, she entered the
office.

“Did you enjoy that?” Riley asked the man behind the desk.

“If you choose to make a scene, that is up to you. It has
nothing to do with me.”

Her father didn’t bother to look up from the paper he was
reading. One more power play designed to make her feel small and insignificant.
Riley knew the drill. She was supposed to stammer and fuss until she was such a
bundle of nerves he could sweep her out the door with little effort.
Fat
chance
. Gerald Preston had a lot to learn about his daughter.

Riley walked to the chair opposite her father’s desk, took a
seat, and waited. She had all day. Until he properly acknowledged her, she wasn’t
saying another word.

To pass the time, she looked around the office.

It had belonged to her grandfather at one time. Almost every
day after school, Riley would join him here. She would do her homework on the
desk he had made especially for her. It sat near the wall of windows and
provided her a view of the small park to the south. He would go over team
business while she did her homework.

Her desk was long gone—as were every other physical trace of
Douglas Preston. However, the memories were strong and comforting. No amount of
redecorating could remove those.

“Riley.”

Score one for her. Proverbially, her father blinked first.

“Father.”

Again, Riley waited. She enjoyed his surprise when he took
in her appearance. Gerald would see the sleek, dark hair, the expensive dove
gray leather jacket, and tailored wool pants. Her makeup was subtle,
emphasizing her large, blue eyes.

What he didn’t see—what he refused to see—was a strong,
intelligent professional. Gone was the rag-tag college student who had haunted
the corners of the stadium. She looked like what she was. A businesswoman to be
reckoned with.

“That was quite an entrance.” Gerald removed his reading
glasses. “I had hoped your time away would have matured you. Apparently, I
hoped in vain.”

Riley smiled. Her father wanted to put her on the defensive?
He was about to find out how much she had changed.

“Logan Price.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“The Knights are going to issue him an official invitation
to next year’s training camp.”

“Ah.” Gerald sat back in his chair. The smile on his face
condescendingly familiar. “I didn’t realize Benson was such a whiney little
girl. Did he cry on your shoulder?”

“Issue the invitation,” Riley said calmly.

“No,” Gerald responded. “You have more shares, Riley. Not
more power.”

Riley smiled. Her father didn’t realize it, but he was
setting this up perfectly.

“And that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Power. The team
brings non-roster invitees into camp all the time. Normally you wouldn’t blink
an eye.”

“True,” Gerald drew out the word.

“You get pleasure from slapping people down. When it’s
someone you dislike, you revel in it.”

“I admit, there is a certain satisfaction in taking Gaige
Benson down a peg or two.” Gerald sneered. “The man has an overinflated opinion
of himself. He’s an aging quarterback on a mediocre team.”

“He’s a quarterback at the top of his game who has no
protection on his offensive line and no running game. That’s on management, not
him.”

“Logan Price won’t fix that.” Riley could tell she’d hit a
nerve.

“Draft better. That will help plug the holes on the line.
Gaige believes Logan Price is worth a look. So do I.”

“Why? You think the knee he blew out a few years ago is
magically better? He tried to come back. It didn’t work.”

“If it doesn’t work out, so what?” Riley knew her father
wasn’t going to budge. He rarely changed his mind because no one had the power
to make him. Until now.

“The board could overturn your decision.”

“They could,” Gerald conceded. “But they won’t. I have their
full support. You would only embarrass yourself if you called for a vote.”

“One of us will be embarrassed,” Riley said smoothly. “It
won’t be me.”

For the first time, Riley had Gerald’s full attention. His
blue eyes met hers. The color was one of the few things they had in common.
That and his dark hair. She had her mother’s build. She had inherited her
grandfather’s temperament and business savvy. Watching her father’s eyes narrow
with growing concern, she realized the color of their eyes really was the only
thing they shared.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.” Riley crossed her legs. The tension in
the room grew—and it all came from him. “Not that you noticed, but I graduated
from college three years ago. Did you once stop to wonder what I’ve been doing
all this time?”

“No.”

Give the man points for honesty
. Riley shook her
head. In the face of his power crumbling around him, Gerald refused to cower.
Good for him. He could stand tall as his ship sank. Right now, the water was
waist high and rising fast.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you.”

“Sarcasm?” Gerald scoffed. “Didn’t they teach you better
than that at Harvard?”

“I started my own business.” Riley ignored her father’s
taunt. “A consulting firm. In my spare time, I mentor young women who want to
be entrepreneurs.”

“Fascinating.” It was obvious Gerald wasn’t impressed.

“Between consulting and mentoring, I’m working with over
half of the board members.”

“You don’t say.” Gerald shifted in his seat.

Feeling the heat
? Riley wondered. “It’s called
networking. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term.”

“Mmm.”

“Getting their votes would have been simple. All it would
have taken was a gentle reminder that one day, in the not so distant future, I’ll
be running the team. However, that would have been the easy way out.”

“God forbid you sink to that.”

“Sarcasm? Tsk, tsk.” Riley watched the color rise on her
father’s face. “I want allies, not lackeys.”

The implication hung between them. Her father hired yes-men.
His opinion was all that counted.

“I’ve earned their respect and loyalty with hard work.”

“Money is everyone’s bottom line, Riley.”

She shrugged. “I’ve made them a lot of that, too.”

“In other words, I’m fucked.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Her father didn’t use
that kind of language often. She had broken through the final wall of
resistance. “You have two choices. Fight me. Or work with me.”

“Meaning?”

“Stay on as president of the Knights. No one has to know
about this little power play. I don’t want to run the Knights. Not yet.”

“No?” Gerald’s laugh held little humor. “Funny; that isn’t
how it feels.”

“There’s a reason Grandpa chose thirty instead of giving me
the team when I graduated from college. He knew it would become my obsession—to
the exclusion of everything else.” Riley’s expression softened. “I’ve had the
chance to build a life away from here. I’m ready to bring football back into my
life—gradually. There is still a lot I plan to do before I take over the team
full time.”

Maybe marriage. A child. She didn’t share that with her
father. Or mention the man whose face popped into her head when she thought of
who would share those things with her. No! Absolutely not. Sean McBride had no
part in her future except as a football player.

Riley was so shaken by her wayward thoughts, she missed part
of what her father was saying.

“It’s a game.” Gerald slammed his hand onto his desk,
inadvertently regaining her full attention. “He never understood that.”

“You never understood.” Riley wasn’t sure he ever would, but
she would try one last time. “After years of working for no other reason than
to make money, Grandpa finally found his passion. His job never brought him
joy. The Knights did.”

“Isn’t that sweet.” Gerald stood, turning his back to her. “I
could have ruined this team.”

“You’ve tried.” Riley resented her father’s
passive-aggressive attitude toward her and the Knights. “You’ve cut salaries.
Used your influence to make poor draft picks. If it weren’t for Gaige and—” she
choked back Sean’s name. She wasn’t giving her father that weapon to toss at
her. “Your power has never been limitless.”

“No. My father made certain of that.”

“What’s it going to be?”

They circled back to where they started. A familiar journey
with no change in the destination. She would never understand her father and he
would never try to understand her.

Stalemate.

“I stay in charge?”

“With increased input from me.” Riley couldn’t see her
father’s face, but she imagined a lot of eye rolling. “Not directly. I’ll take
my place on the board. Unless you decide to go rogue, this is the last time we
will deal one on one.”

“Go rogue.” Gerald clasped his hands behind his back. “An
interesting turn of phrase. Isn’t that what you’ve done?”

“No. I’m moving toward a foregone conclusion.”

Riley knew this was a bitter pill for her father to swallow.
It meant so many things. He was growing older. She was coming into her own.
Some parents wanted that for their children. Not Gerald Preston. Not if it was
at his expense.

“I won’t fight you.” He was pragmatic enough to understand
what was happening. He’d lost. Battle and war.

“You needn’t be so glum. We’re going to make the Knights
contenders. In five years, when you turn over the reins, this team will be a
winner and you’ll get the credit.”

Slowly, Gerald turned, his face void of emotion. As was his
voice.

“I don’t want this team to win.”

Riley could have rubbed salt in the wound. Inside, she was
doing a happy dance to end all happy dances. However, she was content with
leaving her father with one parting shot.

“You can’t stop them. Not anymore.”

SEAN WATCHED HIS date swivel her hips in rhythm to the music
blasting from the club’s hidden speakers. They were nice hips. Above
average—like the rest of her. She knew how to dance. If he recalled, the Rumba
was her specialty. Or was it Zumba? Hell, it was so loud in here he had stopped
making any effort to hear her an hour ago.

It was official. He was getting old. When a willing woman in
a skin-tight miniskirt couldn’t hold his attention, it was either the first
sign of the apocalypse, or Sean McBride’s wild days were waning. Fast.

Sean waited for the feeling of panic. Or sadness. Or, at the
very least, a few moments of bittersweet regret. When none of those emotions came,
he felt like laughing. Well, shit. Was this what becoming a mature adult felt
like? It wasn’t as bad as he had always feared.

“Want another beer?”

The barmaid’s lips brushed his ear. Even with the pounding
music, it was closer than necessary. Sean ignored the obvious come on. He didn’t
pick up women when he was already with one—not anymore.

“I’m good, thanks.”

With a shrug, she returned Sean’s smile. She cleared off the
empties from a nearby table, sent him one last hopeful look, then moved on.

“You’re slipping, son.” Pete Jacobs took a long pull from
the bottle in his hand. “Not that long ago, you would have left with the
waitress—
and
Simone.”

Pete kicked field goals and extra points for the Knights.
Some thought that meant he wasn’t a real athlete. Sean and the rest of his
teammates didn’t care what anyone said. Pete never missed. Never. That made him
all the athlete they needed.

“I’m thirty.”

Pete snorted, spitting his beer down his chin.

“What does that mean? Look at the old man. Age isn’t slowing
him down.”

Gaige Benson was thirty-eight. He had a woman in front of
him, one in back, and a couple of spares ready to take their turn. Their QB had
the moves, Sean admitted. On and off the field.

“I’ve been full out manwhoring for fifteen years,” Sean said
with a self-deprecating smile. “Gaige has paced himself. He could go for
another ten years—my motor could blow at any minute.”

Pete blinked, looked at his beer, then blinked again. “Just
to be clear, we
are
talking about sex, right?”

“Right,” Sean clinked his bottle against Pete’s.

“Good. This country boy can’t always keep up with your big
city metaphors.”

This time, it was Sean whose beer spewed across the table.
Pete loved to play up his Georgia roots. And play down his master’s degree in
English literature. One moment he was all slow-talk and cornpone, the next he
was spouting Shakespearean soliloquies.

Was there another creature as contradictory as a football
player
? Sean wondered. Even Gaige. Off the field, he was the most stable
man you could meet—ninety-nine percent of the time. Then, seemingly without
warning, a mood would hit him. Tonight was one of those times.

Sean had no idea what drove Gaige on nights like this. They
had been friends and teammates for almost eight years. The QB lent a
sympathetic ear to anyone who needed it. Yet Sean couldn’t recall him
unburdening himself. Not about anything serious.

With Sean, what you saw was what you got. Gaige appeared to
be the same way. However, his closest friends knew the truth. There were hidden
depths behind those affable green eyes. Dark. Dangerous. One saw it on the
field. During a game, Gaige was one scary motherfucker.

“I like Casanova Gaige.” Pete chuckled when the women
decided to link arms, circling Gaige with their writhing bodies. “It beats
Biker Gang Gaige any day.”

“One time,” Sean said. “And he wasn’t part of the gang.
Called one of them blubber butt.”

Who knew leather-clad men with scary tattoos were so
sensitive? The fight hadn’t lasted long. The gang were Knights’ fans. They didn’t
want Gaige busting up his hand. Each man was allowed one punch. To his
satisfaction, Gaige did a lot more damage than blubber butt.