Places in My Heart (3 page)

She glanced over her desk once more. “All right, I'm ready.” She slung the bag over her shoulder, then a purse she'd pulled from the drawer, and came around the desk. “Oh, wait. I need to send Brooke a text.” Morgan dug out her cell phone and typed something quickly, her fingers moving rapidly on the screen. When she was done, she dropped it back into her purse. “Okay. Let's go.”

The outer office was quiet when they passed through and, thankfully, the secretary was gone. Neither spoke as they walked down the hallway, boarded the elevator and rode it to the ground level.

Omar followed Morgan to her car and let out a long whistle. “Muscle car,” he said of the Dodge Challenger. “Reminds me of Dom Toretto's car in the
Fast & Furious
movies.”

Morgan laughed. “I've always loved fast cars and motorcycles, and this right here,” she said, running her hand across the car's black matte finish, “is my baby.” She slanted him a look. “You have a problem with women driving fast cars?”

The tone of her voice gave him pause. It was as if she had faced disapproval for her choice in car. “Not at all. I admire a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it, no matter what anyone else thinks.” She unlocked the door by remote, and he opened and held it while she got in. “Give me a call when you're ready to go over the contract.”

“I will. See you later.”

He waved as she drove past him. There was something downright sexy about a woman in a fast car. It made him curious about what else she liked. Cutting off his train of thought, he reminded himself about their agreement. He could make it. It was only a few weeks. But after the contract negotiations, he planned to do his best to show her that they would be good together, professionally and personally.

Chapter 3

“S
orry I'm late,” Morgan said, rushing into the dance studio and dropping her duffel bag on a chair.

Brooke Alexander continued her stretching exercises and smiled. “No problem. I know you're working on a big case.”

She lowered herself to the mat across from Brooke. “Yeah, but that's not what kept me at the office.”

Brooke stopped midstretch. “No?”

“Omar Drummond showed up at my office unannounced.”

“Omar Drummond, as in End Zone Drummond? The pro football player we were all drooling over when he did that men's body wash commercial wearing only a towel, with his locs flowing all around his shoulders?”

“The one and only.”

“I can't decide which part of that commercial I liked more, him in the shower with the water streaming over every sculpted ridge of his chest and abs or the full-body shot of him in that skimpy towel.”

“The shower,” they both said and fell out laughing.

“I wish he'd show up unannounced here...
and
wearing only that towel.”

“I bet you do,” Morgan said, still chuckling. Then again, she wouldn't have minded seeing him in that towel once more, either. Every part of his deep bronze six-foot-six-inch, two-hundred-fifty-pound body was a pure work of art, all muscle and not one ounce of fat anywhere.

“Well, what did he want?”

“He wants me to negotiate his upcoming football contract.”

Brooke sat straight up and her eyes widened. “He's been in the league for a good while, hasn't he? I would think he'd already have an agent.”

“He does, but said he needed a change.” She kept the other details to herself.

“That's all you used to talk about when we were in high school—being a sports agent. You're finally getting your chance, and without the headache of trying to get the good old boys to take you seriously. Athletes, too, for that matter. Most people starting out have to work their way up to the more established players, but if Omar trusts you, that'll make your road much easier. Are you going to do it?”

“I said I would, but I'm having second thoughts.” With all the chemistry flowing between them, it would be too easy for a repeat of Saturday. And she couldn't let that happen.

“You must be out of your mind. The opportunity to live your dream literally drops in your lap, and you get cold feet.”

“It's not that.”

Brooke folded her arms and waited.

“We had sort of like a...”

“A what? Please don't tell me you and that smart mouth of yours said something crazy.”

Morgan lay back on the mat and closed her eyes. “No,” she huffed. “He kissed me when we were at Malcolm's house on Saturday.”

She pumped her fist in the air and let out a whoop. “Is that all? You go, girl.”

Morgan skewered Brooke with a look.

Brooke shrugged. “What's the big deal? You kissed. If you weren't attracted to him, I'd be worried about you.”

“Really, Brooke? The big deal is it's a conflict of interest. Besides, you know as well as I do that he has more women than Solomon did in the Bible.”

“The right woman will make a man settle down. And how did you two end up in a lip-lock?”

Morgan rolled her eyes and told her what happened in Malcolm's kitchen and the details of his visit earlier. “I said that I would only work with him if there were no more kisses,” she finished.

“And he agreed to it?”

“Yes.”

A slow smile crept onto Brooke's lips. “I can't wait to see who will be the first one to break that rule. And it
will
be broken. Mark my words.”

And that was the crux of Morgan's problem. “Enough about that,” she said, changing the subject. “We're supposed to be discussing the dance production.”

“Whatever you say,” Brooke said, her smile still in place. “Okay. I'm loving your Michael Jackson theme, and the kids are definitely enjoying it. I think they'll be more than ready by showtime. There are a couple more pieces I want to add for the advanced students.”

“We need to get my brother-in-law and brothers to do the dance they did at the wedding. I had no idea they could dance like that.” Siobhan loved Michael Jackson, and her husband, along with Siobhan and Morgan's brothers, did a dance presentation at their wedding reception from “Smooth Criminal.”

“I wish I could have seen it.”

“Oh, I recorded it,” she said, going over to retrieve her cell from her purse. She found the video and handed Brooke the phone.

“Wow, I didn't know your brothers could move like this. Your brother-in-law is one good-looking man.”

“Justin is a great guy and perfect for my sister.”

Brooke handed the phone back. “Do you think they'd be willing to do a special presentation for us?”

Morgan shrugged. “I don't know, but I'll ask. We'll be cutting it kind of close for Malcolm, though. Preseason starts at the end of the month. Since the show is scheduled the weekend before, he might be able to do it.” They discussed the logistics of the added dances, as well as having a couple of Brooke's friends who were dancers to help with the choreography.

“I still want to do the instructor feature again, and this time, Morgan Gray, you will be dancing. You can do tap, jazz, hip-hop or whatever, but you will be dancing.”

Morgan groaned. “Come on, Brooke. I haven't been on a stage in years,” she protested.

Brooke rose gracefully to her feet. “No time like the present to get back out there. You're good, Morgan. I've watched you practice, and you haven't lost your edge. It's time the world knows that the dance teacher can
dance
. I've already reserved the hotel for the after-party. It's going to be fabulous. Oh, and this year, I want the dress rehearsal to be a private performance for the families of our students,” she added.

“That's fine.” Morgan was still a little unsure of being onstage again, but truthfully, she missed the excitement of performing for an audience. However, between getting her students prepared, working on the lawsuit and now writing Omar's contract, she didn't see how she would manage to learn a routine in less than a month's time.

* * *

Three nights later, Morgan sat at her kitchen table, reading over the contract she'd drawn up for Omar one last time to make sure she had included everything from general principles to the term of the contract. Compensation would be the standard 3 percent, but the only thing she needed to clarify was whether he wanted her for any other services, such as endorsements, or just the football deal. She reached for the card that had been included in the envelope of information and stared at the number. She took a glimpse at the microwave clock and noted it was past ten.

“You can do this, Morgan. It's what you've always wanted.” Before she could talk herself out of calling, she took a deep breath and punched in the number on her cell.

“Hello,” came the warm baritone.

Why does everything about this man have to be so sexy, including his voice?
“Hey, Drummond. It's Morgan. I wanted to see when you're available to go over the contract.”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I have something until eight, but I'm free afterward. I can meet you somewhere.”

“I'd rather not meet in public.”

Morgan's pulse skipped. She was counting on the buffer that a public place would provide. “I'm sure we could arrange a private room or something.”

“That won't work,” Omar insisted. “We can meet at my house, and I'll explain why when you get here.”

His house? This had disaster written all over it. If they couldn't contain themselves at her brother's house, where almost two dozen people were, how would they manage with the two of them alone?

“I need you to trust me on this, Morgan. You've already set the rules, and I said I'd abide by them,” he added softly.

“Okay.” She wrote down the address he rattled off. “I should get there around nine.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Morgan disconnected and banged the phone softly against her forehead. “What am I getting myself into?” True, she had set the rules, but it would take everything within her not to break them.

The next evening, butterflies danced in Morgan's belly as she rang Omar's doorbell. A measure of excitement filled her with the prospect of being able to break into the world of sports management. At the same time, she couldn't help but wonder what her family would think. Her dad had been dropping hints about her taking a more prominent role in the company, but so far she'd been able to dodge the questions. She hadn't told anyone aside from Brooke and Malcolm what she was doing.

Morgan turned to look at the beautifully manicured lawn and gave herself a pep talk about keeping her attraction under control. She whirled around at the sound of the door opening. She worked hard to keep her eyes on his face. Even wearing a T-shirt and basketball shorts, the man was temptation personified.

“Hey. Come on in.” Omar waved her inside.

“I took the back roads and managed to avoid some traffic, so I'm a little early. I hope that's not a problem.”

“Not at all. I'm fixing something to eat. Are you hungry?”

She followed him through the foyer with marble flooring and an elegantly furnished living room to a large modern kitchen. The smells wafting from the oven hit her nose, and immediately her stomach growled. She had eaten only a small salad before her dance class and was starving.

He laughed. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Morgan smiled. “I didn't have time to go home for dinner. Whatever you're cooking smells great.”

“Well, when your parents own a restaurant, everybody learns to cook.”

“I didn't know your parents owned a restaurant or that you could cook. Somehow that didn't come up with the jock and playboy descriptions I've read.”

He shifted his gaze from the pot he was stirring to her. “There's a lot about me you don't know. And don't believe everything you read.”

Morgan felt properly chastised, because she had believed much of what had been printed in the newspapers about him. “Fair enough. What are you cooking?”

Omar took a spoon from a drawer, scooped a portion of what she realized was chili from the pot and handed it to her. “Taste and tell me what you think.”

She blew on it a couple of times to cool it, then tentatively slid the spoon into her mouth. The thick, spicy concoction made her taste buds want to dance. “This is so good. Your parents taught you well.” He removed a pan of cornbread from the oven and placed it on a trivet. “That's from a box, right?”

“Of course not,” he said with mock offense. “My mother would have my head if I made cornbread from a box. Besides, this tastes much better.” He cut a few pieces, placed them on a plate and handed it to Morgan. “Can you take this to the table?”

“Sure.” The perfectly browned bread made her mouth water.

“Have a seat.” He took two bowls out of the cabinet, filled them and took them to the kitchen table. “I made a pitcher of iced tea. I noticed that's all you drank last weekend.”

“Great.” Had he been paying that much attention to her? Maybe she needed to reassess her original assumptions about him.

* * *

Omar sat across the table, concentrating on his food and trying to ignore Morgan's seductive fragrance and how good she looked in those snug jeans. He was still a little put out by her judging him as a womanizer. He didn't claim to be a saint, and he'd dated his fair share of women, but he'd never cheated on one or bed-hopped as the media alleged.

“You're a really great cook, and this cornbread is to die for,” Morgan said.

“Thanks. You can take some home with you. I don't need to eat it all.”

“Probably not, since preseason is coming up.”

“Speaking of football, you said you wanted to go over the contract.”

“I do, but I have a couple of questions first.”

“You want to know why I insisted you come to my house.” When she nodded, he said, “You know as well as I do how intrusive the public can be. If we were spotted together with papers in front of us, it would be all over the media before we finished dinner.”

“True, but it wouldn't be unusual for a client to meet with his agent.”

“Unless he hasn't formally cut ties with his current agent yet.”

“What?”
Morgan moved to stand. “I can't play these games.”

Omar placed a staying hand on her arm. “Hear me out, Morgan.” He waited until she sat. “I haven't said anything to Roland because I'm still waiting for more information.”

“You think he's embezzled from more of your endorsements?”

He nodded grimly. “At least one or two more. I need to keep this between us until I can get all the pieces.” Just the thought made his blood boil. He wanted nothing more than to wring the man's neck, but that would ruin Omar's future plans.

“Okay. Were you able to contact Jaedon Dupree?”

“I'll be meeting with him on Tuesday.” He paused. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out.”

“Yeah, well, don't thank me yet. I've never done this before.”

Omar smiled. “But I've seen you play and heard you yelling in the stands. You know this game well, so I'm not worried. We're going to be good together.” He realized what he'd said as soon as the words left his mouth. Clearing his throat, he pointed at the folder on the table. “You said you had some questions.” Morgan eyed him, wiped her hand on a napkin and pushed one folder in front of him. She spoke with the clarity and confidence of someone who had done this several times over, and he found himself even more impressed by her intelligence.

“The biggest question I have is contract services. We never discussed whether it would include endorsements, but I propose we focus first on getting you a good deal with the Cobras for the next few years, then decide the rest later.”