“What?”
That makes zero sense.
“I’m sorry but you know I don’t make those decisions. The production team has a way of doing things that works for them. I just go with it.”
I see my car pulling up and even with the slightly tinted windows, I can tell that my boss is already inside, so I need to end this conversation. It’s my job to keep mistakes and missteps from him. All he wants to worry about is football. Nothing else.
“You know we don’t like last minute changes, but I trust you, Millicent,” I say quickly wrapping our call up. “I’ll see you in a few.”
“Thanks, love. See you in a few.”
I try to hide it, but I can’t help but grimace, as I painfully slide into the back seat of Coop’s black SUV. His full-time driver, Tito, never misses anything and notices. He gives me an extended look of concern in the rearview mirror and then silently nods hello.
“Hey, Tito,” I say with a smile and then I address my boss. “Hey, Coop.”
Since he doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m in the car (as per usual unless he’s bitching), I decide to grab a moment of relief and slip my feet out of my heels. The structured leather of the shoes has already begun rubbing the back of my left ankle. Scraping it raw.
I’m in some pain, but I don’t really have time for it. This is going to be another long night serving the man I work for. Tonight’s “Athlete Influencer Of The Year” award winner—Cooper Barnes. Superstar tight end for The New York Nighthawk national football franchise, philanthropist, television personality and according to Forbes Magazine—one of the wealthiest men in America under the age of thirty.
This particular award is one he’s wished and waited many years for, and tonight is a night that I’ve worked tirelessly to make happen.
Believe it or not, these awards aren’t just randomly given out. The selection is not made by a committee but a group of his peers. So, you have to actually campaign for it, although you can’t be blatant about it, and nobody “quietly” campaigned as hard for their athlete like I did for Coop.
I didn’t just work this hard to get him this award because it’s my job, but because it’s my last hurrah. I want to go out with a bang. Leave my mark. Because once this night is over—I’m out of here.
I quit.
“What’s up with the feet?” he asks me. Finally taking a moment to look away from his phone. A phone that drives him to complete distraction. All day, when he’s not playing football, he checks texts, tweets, snapchats, Facebook, Instagram and any other form of social media that may make mention of him on a daily basis. Funny how he rarely uses the thing to actually talk to people.
“They hurt.”Obviously.
He raises an eyebrow at my response but not out of concern. I’m sure that he’s thinking that somehow my sore feet are going to affect his big night—a night that I had everything in the world to do with making happen for him by the way—and he doesn’t like it, not one bit.
“Relax,” I offer before he says something that’s going to make me want to karate chop his neck. “I’m going to run into the store and grab a Band-Aid and some Neosporin.”
“How long is that going to take?”
I roll my eyes (to myself of course) then plaster on one of my trademark smiles. I’ve used this smile for the last three years to get through many tough days as Coop’s assistant.
“Five minutes tops. You won’t be late. You can start walking the red carpet while I fix myself up in the car.”
Coop places his phone down in the space in between us, looks at me with determined eyes, then to Tito.
“Pull over.”
Chapter Two
URSULA
“You are my date for this event, Owens. I can’t walk the red carpet without you.”
I hate that I almost blush when Coop says the worddate. He says it in that signature deep and demanding voice of his. The voice that makes every man want to fight him and every woman shiver way down deep in her panties. He’s entirely too sexy for his own good, and it’s even worse because he knows it.
I had to admit to myself long ago that while there’s nothing I can do about my indefensible attraction to Coop, there’s also nothing that I’d ever want to do about it. I know the man better than most people on this planet, and from what I’ve learned about him over the last three years, he is the last guy on earth that any woman should get involved with—at least not with her heart.
This attraction or whatever you’d like to call it isn’t even something that I feel all of the time. Most times I don’t even give him a second glance, but occasionally he may say or do something in a way that makes me catch my breath for a moment. The tone of his voice. A smile he may give me. The feeling is fleeting though and then I totally forget that it ever happened, which is why I’ve never bothered to mention it to anyone including my sisters. God knows that they’d make way more out of it than it is or ever would be.
“No one is going to care if your assistant takes a few minutes to catch up,” I say. “The media and the fans are all here to see you. It’s only important that you get out there on time. Not me.”
