Page 4 of Recruited By the Billionaire

“Then it’s not critical.”

“Not yet! But this is the second incident in two months. The NFL doesn’t have to tolerate bad behavior. And they won’t.”

“How does he rectify the situation?” Jerry asked Laine. “That’s the question.”

Laine looked at Robert. Although he appeared to be every bit of his forty-five years, he still had the great looks of a movie star in his prime and the body,and equipment, of a male stripper. Laine knew nothing about that equipment from experience, but because of the women she had to pay off and ensure they signed NDAs to keep them away from himand his equipmentwhen he was tired of their “company.” And he was always tired of them after just one roll in the hay. Most of those women, who were usually vain as hell and thought sleeping with a billionaire would be their ticket to easy street, were devastated.

Yet because of all thoseattributes, not to mention his enormous fortune, Robert always got away with murder. Nobody had ever held him to account for any of his misdeeds. But she knew that the NFL, the most successful sporting league in the world, had the kind of clout that could.

“One way he can at least put some positive spin in this negative cycle,” Laine said, “is to attend Viv’s funeral.”

Vivian Marris, Robert’s ex-wife, was found dead from a drug overdose in a hotel room a week ago, and the Wake was being held later that day.

But Robert was already shaking his head. “No thank you.”

“If you go,” Laine said, “it can at least show another side of you to the public, sir. A more serious, somber side.”

“Forget it, Laine.”

“It can truly help you.”

He gave her a harsh look. “I said forget it.”

Laine knew to back off when Robert gave her that look.

But Jerry had more history with him, and counted him as his best friend, although he wasn’t at all certain what Robert countedhimas. “Actually,” said Jerry, who suddenly wasn’t laughing anymore. “I agree with Laine.”

Robert looked at him. Behind that gruff, rarely-shaved and always disheveled exterior, Jerry was a smart man who always looked out for Robert’s best interest. Robert trusted and respected him. “You agree that I should show my face at Viv’s funeral? Are you joking?”

“The funeral, no. But at least you can pay your respects at the Wake.” When Robert was about to object again, Jerry added: “Not for Viv. I know how you feel about that woman. I feel the same way. But for Everly and RJ,” he said. “For your children.”

Robert swallowed down his second shot of whiskey with a hard gulp. His children, he thought. Hadn’t seen neither one of them in months. Just wrote the checks. Just bailed them out of every mess they got themselves into.

But they were still his children. And their mother was dead.

He poured himself yet another shot of whiskey, drank it down, and then frowned.

But the fact that he didn’t say no to Jerry’s suggestion said it all to Laine and Jerry. They glanced at each other in quiet victory. Those two grown children, who never missed an opportunity to bash their father every chance they got, were the only soft spot they had ever seen in Robert Marris. And as much as they hated using those kids to tug at the boss’s heartstrings for public relations’ sake, they knew they were doing what they had to do. If anybody needed some good publicity, it was Robert.

CHAPTER THREE

“That man don’t give a damn about you.”

As Frankie drove to that motel, she remembered those words as if they had been spoken yesterday. She remembered sitting quietly in the living room as her mother read to her, chapter and verse, why falling for an accomplished man like Malcolm Cooper was the mistake of her life.

“I’m not falling for him.”

“Yes, you are! You can’t fool me. I see that look in your cockeyes every time he comes around. You want him and you want him bad. And he wants you too. In his bed. And that’s all he wants from you. That’s all your daddy, another very accomplished man, wanted from me. But your stupid butt won’t listen. You think you can win over somebody like Malcolm Cooper when you can’t even win over that nobody up the road who used to come ‘round all the time. Even he stopped coming ‘round. Even he didn’t want you. Face facts, Francesca. You will be alone in this world just like I am. You don’t want to be. Nobody wants to be alone if they can help it. But you can’t help it. Men will use and abuse you and you will be alone. Toughen up, all I got to tell you. Toughen your ass up.”

That was ten years ago. Frankie was twenty-six years old then and was still hopeful about her prospects. Now she was thirty-six, had been married for three years, and hadn’t turned out as dire as her mother had predicted. She didn’t marry Malcolm. Her mother was right about him. She was right about Peter and all those other guys after Malcolm that broke her heart too. But then Devin Clark came along. Not her dream come true guy at all, either, but a nice guy.

She knew she was settling for less when she settled for Devin, but she decided, after so many breakups and heartbreaks, that next-to-nothing was better than nothing.

But now, as she drove to that motel, she was beginning to wonder if next-to-nothing was just a fancy phrase for nothing too.

And her mother still took up too much space in her head. Because every thought she had as she drove went back to her mother. She even started thinking about her mother’s funeral. She remembered listening to the preacher go on and on about how wonderful and caring her mother was. She wasn’t mean, he said, she was just blunt. She wasn’t spiteful, he said, she was just firm. She was everything, according to that preacher, that Frankie knew her mother was not. And she didn’t shed one solitary tear.

But she remembered the last words her mother had ever spoken to her. She remembered it just like she remembered that Malcolm conversation. It was the day she told her mother Devin had proposed to her. Her mother was deftly ill, and in Hospice, but she still had that biting tongue. And she bit Frankie again.

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