Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (15 page)

“It’s nothing like that,” he assured her,
leaning forward but still a bit down. “It’s me, really. I had your
first year all planned out. Now I see I was completely wrong about
it.”

Uh-oh
 . . .

She sighed. “If I embarrassed you—”

“No, no.” He reached for her hand and
squeezed it. “I’ve told you how I started out completely on my own.
No experience, but I majored in sports management, did some labor
negotiations on an internship with the Teamsters, and followed
sports like a junkie my whole life. So I did okay out of the gate.
And when I took on my first associate, he had already been out on
his own for years. The next two hires were lured away from
successful agencies. You’re the first raw recruit I ever brought on
board. So I made the mistake of assuming it would be a year or more
before you’d make a substantive contribution.”

“And so far, you were right.”

“Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy.” He
leaned back again, his blue eyes finally twinkling. “Remember
yesterday? When Bannerman referred to you as the rookie?”

She nodded. “I think he meant it as a
compliment.”

“I
know
he did. For these guys, new
talent is the lifeblood of the organization. Think about the NFL
lifespan. Veterans provide leadership and experience. The guys
hitting their stride—like John—are the fuel. The inspiration. The
engine. But the rookies? They’re equally important. Not in six
months or a year, but the day they join the team. They’re expected
to hit the ground running and by God they do. It’s what guys like
Bam expect from rookies. It’s what Bam did when
he
was a
rookie.”

The concept intimidated her. “We aren’t
athletes, Murf. We’re lawyers.”

He arched a stern eyebrow. “Everything
valuable I’ve learned in life has been from two sources. Emily,
obviously. And guys like John and Bam who taught me how to compete.
How to
win
. So when a guy like Bam Bannerman calls you a
rookie, that changes everything.”

She had to smile at the fire in his eyes. No
longer exhausted but rather, full of life. “You’re not gonna send
me out there, are you, Coach? I didn’t pack my shoulder pads.”

“The team’s counting on you, Kildare,” he
said with a laugh. Then his tone gentled. “You’ll still need to
study those old contracts and watch those games. But I’m also going
to start using you right away. Not as a pretty, articulate amateur,
but as a full-fledged agent. Entry-level assignments but completely
different than we discussed
. I’ll
handle the big issues, but
you’ll be in the trenches too. Can you handle that?”

She had no idea what he meant, but his
enthusiasm infected her and she nodded briskly. “When do we
start?”

“Awesome.”

“Can I still look at houses tomorrow? Like
you said, that’s an important service to our new client.”

“Absolutely.”

“And since it’s an entry-level
assignment—
perfect
for a rookie—I’m sending you home
tonight. Or at least first thing in the morning.”

He seemed surprised, but recovered quickly.
“You’re right. It’s perfect for you. And I need an Emily fix, so
yeah. I’ll catch an early morning flight and leave you to handle
things out here.”

“Do you want me to watch the NFL draft?”

He burst out laughing. “Where did
that
come from?” Before she could answer, he assured her,
“Just play it in the background while you’re dissecting John’s
contract. Next year will be different. You’ll follow the college
games so you know who’s who. And we’ll study the combine reports
together. Trust me, you’ll be riveted to the screen. But this year?
Not so much.”

“College,” she mused. “Because that’s where
rookies like me come from. Got it. Now if I just knew what a
combine was, right?”

• • •

Despite the spinning of her head, Darcie
felt thrilled by Murf’s new plan. By his confidence. Bam’s
confidence, too.

Why let Wyatt Bourne—a guy who clearly never
wanted to see her again—distract her from this new adventure?

Call him and cancel,
she urged
herself as she stripped off her new dress in her cozy Ashton-suite
bedroom. Then she donned lightweight sweats, grabbed her laptop,
and climbed into bed. Not to sleep, but to familiarize herself with
the Portland real estate market. And for good measure, she tuned
the TV to
SportsCenter,
where an obvious ex-jock waxed
poetic about the upcoming draft.

Her world. She already loved it, even if she
didn’t understand it yet.

When her cell phone buzzed, she was sure it
was Murf, announcing he was heading out tonight in spite of the
late hour. She didn’t blame him. A chance to be with his family,
especially the new baby? She would have tagged along herself if not
for her house-hunting aspirations.

But the phone’s display told another story:
WBourne
.

Apparently he was saving her the trouble of
canceling by doing so himself, although it was past midnight on the
East Coast, so what the heck?

Answering warily, she said, “Wyatt?”

“Hey, Darcie,” came his rumbling baritone.
“Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” she murmured, not wanting to
sound too desperate. If he canceled, she would force herself to be
cool. Maybe even assure him it was best for her too, although given
all the drooling she’d done on her porch, she doubted he’d buy
it.

“Great.” He exhaled sharply. “Since you’re
choosing my gifts these days, I need some advice. I have that
retirement party Saturday night for my old high-school coach,
right? I figured I’d give him a gift card and a donation to the
Parkinson’s Research Foundation—his go-to charity. Standard stuff.
Any problem with that?”

She almost laughed with relief. Had she
honestly been promoted from fake date to gift consultant? Or maybe
that was a
de
motion.

Either way, she’d take it.

So she asked in her best consulting tone,
“How well do you know him? You’ve kept in touch, obviously, but are
you close?”

“Definitely. But we don’t exchange presents
on holidays or birthdays or anything.”

“Well then . . .” She cleared
her throat. “Here’s my analysis.
He’s
a guy,
you’re
a
guy. If a gift card feels comfortable, why not?”

“Great! Thanks, Darce.”

She winced, second-guessing herself already.
His high school coach? Not exactly a surrogate grandpa like Tony,
but she didn’t really know how tight those bonds could be. So she
asked lightly, “Does he have any hobbies?”

“Huh?”

“He’s retiring, so he’ll have extra time on
his hands. What does he like besides football? Fishing, golfing,
woodworking? Travel?”

Wyatt’s frustrated huff pierced the
airwaves. “Now you’re saying I should give him something more
personal?”

“Not at all. I already approved the gift
card, didn’t I? So I was just curious.”

“He fishes. But he’s particular about—well,
everything. Plus he probably owns every possible piece of equipment
by now.”

Her imagination danced. “Maybe a trip to a
fishing lodge? All expenses paid?”

“He and his brother used to go salmon
fishing in Alaska,” he mused. “But they gave it up when the brother
couldn’t handle it. Because of Parkinson’s, hence the favorite
charity thing.”

“Oh, that’s so sad. But isn’t that the
answer?
You
should take that trip with him.”

“To Alaska? For a whole week? I barely know
the guy,” Wyatt protested.

“You just told me—oh, never mind. Give him
the gift card. It’ll be fine. It’s a guy thing, right? Plus, he
must have hundreds of ex-students. The last thing he needs is an
outpouring of personal commitments.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I knew I shouldn’t
have called you.”

Annoyed, she drawled, “Here’s an idea. Give
him a T-shirt that says:
I COACHED A LIVING GOD.”

She was sure she could hear him laughing.
But his tone was even when he asked, “So we’re still on for
Saturday, right? Be prepared to work your ass off.”

“Pardon?”

“You said you want to learn. I’m taking that
seriously. Especially since you need all the help you can get.”

“Thanks, I think,” she muttered.

He chuckled again, then switched topics.
“How’d it go with Bannerman yesterday?”

“Really great,” she admitted, giddy all over
again.

“Yeah, I heard he got a phenomenal contract.
Very well deserved. He’s a helluva player.”

“I agree. And Murf did all the negotiating,
obviously. But I was in the room.”

“Sometimes that’s enough,” he agreed. “See
you Saturday, Darce.”

“Okay, Wyatt. See you Saturday.”

Prostrating herself on the cushy bed, she
allowed the conversation to roll over her like a freight train. He
hadn’t even
tried
to cancel. Didn’t that prove her
point?

And even if it didn’t, it seemed to prove
one of Emily’s points, because Darcie apparently
was
attracted to the jackass part of him. At least when it came with a
sexy phone voice. In any case, she was hot for him again for
sure.

If only she could slip under the covers and
fantasize herself into oblivion. But the Portland real estate
market beckoned, and she knew, despite her euphoria, she had a
better chance of scoring points with Bam and Rachel then she ever
hoped to score with the Surgeon.

• • •

Given Bam’s lament that he liked living
close to the Big Dog and Decker, she spent the morning exploring
that part of town, but there just wasn’t much for sale, especially
not with the kind of river views enjoyed at the McSpurling
home.

Her afternoon proved more fruitful as she
toured the Lake Oswego area with a mildly annoying real estate
agent who seemed more interested in Darcie’s “qualifications” than
his job. Still, she decided this area was perfect for Bam and
Rachel. Gorgeous views, excellent but low-keyed security including
dedicated gates on many driveways, and a charming vibe that would
fit with Rachel’s desire for a simple life. Meanwhile, boating,
jet-skiing, and oversized garages and boat docks would quench Bam’s
thirst for adventure.

By the time she returned to the Ashton at
six that evening, she was tempted to take Murf up on his offer of a
private jet that could be available at forty-five minutes’ notice
to take her back to LA. Then her phone buzzed, and while she willed
it to be Wyatt, the screen told her it was Sean Decker.

Even better.

“Hey, Sean,” she said brightly.

“Hey, Darce, thanks for picking up.”

“Always. Murf’s client is my client,
remember?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “He mentioned
you were still in Portland. Any chance you’re free for dinner?”

“With you?”

“If you have plans—”

“No, no. I’m alone and starving,” she
bluffed.

“Great. I’ll come to your hotel. The food in
the bar is decent, and we can have some privacy. Sound good?”

“Can I just ask—not that it changes
anything, but—is this a date?”

“Huh? No way. Sorry, I should have said that
up front.” He cleared his throat again. “I just need someone to
talk to. About something confidential. That’s you, right? Like you
said, you’re with PMA now, so you’re mine too. Not just Bam’s.”

“I’m definitely yours,” she said, relieved
even though he was an attractive hunk that any woman would kill to
date. “And it’s all confidential, I promise.”

“Good deal. I’ll get there early and grab a
booth. And, Darcie? Thanks for doing this. You’re really helping me
out.”

• • •

Sean had sounded so casual, she almost opted
for jeans and a nice blouse, but instead wore the new dress again.
Why take the guy for granted when he was one of their most
important clients?

He seemed to have the same idea. Already
seated in a corner booth when she arrived, he was wearing dark
pants and a green polo shirt that made his eyes more gorgeous than
before. When he stood and smiled at her, it was with the expression
of a man about to get very, very lucky, and while she was all about
the Surgeon these days, she couldn’t help feeling a thrill.

“Hey, Darce. You look amazing,” he told her,
accepting her handshake but stepping so close she was aware of his
height, his muscles, and most of all, his God-given charm.

She needed to be careful, so she told him
lightly, “I’m glad you called. Otherwise, I’d have ordered a
pizza.”

“What a waste. Thanks again for meeting
me.”

“You’re my client.”

“And we’re friends, right?” He waited for
her to slide into one side of the booth, then he sat across rather
than next to her. “Congratulations for signing Bam and getting him
such a great deal. He’s obnoxiously happy about it.”

“Me too.” She turned her attention to a
waiter who was asking for her drink order. “Just a cola, please.
With lime.”

“I’ll have the same, thanks,” Sean told the
server.

“Have something better,” she urged him.

“You’re all I need.” He waited until they
were alone, then gave her a warm smile. “I know it sounds crazy,
but you’re the only person in the world I can talk to about
this.”

“Oh!” She winced in apology. “It sounds
serious.”

“It’s the same old thing,” he assured
her.

The blinders fell off. “You and Kerrie? Does
this mean she didn’t file yet?”

“Yeah, that’s what it means.” His emerald
eyes darkened with pain. “I can’t talk to John or Bam about it. Or
Murf. So that leaves you. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“The guys want to help, but they think
she’s—geez, I don’t even know. Unreliable, maybe? But she isn’t, I
promise.”

“Of course not.”

“Erica’s cool about it,
but . . .”