Chloe swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She’d forgotten about Danny Morton.
Rick cleared his throat and indicated Chloe should take a seat in the wooden chair next to the desk.
She sat, vaguely aware of another man leaning against the wall behind her. As she twisted in the chair to acknowledge him, Rick spoke. “Chloe, I’d like you to meet my partner. He’ll be co-owner of Haven’s. Sam Hardy.”
Chloe stood with such quickness, she knocked over her chair. “Sam?TheSam Hardy.”
When her eyes met his, he smiled. “Chloe Beason. It’s been a long time.”
Love @SamHardyQB15’s Nashville condo. Just needs some throw pillows! A woman’s touch. ;-) We’re spending evenings in as his knee is still healing.
– @CurvyCarla on Twitter
Thank you to everyone at the Grand Ole Opry for an excellent evening. We raised a million dollars for my foundation, SportsWorld. Every kid who wants to play, should be able to play.
– @SamHardyQB15 on Twitter
Chapter 4
“Chloe Beason,” he said again. What was she doing here? Last he heard she was married to some sports company executive and living in France. But it was definitely her. Brown hair in a spiky cut, longer on top so she often clipped her bangs to the side. Eyes the color of sweet gum tree leaves in the summer. A nose that narrowed to a slight upturned tip.
“Sam?” She sounded as shocked as he felt.
“You two know each other?” Rick said.
Chloe’s smile shot through him, so shy, so familiar, so beautiful. “If you defineknowas in a summer catching endless footballs from this doofus as he worked on throwing left handed.”
“In return, thisdoofustaught you how to change a tire and the oil in your car. Pretty sure we’re more than even.”
“Yes, I earn millions changing my own flat tires and draining my oil.” Her quip held the laughter he remembered.
“Aren’t you on your way to becoming a famous pastry chef? Paris, I think?” Sam moved closer and perched against the desk, ignoring Rick’s questioning glances. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Interviewing for a job. I hear you need a manager.” She glanced at Rick. “But it’s Chloe LaRue now.”
The interview had just started, and Sam was gleaning the latest details of Chloe’s life when his phone buzzed. It was Briggs, his public relations manager. Sam had hired Briggs three years ago to help revamp his reputation. He was a brilliant strategist.
He pointed to his phone. “I’ve got to take this.”
“Go,” Rick said. “Chloe and I will keep chatting.”
“Briggs,” Sam said, moving into the kitchen. “Tell me we have good press from last night.” The SportsWorld fundraiser at the Opry had been a huge success thanks to his friends Buck Mathews, Tracy Blue, and other country music greats.
“We do, but talk to me about Curvy Carla. What’s going on?”
This again? Sam’s jaw clenched and he rubbed a hand over his chin. “A groupie I drove home last week from a party. My bad. She was a Martelli groupie until she got bored or something. I dropped her off. Didn’t even get out of the car.” Dang, he sounded like a broken record. “Can we put out a press release or something?”
“We could but according to her Twitter feed, you two are an item. I got a call fromEntertainment Tonightasking for details.”
“Tell them we are not an item, and this is what Sam Hardy gets for trying to be a Boy Scout.” Sam looked up to see Ruby staring at him, her finger pressed to her lips.Keep it down.
Right, right.
“I’ll reach out to this Curvy Carla. In the meantime, I’ve got my team ramping up your social media feeds with your charity work. Last night’s fundraiser is good copy. Also, give me details on your knee recovery. That news will spin nicely. Send me some pictures and deets when you can.”
When he’d hung up with Briggs, Sam turned to see Ruby, wrapped in a white apron and drying her hands with a paper towel, watching him.
“Old habits die hard, Sammy?” she said.
