“I’m working on drafting a schedule. We’ll touch base before, during, and after practice each day, but where would you like to schedule our longest meeting of the day? Before or after practice?”
“Ourlongestmeeting?” he repeats. He turns toward me.
“Yes. We’ll need several sessions each day—when you’re back to practice of course. Until then, we have ample time to assess the current situation and get a strategy together.”
“Ample time?” he echoes.
“Yes.” I nod resolutely.
“What exactly are your qualifications to be working with me?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
I grit my teeth together as I try to maintain professionalism. “I double majored in behavioral science and media studies, and I have a master’s in marketing. I started at Langford right out of college and moved my way through the ranks into brand strategist about five years ago. I’ve worked with hundreds of clients, and I know what I’m doing.”
He turns to press the button. “Keep the meetings short, and we will only discuss what is an absolute necessity as deemed by the team.”
“Great,” I say brightly. “We’ll start tomorrow morning at eight sharp at the practice facility. Same conference room as this morning.”
“The fuck we will,” he mutters.
“Excuse me?” I ask, pretending like I missed what he said.
The elevator doors open, and he steps on. “I’m not going to the practice facility on game day. We’ll meet downstairs in the conference center in this building.”
“See you in the morning,” I say, and I shoot him a sugary sweet smile as the elevator doors close.
I regret that eight o’clock demand, but I can’t change it.
Instead, I guess I’ll work my ass off, pull an all-nighter, do my research, and show up ready to impress the unimpressible.
CHAPTER 9: Maverick Jennings
The Face Facing Forward
When my alarm wakes me at five thirty, I’m less than impressed.
I don’t need to get up this early, but I do it because regardless of whether I have practice or not, this is the time I wake up during the season.
But this morning, I’m dreading the task at hand.
I don’t want to meet with this woman in a conference room that’s too small for the two of us.
I don’t want my life dictated to me for the next year.
I don’t give a fuck about my image and what legacy I’m leaving behind.
I don’t want any of this, but somewhere along the line, the things I want went out the window.
I don’t even know what I want. I guess I just want to be left alone so I can focus on what’s important: the game.
I suppose that’s alsowhyit’s what’s important.
When everything was taken from me, I turned back to football and vowed nothing would ever come between me and the game again.
And then fucking Dex Bradley broke my rib before I even got to start the regular season with a new team. The perfect storm to push into that wound just a little harder. A little deeper.
Today is game day. I should be heading to the stadium.
Instead, I’m sulking at home, dreading a meeting with a woman who’s too goddamn hot for her own good.
