Page 65 of The Wedding Deal
“The happy couple, the lovely weather, the upcoming season.”
“Me?”
“Someone’s a little self-centered,” Charlotte said, reaching for one of the mixed entrée plates and shoving it toward him. “There aren’t any candy bars, so this’ll have to do.”
“I notice you didn’t answer.”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “If you’re wondering if he asked about the Mustangs and what our plans are and what I think about you as an owner, of course he did.”
Lance’s hand clenched into a fist, and she covered it with her hand.
“Do you honestly think I don’t know how to handle that? I’ve had reporters approach me in the grocery store to ask about the team, thinking I won’t recognize who they are. I’ve had men corner me after work.”
His temper flared for a different reason, but it all went to the same place in his brain, his rage ebbing and flowing along with his doubts.
“I kept my answers super vague and said ‘you’ll just have to see’ a lot, including when the topics of our coaching staff and the draft came up. But if we’re lucky, he’ll write something that’ll stir up curiosity and give us some free PR.”
“Oh, and you’re trained in PR now?”
Her hand slipped off his, and he hated the absence of it—his pride restrained him from doing anything about it, though. “I could recite a whole section from the handbook about it, so I know as much as I need to for my job.” She slammed the plate back down on the table. “Eat or don’t. I’m not going to force-feed you, even if you’re acting like a toddler.”
She took a step away, and he caught her elbow. He didn’t want her to leave. Didn’t want to be in a fight. “I’m sorry.” The words scraped on the way out of his mouth, but at least he’d managed to spit them out. “I…overreacted.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said, never one to let him off easy.
He gave a gentle tug, slowly spinning her to face him again. “Trust…doesn’t come easily for me. You yourself mentioned that I’m not great with reporters.”
“It’s one thing to not be great with reporters or to lose your cool when they corner you after your personal life’s blown up. It’s another to take your issues out on me when I was only trying to help.” Her lip quivered, her strong facade crumbling, and he felt like shit.
He cupped her cheek. “You’re right. Can we go back to before I screwed up? When we were hugging and celebrating and it was you and me against the world?”
She pressed her lips together, considering, and then slowly moved closer. “I realize you’re stressed, but all you’ve got to do is talk to me.” Another step, the toes of her heels bumping into his shiny black shoes. “I do like the idea of us against the world.”
Relief washed through him, and he tugged her closer. “Me, too. I’m going to need you on my team more than ever over the next few weeks.”
“Then maybe try harder not to piss me off.”
He dipped his head and dragged his lips across hers. “Will do. Now, ready to go sit through dinner with my family? And all the toasts?”
“Yes. But can I ask you a favor?”
“Anything,” he said, back to being completely under her spell.
“Well, I was going to ask if you’d hold on to my phone, but now that you’ve gone and saidanything, I’m thinking I should ask for something bigger. Maybe a yacht? A raise—wait, that’d be against the contract. How about a desert island to escape to with you?”
“Final answer?”
She handed over her cell, and he slipped it inside his interior suit coat pocket. She smoothed her hand down the lapel on his jacket. “Just tell me if the desert island thing is possible.”
“Too late. You already gave me your phone to hold.”
“Damn it,” she said, snapping her fingers. Her giggle filled the air, chasing away the last of the remaining tension.
He put his hand on her back and guided her over to the table where the rest of his family was already seated. As he pulled out her chair, he moved his lips next to her ear. “I’ll look into that desert island thing. Maybe once we win a Super Bowl, I can make it happen.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
…
