Before I have a chance to respond to Coop’s totally inaccurate observation of me, Tito pulls up in front of Madison Square Garden. We’re here. The awards ceremony is being held in the small theater inside The Garden and will be broadcast live to millions of sports fans across the nation.
The sidewalks are teeming with paparazzi and fans, but Coop doesn’t like to ride around in obnoxiously expensive cars like some of his contemporaries. No one knows that it’s him in the car, because it is so nondescript. Just a plain black Chevy Tahoe with slightly tinted windows and a few bells and whistles on the inside like a mini bar.
I text Millicent to let her know that we’ve arrived. She instructs me to have Tito pull around to the side of The Garden, so that she can give me our passes before we hit the red carpet. I will be in charge of making sure Coop’s family gets into their seats while he gives a couple of the obligatory interviews and photos on the red carpet. The same interviews that he thinks he’s not doing, but that I’ve promised he would as long as they give us something in return. Their return is usually a cover or a free ad spot for his nonprofit organization.
In between all of that, I have to make sure that the afterparty he’s throwing in partnership with our corporate sponsor goes off without a hitch. Obviously, a large company like Nike has a huge event planning department for things like this, but Coop demands a personal touch, aka me, when he throws an event. There will be a lot of celebrities attending, and he wants to make sure that it’s a party that goes down in the record books. A party that everyone will still be talking about for years to come.
Since the bottle is open, I say the hell with it and take another swig of Prosecco and then get to work.
“Stay inside,” I order Coop. “I need to pop out and get the passes.”
“I thought your feet hurt.”
“I’m fine now.”
He firmly pushes his hand down on my left thigh, and it sends an immediate shock to my core. I can count on one hand the number of times that Coop and I have had physical contact. This makes the sixth time.
“Text whoever is in charge tonight and tell them to bring the passes to the car.”
I don’t dare move a muscle.
Honestly, I can’t move.
My dress is simple; a sexy red, strapless gown made from a soft jersey fabric with a huge slit on the side. I can feel everything through this dress.
The warmth of his hand.
The texture of his skin.
The cool metal of the Super Bowl ring around his finger.
“Well, are you going to do what I told you or not?”
He’s staring at me as if I’ve lost every bit of good sense that I have left. I think I have. If I hold my breath any longer I might just pass out.
“Could you—?”
“Could I what?”
“Could you move your hand, so I can grab my purse, please?”
I hope he hasn’t figured out that his touch had any sort of effect on me.
“Hand lifted, Owens.”
One little corner of Coop’s mouth turns up into a devilish smirk.
Crap sandwich, I think he noticed.
Chapter Four
URSULA
The life of an assistant is hectic, and you’re bound to make a mistake, especially when you’re dealing with the egos of athletes, which is exactly why I don’t want to bother Millicent any more than I have to. While I work hard for my one football ego, she has to manage hundreds of them tonight, so it’s going to take every bit of strength I have not to pull her to the side and berate her like I want to at this moment.
“Hey, Ursula. Wow! You look nice when you want to, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed in anything but Converse and skinny jeans.”
I take a deep breath and plaster on one of my fake smiles. One thing you can’t teach a person no matter how much money they make is how to have class. You either have it or you don’t.
