Page 5 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

I hesitate, then nod, and he brings his hand to his jaw. I hate how it makes him look like a model. His voice is perfect, precise, each word and vowel carefully formed, and without meaning to, I imagine how much his schools must have cost when he was a kid. Thatvoice is not the product of public school. “I’m the new owner of the team, and now that I’m here, you can trust that operations will improvesignificantly.”

That makes me bristle instantly, thinking of the owner we had before. She was passionate, if she wasn’t totally flush with cash. “There’s nothing wrong with operations. I just… should have been informed sooner.”

“Nothing wrong with operations?” he laughs, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to the whole of the hallway, like the fluorescent lights indicate a much larger problem with our club. “I have plenty of experience with this kind of thing. We’ll start on construction Monday — we’re looking at a complete redesign of the facilities. Think state-of-the-art training rooms, hyperbaric chambers, in-house nutrition?—”

“No,” I’m shaking my head, holding my hands up, stomach already flipping at the idea of changing a single thing about this place. “Absolutely not. You can’t be doing construction while we’re trying to practice and train!”

“You won’t even notice it,” Elliot says, holding his hands up. And to my absolute shock, hewinksat me. “We’ll do one project at a time, make our way through, do the work at night. Just go about your business like normal — like I said, you won’t notice a thing.”

“You’re right,” I challenge, stepping closer to him, tipping my face up and locking onto his gaze. Somehow, with most of my brain telling me to run from this man, I’m still stepping further into his orbit, catching a hint of his spicy cologne as I do. “Because you’re not going to do construction at least until the end of the season.”

He raises an eyebrow, but I catch something like — what? Is it approval that flashes over his features? Surprise, sure, but something dangerously close to pleasure, too.

I shake away the thrill of pleasure that rolls up my spine at that look — why in the world would I care about this stranger’s opinion of me?

Not only is he a stranger, he’s arichstranger. The kind of man who thinks he can do whatever he wants because he has some money to throw around. I can practically hear my grandmother over my shoulder, warning me away from him.

“Never go for a man who doesn’t know the value of hard work.”

Growing up, I thought her constant advice about men was annoying, but I’d give anything to have her here now. I imagine her bangles clanging loudly as she points right at him, saying something like,“See? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“All right,” Elliot says, and I realize we’ve been standing quietly in a staredown, Mr. Wilson awkwardly off to the side, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Elliot raises his hand, palm out, like he’s surrendering to me. “You know what? It makes sense, Coach. We’ll wait until the off-season to make most of the major changes.”

My brow furrows. “Most of the major changes? What other changes are you thinking of making?”

“Well, we need to get all new training staff in here for you. I checked your current staff — you’ve only got one trainer on. And she’s nearing retirement age anyway, so we can just bring someone else in — someone a little more fresh.”

I blink at him. “Molly? Molly is notnear retirement.And she has plenty of experience! She’s been here for over tenyears.”

His eyes skip over my face, and I imagine how he sees me — cheeks flushed, hair coming free from my braids, eyes surely a little glassy from the anger. How has this man so easily gotten under my skin?

I think of Lena’s temper and realize, not for the first time, that she and I are a lot more alike than she thinks.

Something like amusement rolls over Elliot’s face. “Okay. Molly goes nowhere. But weshouldhire more trainers, and get an on-site nutritionist?—”

I cross my arms. “Do you even play soccer? Watch women’s soccer? What do you even know about the sport?”

“Coach Kendall, please—” Mr. Wilson starts, but Elliot holds his hand up, shaking his head.

“No, no, it’s okay.” He turns his dark eyes to me again, and they hit me full force. “She’s right. I don’t know that much about soccer — but what I do know is business. And I know a failing one when I see it. This—” he gestures to the building, the training grounds as a whole, “—is a crumbling venture. Stained ceiling tiles, subpar equipment, spotty staffing — not to mention the patchy grass out there?—”

I bite my lip to keep from mentioning how we had to fire the turf specialist. That would, unfortunately, only prove his point.

“—so maybe I’m not a soccer expert. But I know how to turn a business around. And that’s what I intend to do here. Take your team from winning threegames last season to doing a hell of a lot better than that in the coming months.”

“So, what, you think a soccer team is like real estate?” I say. “You’re just going to— toflipus, and sell for a profit? That’s not how teams work. Sports aren’tbusinesses.”

“And how is that?”

Despite the impatience winding its way around my bones, I find myself actually considering the question. “Morale — but morethan morale. Players need to feel thepassionfor what they’re doing. Every time they go out on the field together, they need to know that someone has their back. Each other, the coaching staff, the club itself. And especially the fans.”

Fans are the one thing Dallas is managing to do right, and a sour taste rises in my mouth when I think about how they might react to the information that the club has been pretty unceremoniously dumped into the lap of some rich boy.

“We don’t need more trainers, or fancy stuff.” I wave my hand around to indicate thefancy stuffI’m against. “We need more time to practice. No guys in suits clogging up the hallways. And actually — higher salaries for the players.”

That last one slips in before I know what I’m saying, but the words are already out of my mouth. If I know anything about rich guys like Elliot, it’s that they shrivel at the idea of raising salaries.

“Okay,” Elliot says, biting his lower lip and glancing around. When he finally meets my eyes again, he tilts his head and gives me an appraising look as he leans forward, so our noses are nearly touching. “I’ll tell you what, Coach Kendall — winning talks.”