Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) (2 page)

“Whatever you say, Nicki.”

I opened my mouth, but then closed it right back up, deciding against the verbal lashing I was practically
itching
to give. Partially because even though this situation was atypical – for the job, not for Jordan – I needed to remain as professional as I could. But mostly?

Jordan wouldn’t give a shit anyway. I would get all riled up, and it would be nothing more than entertainment for him. It was pointless.

Instead of saying anything else, I simply lifted an eyebrow at him before I turned and left, pretending I didn’t feel his eyes on my ass on the way out.

I hummed to myself as I arranged a scoop of loose-leaf chai in the filter cup for the brewer. The sun was shining, even though it was cold out, reflecting against the clean white contours of my gourmet kitchen. I wasn’t expected at the office today. And, I’d just gotten word that one of the other players I was responsible for, a running back who was only two years out of the draft, had just signed his first endorsement deal.

Today was a good day.

The position I held in the Connecticut Kings front office, Assistant Director of Player Success, was all about making sure our players thrived, on and off the field. It was unconventional – a blend of duties from two other existing positions – but we were a team in recovery. Being more involved with our players, making sure they were well taken care of… it wasn’t just a hope, or a desire. It was an imperative that I was determined to make happen.

I was responsible for twelve of the twenty-four members of the Connecticut Kings offense. Their contracts, their impact on the team, their… success. From referring them to financial advisors to keep them from going broke, to pulling strings to get them ESPN interviews for commentator positions when they retired, to making sure their parents had prime seats, it was up to me to make sure that their off field – and sometimes on field - experience within our team was a good one.

It was difficult, and demanding, and I loved it most of the time.

Today though…I wasn’t planning to physically deal with anybody.

My assistant was in my office handling paperwork that I would sign off on tomorrow. I had a couple of phone calls scheduled, but nothing big. The heaviest lifting I planned to do today was my oversized, chevron-printed mug of chai and my e-reader, while I curled up under a blanket in front of the fire.

It’s going to be perfect.

The thought hadn’t even completely crossed my mind before the phone rang.

“Yes, Presley?” I answered for my assistant as I pulled my cup from the brewer. I used my shoulder to balance the phone against my ear as I plunged the honey dipper into the jar, and then into my cup, swirling it around to sweeten my tea.

“Where are you?!” was her panicked answer, and I frowned as I pulled the dipper from my mug, sitting it down on the saucer.

“I’m at home, as we planned nearly two weeks ago. Where
should
I be?”

“Home?” she asked, sounding genuinely shocked. “Oh. I just… I guess I would have…”

“Out with it, Presley! What the hell is going on?”

She let out a heavy sigh from the other side of the phone. “I guess you haven’t been on social media this morning…”

My heart dropped to somewhere around my belly button. “I was purposely avoiding it. What happened?”

There was a long moment where she said nothing, and then pushed out another of those sighs. “Well, apparently someone had a camera at this upscale strip club last night, and—”

“Say no more,” I droned, staring wistfully at the cup of perfectly brewed tea I wouldn’t even be able to enjoy. “I’m on my way.”

I practiced my words in my head as I marched down the hall of the Kings’ front office building. If I didn’t, I was very likely to simply fly into a cursing rage, venting every little bit of frustration that had been building this week.

Just
this week.

I wanted to exhibit poise, control, and professionalism. Something,
anything
better than devolving immediately into screams of “
What the hell is your problem?!
”

People scurried out of my way as I turned the corner that would lead to my office. I must have – accurately – looked like I was one annoyance away from committing a murder, because not a single person tried to stop me before I reached the little reception desk in front of my door, where Presley was sitting.

She was a cute girl, with big hair and honey toned skin, fresh out of college, and not yet immune to the charms of the professional football players we dealt with all day, every day. Too often, I’d stepped out of my office, wondering where my player was, only to find him grinning in Presley’s face, waxing not-that-poetic about how he could show her the time of her life.

She ate it up every time, but she also knew better than to date a player. Not
technically
against the rules, just not a good look. To her credit, she stuck to that.

“Is he in there?” I asked, even though I didn’t stop to wait for an answer. The shades were drawn over the glassed walls, so I couldn’t see inside, but my hand was already on the door handle by the time the “Yes,
but
,” had made it from her mouth.

I didn’t have time for buts.

I pushed the door open and walked inside, stopping short at the site that welcomed me.

“What the hell is your problem?!” I asked, managing to keep my voice below a scream as I closed the door.

Jordan looked up from his phone just long enough to shoot me a grin, then turned back to whatever the hell he was doing on the device. I swallowed hard, steeling myself for what was almost assuredly about to be a joke of a meeting, then walked over to my custom-mirrored desk and shoved Jordan’s feet off the top.

“Where is your agent?” I snapped, sitting down behind the desk. “He’s supposed to be here.”

Jordan still didn’t look up from his phone. “He’s not.”

“Obviously. Where is he?”

“Hell if I know. I fired him.”

I scoffed. “You can’t just up and fire your agent, Jordan. There’s a little thing called a contract…”

“Which stipulated that I could fire him when I got ready,” Jordan mumbled, tapping away on the screen. “So I did.”

“So who… who represents you now? Who is your advocate, who’s doing your PR?”

I got a shrug. “Me, I guess.”

“You?!” I laughed, because it was ridiculous, not funny. “Can you put your phone down, and talk to me please?”

“Yeah, gimme a second.”

I rolled my eyes as he kept his attention focused on the little device in his hands. One minute stretched into two.

“Jor—”

“Just a second, damn,” he said, holding up a finger to… shush me? Was he shushing me? He chuckled loudly at something on his screen, and I let out a sigh. If this was how he wanted to play it…

I reached up, pulling the pins out of the simple bun I’d pulled my hair into before I rushed out of the door. Stylish, black-rimmed glasses were tossed onto the desk, hair fluffed out and around my shoulders, and I took down enough buttons on my shirt to show off an ample peak of the deep gold, lace trimmed bra I wore underneath.

“Jordan,” I said – damn near whispered, in a breathy, sexy voice.

He immediately looked up to see me balanced on my elbows as I leaned across the desk toward him. His eyes dropped to my cleavage, then slowly raked back up to my face, and I hated that a tiny, hopefully-only-perceptible-to-me shudder ran through me. No matter what else I could say about Jordan, there was no denying that he was a gorgeous man. Deep chocolate skin, thick lips, immaculate facial hair, perfectly sculpted face, and those
damned
dimples.

I bit my lip – to seduce, and to bring myself back to reality – and leaned a little further.

“There’s something you and I
desperately
need to discuss.”

He lifted an eyebrow, his phone hanging limp and momentarily forgotten in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Well…” I leaned in a little bit further, and his gaze stuck to my breasts. “Before we start, I just need you to…
Give me this goddamn phone
,” I said, back to my normal voice, as I snatched it from his unsuspecting hands. I promptly stuck it between my breasts, because I knew he wouldn’t dare try to get it from there, and was already re-buttoning my shirt by the time he’d hopped up from his chair.

“Jordan Johnson, you sit your ass down and listen to me. Or have you forgotten that
I
am responsible for your contract?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Nicki?”

I ignored his use of that nickname. “It means, that unless you at least
try
to act like you have some damned sense when you aren’t on the field, I don’t think you’re going to be very happy with the way your negotiations go. You only have a few months left, Jordan. You want to see more money? Then I want to see this team improve.”

“Then you need to talk to these
other
motherfuckers,” Jordan snapped, pacing in front of my desk. “Just like I said two nights ago, I’m already pulling all of the offensive weight on this team. Why the fuck does everything fall to me?”

Because you’re all we have.

I knew it.

He knew it

Everybody knew it, but he was the only one who was about to say it out loud. Truth was, as much as I really did need him to clean up his act off the field, for the sake of the team’s reputation, he’d have to do something pretty horrible for me to follow through on any threats.

A video of him partying and drinking at
Arch & Point
wasn’t it.

We needed him too bad.

“Listen,” I said, carefully trying to gauge my words to not push him too far. “We are three games into the season, and we’ve only won once. Preseason, three out of four were losses.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” he muttered through his teeth.

I nodded. “I know I don’t. But I am anyway, because I need you to act like you understand that this team is floundering this season, Jordan. We aren’t looking good out there on the field, but the least we can do is look good when we’re
not
. I just pulled you out the club Sunday night, and Monday night you go
right back
. In the middle of the club popping bottles on a fucking Monday night, like you shouldn’t be down in the weight room working on that shoulder.”

“My shoulder is fine, and Tuesday is my day off.”

“Tuesdays are off days for teams who
won
the week before. Hasn’t that always been the motto? What happened to
total domination
?  You weren’t dominating on that field Sunday. You weren’t “The Flash”. You were slow, and weak.”

He sucked his teeth. “Man, fuck that noise.”

I shook my head. “No. That’s the hot take now, Jordan.
No wonder they lost, he’s partying during the season. Doesn’t alcohol make you sluggish? Didn’t he have that surgery after last season? You could tell in the performance from last game.
That’s what they’re saying now.”