LITMIR.BIZ

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But the cleft in his chin and the square jaw were all his own, his features sharp, his mouth an unforgiving slash. He spoke faster, too, with his stronger Cajun accent.

      Not that she’d spent an inordinate amount of time cataloging every last detail about the man she’d swooned over as a teen. There was a time she would have done backflips to make him notice her as more than just his scrawny, flat-chested pal. But the only time she’d succeeded? He’d ended up noticing her as a tool for increasing his business productivity. He had honestly once referred to her in those exact terms. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d ceased being much of a friend to him—forgoing personal exchanges in favor of taking care of business.

      That hurt even more than not being noticed as a woman.

      “Adelaide?” The voice of the PR coordinator sounded in her earpiece, a woman who had quickly seen the benefits of a coach with a personal assistant, unlike some of the front-office personnel in other cities where she’d worked. “I’m receiving calls and messages for Dempsey from Valentina Rushnaya. She’s threatened to give some unflattering interviews if she can’t arrange for a private meeting with him.”

      Adelaide’s skin chilled. Dempsey’s latest supermodel. The woman had been rude to Adelaide, unwilling to accept that her affair with Dempsey was over despite the extravagant diamond bracelet he’d sent as a breakup gift. Occasionally, Adelaide felt bad for the women he dated. She understood how it hurt to be kept at a distance after experiencing what it felt like to be the center of his attention—if only briefly. But she had no such empathy for Valentina.

      Stepping to the back of the room, Adelaide spoke softly into her microphone, momentarily tuning out of the press conference as Dempsey wound up his opening remarks.

      “I talked to Dempsey about this and he’s agreed to handle it.” She didn’t see any need to share her plans to vacate her position. “Anything she says would either be old news, or blatant lies.”

      “Should we schedule a meeting to come up with a response plan, just in case?” Carole pressed. The woman stood on the far end of the room, her arms crossed in her navy power suit that was her daily uniform, her blond bob as durable as any helmet in the league. “Dempsey’s new charity has their first major fund-raiser slated for next week. I think he’ll be disappointed if this woman succeeds in deflecting any attention from that.”

      Adelaide would be equally disappointed.

      The Brighter NOLA foundation had been her idea as much as his, a youth violence prevention initiative where Dempsey could leverage his success and influence to help some of the more gang-ridden communities in New Orleans. Like where they’d grown up. Or, more accurately, where he’d lived briefly and where she’d been stuck after he got out.

      She’d had her own run-ins with youth violence.

      “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” She would honor those words, even if it meant communicating with Dempsey after she walked away from the Silver Dome today. “She signed a strict nondisclosure agreement before she started dating Dempsey, so going to the press will be a costly move for her.”

      Dempsey had communicated as much to Adelaide in a one-line email when she’d mentioned it to him two weeks ago. He’d typed, She has no legal recourse, and attached a copy of the confidentiality agreement the woman had signed as part of his megaromantic dating procedure. In Adelaide’s softer-hearted moments, she recognized that the single life could be difficult for an extraordinarily wealthy and powerful man in the public eye. He had to be practical. Careful. But the nondisclosure agreement, complete with enforcement clause and confidentiality protection, seemed over-the-top.

      Given the number of women who still lobbied to be in his life, however, it must not deter many.

      “Valentina is wealthier than some of the ladies he’s dated,” Carole pointed out. “But I hope she’s just stirring trouble with us and not—” She stopped speaking suddenly and leaned forward. “Wait. Did he just say he has a personal announcement? What is he doing?”

      From across the room, Adelaide noticed all of the PR coordinator’s focus was on the lectern where Dempsey was facing down the media.

      The audience sat in stillness, making her wonder what she’d missed. In the hushed moment, Dempsey held the room captive as always, but more anticipation than usual pinged through the crowd. She could see it in their body language, as the journalists sat straighter in their seats, all dialed in to whatever it was the Hurricanes’ head coach was about to say.

      “I got engaged today.” He announced it as matter-of-factly as if he’d just read the latest update on a linebacker’s injury report.

      Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd of sportswriters while Adelaide reeled with shock. Engaged?

      The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. She reached behind her, searching for something to steady herself. He’d never mentioned an engagement. Her chest hurt with the weight of how little he trusted her. How little he cared about their old friendship. How much this new betrayal hurt, not to even know the most basic detail of his personal life—

      “To my personal assistant,” he continued, his gaze landing on her. “Adelaide Thibodeaux.”

Two

      Adelaide reeled back on her high heels.

      Dempsey had just publicly declared an engagement. To her.

      The man who was so cautious about every aspect of his personal life. The man who trusted her never to betray him even though he’d betrayed her in a million little ways over the years. How could he?

      In her ear, Adelaide heard Carole squeal a congratulations. A few other members of the press who knew her—women, mostly, who were still vastly outnumbered in the football community—turned around to acknowledge her. Or maybe just study her to see what renowned bachelor Dempsey Reynaud would find appealing in the very average and wholly unknown Adelaide Thibodeaux.

      Of course, the answer was obvious. She had no appeal other than the fact that Dempsey didn’t want her to leave the team. And he was a man who always got his way.

      She’d naively thought she could just turn her back on her job as his assistant and start a company that would rely upon good relations with the Hurricanes and the league in general for securing merchandising rights down the road. Something she couldn’t afford to jeopardize if she wanted her company to be a success.

      If she stood up and challenged him, she’d lose team support instantly. She didn’t dare contradict him. At least not publicly. And no question, Dempsey absolutely knew that, as well.

      Realization settled in her gut as smoothly and firmly as a sideline pass falling into a wide receiver’s hands. She’d been outflanked and outmaneuvered by the smartest play caller in the game.

      Her brand-new fiancé.

      She needed time to think and regroup before she faced him and blurted out something she would regret. Adelaide darted out of the press conference just as a reporter began quizzing Dempsey about the quarterback’s thumb. She didn’t know what else to do. She lacked Dempsey’s gift for complicated machinations that ruined other peoples’ lives in the blink of an eye. Storming off was the best she could come up with to relay her displeasure and give herself time to think.

      She tore off her earpiece even though Carole currently informed her she needed to stick around the building for any follow-up interviews.

      Like hell.

      Adelaide picked up her pace, heels grinding out a frantic rhythm on the concrete floor as she burst through a metal door leading to the stairwell. She headed down a flight to the custodial level of the dome, taking the route where she was least likely to encounter media.

      The sports journalists hadn’t really known what to do with the story about the Hurricanes’ coach getting married. Sure—they would recognize the news value. But in that he-man room full of sports experts, no

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