LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Coach Reynaud?” Adelaide called to him down the narrow hallway draped in team banners. Her use of his title alerted him that she was annoyed, making him wonder if that sportswriter had been hassling her. “Do you have a moment to meet privately before you take the podium?”

      She handed him note cards, an old-fashioned preference at media events so he could leave his phone free for updates. He planned to brief the journalists on his regular-season roster, one of the few topics that would distract sports hounds from grilling him about today’s loss in a preseason contest that didn’t reflect his full team weaponry.

      “Any last-minute emergencies?” He frowned. Adelaide had been with him long enough to know he didn’t stick around longer than necessary after a loss.

      He needed to start preparing for their first regular-season game. A game that counted. But he recognized a certain stiffness in her shoulders, a tension that wouldn’t come from a defeat on the field even though she hated losing, too. She’d mastered hiding her emotions better than he had.

      “There is one thing.” She wore an earbud in one ear, the black cord disappearing in her dark hair; she was probably listening for messages from the public relations coordinator already in the media room. “It will just take a moment.”

      Adelaide rarely requested his time, understanding her job and his needs so intuitively that she could prepare weeks of his work based on little more than his daily texts or CCing her on important emails. If she needed to speak with him privately—now—it had to be important.

      “Sure.” He waved her to walk alongside him. “What do you need?”

      “Privately, please,” she answered tightly, setting off alarms in his head.

      Commandeering one of the smaller offices along the hallway, Dempsey flicked on a light in the barren, generic space. The facilities in the building were nothing like the team headquarters and training compound in Metairie, where the Reynauds had invested millions for a state-of-the-art home. They played here because it was downtown and easier for their fans. The tiny box where they stood now was a fraction the size of his regular work space.

      “What is it?” He closed the door behind him, sealing them inside the glorified cubicle with a cheap metal desk, a corded phone from another decade and walls so thin he could hear the lockers slamming and guys shouting in the team room next door.

      “Dempsey, I apologize for the timing on this, but I can’t put it off any longer.” She tugged the earbud free, as if she didn’t want to hear whatever was going on at the other end of her connection. “I’ve tried to explain before that I couldn’t be a part of this season but it’s clear I’m not getting through to you.”

      He frowned. What the hell was she talking about? When had she asked for a break? If she wanted vacation time, all she had to do was put it on his calendar.

      “You’re going to do this now?” He prided himself on control on the field and off. But after today’s loss, this topic was going to test his patience. “Text me the dates you want off, take as long as you need to recharge and we’ll regroup later. You’re invaluable to me. I need you at full speed. Take care of yourself, Adelaide.”

      He turned to leave, ready to get back to work and relieved to have that resolved. He had a press conference to attend.

      She darted around him, blocking the door with her five-foot-four frame. “You aren’t listening to me now. And you haven’t been listening to me for months.”

      The team owned tackling dummies for practice that stood taller than Adelaide, but she didn’t seem to notice that Dempsey was twice her size.

      He sighed. “What did I not hear?”

      “I want to start my own business.”

      “Yes. I remember that. We agreed you would draw up a business plan for me to review.” He knew she wanted to start her own company. She’d mentioned it last winter. She’d said something about specializing in clothes and accessories for female fans. She hoped to grow it over time, eventually securing merchandising rights from the team with his support.

      He worried about her losing the financial stability she’d fought so hard to attain and figured she would realize the folly of the venture after thinking it over. He thought he’d convinced her to reevaluate those plans when he’d persuaded her to return for the preseason. Besides, she excelled at helping him. She was an invaluable member of the administrative staff he’d spent years building, so that when he finally had the right football personnel on the field, he could ride that talent to a winning year.

      That year had arrived.

      “I’ve emailed my business plan to you multiple times.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, an unwelcome reminder that Adelaide was an attractive woman.

      She was his friend. Friendships were rare, important. Sex was...sex. She was more than sex to him.

      “Right.” He swallowed hard and hauled his gaze upward to her hazel eyes. “I’ll get right on reading that after the press conference.”

      “Liar,” she retorted. “You’re putting me off again. I can’t force you to read it, any more than I can make you read the messages and emails from your former female companions.”

      She arched an eyebrow at him, her rigid spine still plastered to the door, blocking his exit. It had never pleased her that he’d asked her to handle things like that from his inbox. But he needed her help deflecting unhappy ex-girlfriends, preventing them from talking to the press and diverting public attention from the team to his personal life. Adelaide was good at that. At so many things. His life frayed at the edges when she wasn’t around.

      Plus, he was devoting every second possible to the task of building a winning team to secure his place in the Reynaud family. It wasn’t enough that he bore his father’s last name. As an illegitimate son, he’d always needed to work twice as hard to prove himself.

      And Adelaide’s efforts supported that goal. He was good at football and finances. Adelaide excelled at everything else. He’d been friends with her since he’d chased off some bullies who’d cornered her in a neighborhood cemetery when she was in second grade and he was in third. She’d been so grateful she’d insinuated herself into his world, becoming his closest friend and a fierce little protector in her own right. Even after the time when Dempsey’s rich, absentee father had shown up in his life to remove him from his hardscrabble life in the Eighth Ward—and his mother—for good. His mom had given him up for a price. Adelaide hadn’t.

      “Then, I’ll resume management of the personal emails.” He knew he needed to deal with Valentina Rushnaya, a particularly persistent model he’d dated briefly. The more famous a woman, apparently, the less she appreciated being shuffled aside for football.

      “You will have no choice until you hire a new assistant,” Adelaide replied. Then, perhaps realizing that she’d pushed him, she gave him a placating smile. “Thank you for understanding.”

      Hire a new assistant? What the hell? Was she grandstanding for something, like a raise? Or was she actually serious about launching her business right now at the start of the regular season?

      “I don’t understand,” he corrected her, trying to talk reason into her. “You need start-up cash for your new company. Even without reading your plan, I know you’ll be depleting the savings you’ve worked so hard for on a very long shot at success. Everyone likes an underdog but, Addy, the risk is high. You have to know that.”

      “That’s for me to decide.” Fierceness threaded through her voice.

      He strove to hang on to his patience. “Half of all small businesses fail, and the ones that don’t require considerable investment. Work for one more year. You can suggest a raise that you feel is equitable and I’ll approve it. You’ll have a financial cushion to increase your odds of growing the company large enough to secure those merchandising rights.”

      And he would have more time to persuade

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