The Deal with Love (One on One) (8 page)

“I do, but it doesn’t matter what the exact truth is. What I do know is I still can’t get Barnes or Drew to take me seriously.”

Christian took a seat in front of her. “Why do you think they won’t talk to you?”

She tossed the pen on the desk. “Because I’m a woman. Because he doesn’t think I’m serious about the job. Because he thinks I’m here on a temporary basis. One or all of the above. I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ve known Drew for a long time, and I’ve never known him to be a jerk. I don’t think any of those reasons would bother him.”

Elise shrugged. “I don’t know. All I do know is that it’s frustrating, and I can’t sign a player if I can’t even get my foot in the door.” She gripped the desk between her hands, the hard, metal edges pressing into her palms. Pride would get her nowhere if she didn’t get the job done. If she didn’t sign the player she most wanted to sign and prove all the naysayers wrong. Left with no choice, she said the words that were the hardest for her to say. “I need help.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll call Drew and see what’s going on. I’ll tell him he’s your number-one free-agent priority and that you want a face-to-face meeting with him.”

For some reason, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe it was stress relief. But more likely it was because this man continued to show how good he was when he didn’t have to do so. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll give it my best shot. I know it wasn’t easy for you to ask.”

She wanted to hug him. But that would be really bad and lead to things that didn’t need to be led to. She couldn’t use the excuse that it was late at night and no one else was in the building. So she stayed behind her desk, clasped her hands together, and said, “Thank you for understanding. And could you do it right away? I’m getting a little anxious.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I can do that. If…”

She jerked in the chair. She didn’t like the tone that had crept into his voice. “If what?”

He settled back in his chair, his self-satisfied expression sending a clear message that she probably wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “In return for me helping you out, I want you to help me out.”

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Her chin lifted. She was in no position to say no, but she refused to be a pushover. Everyone always said she was a master negotiator. “What do you want?”

“In exchange for me calling Drew, I want you to do some one-on-one interview sessions with me in which you hold nothing back.”

She picked up the pen and gripped it tightly between her hands. Why was he asking this of her? Dumb question. Because he could. Because he wasn’t satisfied with the trite answers she’d given him. Because he wanted to delve deep into her psyche, something she was never comfortable letting anyone do. Because she wanted to sign Drew Newsome more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, and he knew it.

He left her no choice. She, the master negotiator, had met her match. Elise boldly met his gaze. “Okay. Have it your way.”

His gorgeous lips stretched wide. “I plan to.”

Chapter Eight

“Are you ready to do this?” Christian asked.

Elise tucked a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear. “No, not really.” He just looked at her. Clearing her throat, she straightened in her chair. “But this is part of the deal, so let’s do it.”

She was a woman of her word, after all. Besides, after that scene in the restaurant, it was crystal clear she needed to be more open if she wanted to win over the fans. Fans would always question a GM’s moves, but if she could get them on her side from the get-go with her enthusiasm, that would make her life easier.

He smiled that heartbreaking smile that made her tingle in places that didn’t need to tingle. She wasn’t looking for anything serious with a guy her dad had picked out. She wasn’t looking for anything period. She was in control of her life. If she didn’t want to get involved, she was not going to get involved.

“Don’t fidget.”

“I’m not.” She wasn’t, unless you counted wriggling in her seat and patting her hair to catch other stray strands. Okay, she was fidgeting. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Just press play.”

He chuckled, but did as she commanded. “Elise, you were recently named GM when Jim Michaels retired after fulfilling his mission to win an NBA championship. How did you find out you were going to be the new GM?”

“My father called me into his office, but that’s not unusual, so I wasn’t expecting to hear life-changing news. He told me about Jim, said he wanted to fill the position quickly because the draft was coming, and I was the obvious candidate.”

“How did you feel when he told you the news?”

Recalling that day caused the same excitement to surge through her veins. She couldn’t stop a huge smile from spreading across her face. “I was ecstatic. Stunned because my father had given no indication that he was about to make a decision, but ecstatic nevertheless.”

“What do you say to those who don’t believe you have the qualifications to be the general manager of a professional sports team?”

Her first inclination was to give her standard answer—that she wasn’t concerned about those people, that she didn’t notice them—but, no, that was crap. “It bothers me.”

For the first time, she’d spoken the truth out loud, and it felt terrific. And gave her the strength to continue. “I’ve been preparing for this moment my entire life. I’ve always wanted to be a GM. I like being in control. I love sports. I love basketball. I have the credentials. So it makes perfect sense for me to do this job.”

“Still some say you only got the job because of who your father is.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “That’s probably true.” She held up a hand. “Actually, it is true, because women aren’t allowed to be general managers. We’re not allowed because we’re women and not because we can’t do the job. That sucks. Nepotism will always bother people, but no one would bat an eyelash if I were male and had my credentials.”

“You think that’s the only problem people have with you as general manager?”

“No. Another argument that some like to make is that men play professional basketball. But how many GMs actually played in the NBA? A few did, but most didn’t. Being born with a penis does not give you a better innate understanding of how the game of basketball is played.”

Christian coughed. Her eyebrows rose. “Was that too blunt for you?”

“No, no, I appreciate it,” he said, grinning. “Honesty is what I wanted. That brings me to my next question. Why do you work as hard as you do?”

“I love trying to solve problems. Putting together a team is like putting together a puzzle. All the pieces have to fit exactly right, but the really hard part is having to go searching for some of the pieces because they didn’t all come in the box.” She grinned. “I welcome the challenge to outthink and outfox my counterparts across the league.”

“Is that all?”

She shook her head. “Work doesn’t let you down. It’s always there. It’s not going to disappear.”

Christian studied her for a few seconds before speaking. “Do you get scared that you won’t succeed?”

Suddenly, the words didn’t come so easily. She’d gravitated toward this job because it didn’t value vulnerability or uncertainty. “Succeed or be fired” was the motto of a general manager. Assess a situation and act confidently.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can be honest with me.”

She believed him. He was that kind of person. He had her back. He would never use what she said against her. That realization stunned her. And allowed her to open up like she never had before. “Yes, I get scared. There’s no guarantee of success. I don’t want decisions that I make to cause the team to fail. The players work so hard. The coaches. The training staff. Everyone in this organization does, and I have to make sure I’m working as hard as they are. I don’t want to screw it up.” She shrugged. “But I’m scared that I will. This is my first time being the boss, and there’s no guarantee that everything will turn out the way I want.”

She’d never voiced those fears aloud. But she felt lighter. More centered.

He stepped away from the camera and met her gaze. “Being afraid is normal. Everyone feels that way at some point. You’re right. Nothing in life is guaranteed. We can only do the best that we can, cross our fingers, and hope the decisions we make are the right ones.”

“Thank you,” she said simply. “That means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

The closeness she feared, the closeness she was so determined not to allow to happen was happening, and she didn’t know how to stop it. The moment stretched as they looked deep into each other’s eyes. But she had to.

…

Later that afternoon, Christian packed his equipment. “Today was great. Why don’t we continue things at your place?”

On the way to her desk, Elise froze mid-step, then spun to face him, her eyes opened wide. “What did you say?”

“We should continue filming at your place.” He would not be offended by the look of horror on her face.

“
You
want to come to my house?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, to get a sense of who you are outside of work.”

“You want to
come
to my house.”

“Yes, I believe I expressed that sentiment about five seconds ago.”

“You want to come to
my
house.”

Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head to the side. “Why do you keep repeating yourself and emphasizing different words?”

“Because I’m trying to make sure each word means what I think it means.” The “duh” was unspoken.

He couldn’t stop himself from cracking up. “I’m pretty sure they do.”

She didn’t appreciate his laughter. Not if her narrowed eyes and scowl were any indication. “Is this your roundabout way of proposing a booty call?”

Christian moved closer to her because he couldn’t stop himself any longer. He was only a man. Keeping his distance while filming was tough enough. Fighting the urge to release her hair from the stupid bun she kept it in and bury his face in the fragrant strands was harder. Listening to that voice that could make a dead man hard even more difficult. He did all that while still maintaining his focus.

He deserved a gold medal, damn it. Time to get really real.

He lowered his head. “I thought I’d made it clear,” he whispered against her ear and smiled at her swift inhalation of breath. “I’m direct. I say what I mean.” He stepped back. “Remember, you promised to be more transparent. People would love to see you outside of the office. It’ll be a nice touch to the piece.”

She glared. “No funny business?”

He held up his palms. “No funny business.”

Unless she started it. Then he might be obliged to finish it. And he always finished, his conviction to stay away from her be damned.

…

Elise glanced over her shoulder. Thanks to her home’s open-floor plan, she had a direct view of Christian in her living room from her spot in her kitchen. Christian was here. The guy her father was determined to match her up with. The guy who managed to break her focus when no one broke her focus. He was in
her
living room. Sitting on her sofa. Close enough to touch. Close enough to push back on the aforementioned sofa and have her wicked way with him.

Why had she agreed to this? She made a face. Oh, yeah. Transparency.

Like you weren’t looking for an excuse to get him alone
. No. Except yes. Didn’t matter. Mind over matter. Yeah, that sounded good. She was strong. He hadn’t propositioned her. He’d said straight out that he hadn’t invited himself over for sex. So why was her skin buzzing with excitement?

“Elise?”

She whirled around. He stood at the kitchen’s entrance, watching her curiously. “Everything okay in here?”

“Umm, yeah.” She’d come into the kitchen to get drinks. She grabbed the Coke he’d requested and a bottle of water for herself out of the refrigerator. “Here you go.” She handed him the can and tried to ignore the spark of electricity that danced along her flesh when their fingers brushed against each other.

“Thanks,” he said. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks,” she said. The four-bedroom house was too big for one person, but she’d bought it more as an investment and because of the added security that came with living in a gated community, something her father had insisted on.

She watched way too intently as he popped the top on the can and took a swig of soda. She needed to get a grip. A guy drinking a soda was not sexy.
Except when Christian did it
.

He lowered the can and eyed her. “What?”

“Want a tour?” she asked. Honesty wasn’t always the best policy.

“Sure. Let me get the camera.”

She followed him into the living room and hooked up the mic pack he handed her.

“I’m ready,” he said. She turned. He was standing directly behind her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to take that video camera out of his hands and do fun, naughty things to him.

He lowered the camera. “Elise?”

“Umm, yeah, let’s get started. I’m not sure how interesting this will be for people,” she said, sweeping her arm out, “but this is my living room. Pretty standard. Couch, loveseat, TV on the wall. A couple of bookshelves.” She tried to sound normal, like she was showing a friend around.

“Way to entice people to watch,” he said, his tone amused. “Show me your workspace.”

“Okay.” She took a step toward the hall, then stopped. “You know what? I’ll show you my office in a minute, but I guess I should mention I do a lot of my work here in the living room.” She patted one of the green cushions on her sectional. “I have the most comfortable couch ever. Soft and fabulous. With sunlight pouring through the windows, it’s perfect. I love sunlight. I can relax in here. Even if I’m working, I can trick myself into thinking it’s more relaxed because of this casual room and couch.” She led him out the room. “Let’s go to my office, where the intense stuff happens.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she tossed over her shoulder as they headed down the hall. “Not many people get to see my secret lair.”

“Dun…dun…dun,” he said. “The plot thickens.”

She gestured for him to enter first, allowing him an unobstructed shot of the room.

“Wow,” he said.

She beamed. “I know! Isn’t it great?” The room was huge. She’d spared no expense in decorating it. Three widescreen TVs were mounted on one wall, which allowed her to watch and tape multiple games at once. “The best part is because I loved my sofa in the living room so much, I bought the exact same one to have in here.”

“I see that. How much time do you spend in here?”

“Hours and hours. I like to go over scouting reports and watch film. This is where I go when I’m in my ‘no time for anything but business’ mode. Since I was appointed GM, I’ve been in that mindset almost twenty-four seven.” Except when Christian was around. “My work is never done. The game has gone global, so I’m watching European league games along with American college games, reviewing budgets, and whatever else I need to do. There aren’t enough hours in the day.” She exited the office and made a left. “Let’s continue the tour.”

“What’s in there?” he asked as they passed a door.

“My bedroom.” She kept walking. No need to give temptation free reign.

He didn’t reply, leaving her to believe he shared her sentiments. She showed him the spare bedrooms, then they returned to the living room. She looked around, uncertain of what to say. He didn’t help, either, silently watching her fidget. At least he’d lowered the camera.

“Want to stay for dinner?” she finally asked.

His lips spread in a wide smile that sent a zing of lust through her body. “I hear some reluctance in that invitation, but since I’m not in the mood to cook, I’m going to ignore it and say yes.”

Laughing, she led the way to her kitchen.

“You make the time to cook with your busy schedule?” he asked.

In the middle of opening the refrigerator, she glanced over her shoulder. Ugh. He’d started filming again. Great. She needed to act natural, and making faces at the camera didn’t count. She’d managed it so far. A little more time wouldn’t hurt. “Would you think I was Superwoman if I said yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes. I make gourmet meals from scratch every night.”

“Why are you taking containers out of the freezer then?”

She made a show of studying the refrigerator door, leaning in to peer inside the freezer, then staring at the counter where she’d put the plastic containers. “Oh, is that what I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

“I meant to say I make gourmet meals from scratch every
other
night.”

Christian picked up one container and studied the label. He turned it in her direction. The sunny Delicious Delivery logo mocked her. “Really?”

Her gaze skittered away. “Okay. Maybe not from
scratch
.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her shoulders hunched in. “I do like to cook. I’m good at it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am!”

“I believe you.”

She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Do you?”

“I do. But I am wondering why…”

“Why we’re not eating one of those meals I claim to be a genius at making.” Elise sighed.