Page 5 of The Wedding Deal
Because of his history and the public repercussions, she needed a rehab center with a stellar reputation for being successfulanddiscreet, and about three weeks ago she’d checked him into one that would treat his addiction and the resulting depression. If it worked, it’d be worth it. And shehadto believe it’d work.
“Earth to Charlotte.” Shannon snapped her fingers in front her face.
“Sorry. I’m here now. No more work talk.”
“At least tell me I can hold my head high as a Mustang fan this next season.” Shannon was more of a casual fan, cheering for the team now that she was a local. Her football knowledge was spotty, but she’d picked up a lot the end of last season when Charlotte had been standing on their couch screaming at the TV.
“Yet to be determined,” she said, then quickly glanced around like a paranoid lunatic. While she’d never go into details, she had to be careful talking about the team in general. She’d signed a nondisclosure agreement she’d personally ensured was up to par and took it deathly seriously, to the point she sometimes felt like she couldn’t even cheer for the Mustangs in public for fear she’d slip and say too much.
Working for the team had been a dream come true, one she’d been scared to actually believe for quite a while. After everything that’d happened with Dad, she’d worried people would take a look at her last name, put two and two together, since it’d been a huge story in the news around that time, and reject her without even giving her a chance. Worried she’d end up in a boring office where she didn’t feel as much passion for what she was doing.
Luckily Mr. Price had told her that he judged people on their own merits. Kind of funny for a team that practiced a bit of nepotism, but when you owned enough companies to make you a billionaire, you got to dabble in hypocrisy.
After this afternoon with Lance, she could at least say he obviously cared about what happened to the team. Over the past few years, it’d been more and more difficult to remain a fan. Not that she’d hop on a shiny bandwagon when it passed on by, but it would be nice to not spend every Sunday during the season disappointed.
“Okay, so I guess it’s time to move on to another depressing subject.” Shannon glanced around the bar. “There is a severe lack of guys out and about tonight, and this was the only social outing on my calendar all week.”
Charlotte was glad her drink arrived, and she took a swig before Shannon could say what she was 99 percent sure she was going to.
“That means we’re going to that speed dating thing next door.”
“Tonight?” Charlotte shook her head, cursing that her drink hadn’t had time to work yet. She was exhausted. She also wanted to point out that even if the bar was chock-full of guys, they’d all be marked off the possibility list because she had a new rule against meeting guys at sports bars. It always ended badly. Technically, every one of her relationships had ended badly, but again, football was to blame in a surprising amount of them.
It’d all started with her first boyfriend, who’d found out her dad was the assistant football coach at the college he wanted to attend. Where he also hoped to play after he graduated high school, of course. She’d gotten him his in, and for her efforts she’d acquired her first broken heart.
You see, football kept him too busy for a serious girlfriend. It did not keep him so busy that he couldn’t have sex with a lot of coeds, though. Funny the way that works.
“It’s happening,” Shannon said, undeterred. “We’re going to take advantage of this hot, ballbuster-businesswoman-meets-retro-pinup-girl thing you’ve got going on while you’re already out and about.”
The compliment cracked Charlotte’s resolve to remain firm, despite her best efforts. It had been the exact look she was going for, fashion the one area where she liked to bend the rules a little—not to mention that vintage styles flattered her curvier figure far better than modern ones did.
“Really, you brought this on yourself,” Shannon added, chasing away the warm fuzzies and resealing those cracks.
“How?”
“You refuse to go out after you get home, kick off the heels, and flop on the couch. Remember how we decided we were going to get back out there?”
“I rememberyoudecreed that you were.” Charlotte still wasn’t there yet, but if she’d voiced that when Shannon was on her tear about it last weekend, her roommate would’ve only debated why she should be, and she hadn’t wanted to hear it. This was the problem with simply nodding. People thought you were agreeing and committing.
“We both are. Just like we’re both looking for more accessible guys, ones who want the same things we do. And you have that no-football-guys rule, although I still don’t really understand it. Shouldn’t you have similar hobbies?”
“It’s a precise system. They can enjoy watching a football game now and then, but if they go all starry-eyed when they find out I work for a team or if they start prodding me for insider information, I walk away. No more thinking that eventually they’ll understand I can’t get them access to the players, the field, or what I know about the games before they go down.” It wasn’t easy, trying to find guys not obsessed with football in Texas. Even the ones who were Cowboys or Texans fans weren’t immune to the idea of a behind-the-scenes tour or tickets to games when their teams played.As ifshe could date a guy who cheered against her team.
“Oh yeah. Makes perfect sense now.” Shannon glanced at her phone. “Eight minutes.”
The last of her drink hit the back of Charlotte’s throat, and as her pulse skittered under her skin, she debated going back on her decision to only have one. It’d help with speed dating but might also not so much help, and she needed to be fresh for work tomorrow andugh. “How about we go speed walking in the park and see if we can meet a nice serial killer instead? That sounds like more fun to me.”
“You promised to be my wing woman,” Shannon reminded her, and Charlotte groaned. Her roommate’s decision to take more risks and meet more people would’ve been fine if Charlotte didn’t have to go along for the painful ride.
“Painful” was also a good word to describe her last relationship, and it definitely fit how it’d ended. After her year-long relationship had crashed and burned over issues she should’ve realized were too big to overcome, she’d had a hard time convincing herself that love—the true, intense kind she used to dream of as a little girl when spending far too much time alone—existed.
Everyone always wanted something. Wanted you for what you could do for them. Each relationship had taken a piece of her, and thanks to the way she’d grown up, she didn’t have that many to give. Her first boyfriend took another piece, and Ian had taken more than one.
Right now she was using the leftovers to help keep Dad afloat.
Maybe after she’d had more time to heal and Dad was on steady ground, she could find a bit of that shiny optimism she used to have. Maybe then she’d be ready to sincerely date.
But thirty minutes later, as she was sitting across from a guy, not nearly buzzed enough, she thought she’d rather go back to Lance’s office. Regardless of it meaning he’d be over her shoulder, watching her post job listings and insisting on different word choices, as if that would make the best coaches and general managers leap at the chance to work for a team that hadn’t won in so long that most of their fans and even some of their own players had given up.
