Defensive Line (The Unlovabulls #1)

Chapter Thirty

The Unlovables

Lily

I’d gone back and forth in my head a million times over the last week. I weighed the positives and negatives over and over again, considering all possible options. The problem with having Brody here was that we were so new we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It wasn’t his fault, mind you, but I needed time to think and strategize, figure out the best path to take.

When we located the mill again, the ASPCA and SPCA of Texas said they’d step in and help. But I couldn’t fathom all those unsocialized, so-called dangerous breeds , being put down by their respective shelters. Or mentally deteriorating in a no-kill shelter until they succumbed, never knowing a life with love in it.

I knew I was the person who could keep that from happening. I needed my own facility. A place for dogs nobody else could handle or train. The ones nobody would adopt because of breed bias and under-socialization.

Those were the dogs I wanted in my care, and not just for this mill. It would be a haven for the dogs other shelters couldn’t handle. Dogs Like Mack and CC. Mill dogs, dogs from fighting rings, strays, dogs that had been abused and didn’t trust humans—those were the dogs I wanted in my shelter to get the medical treatment, love, and care they needed.

Those that I couldn’t rehabilitate, I would filter into working programs that curbed the worst of their issues or redirected them into more acceptable behavior. Every abused and mistreated dog deserved a chance to heal from the physical, emotional, and psychological traumas of their lives.

Every. Dog.

There was one problem. I needed money I could never go to Brody for. The last thing I wanted was for Brody to think I was using him for his money. Besides, even if he gave me every penny he had to his name, it might not be enough.

Running a shelter wasn’t cheap. It would take millions in capital just to open the doors—I’d need paid employees, medical and operational costs, I’d have equipment and facility expenses. I estimated at least twenty million just to get the doors open for fifty dogs.

There was only one person I could ask for the money, and I knew what I’d have to do to get it.

Which was how I ended up at the Dallas Bulldogs corporate headquarters instead of teaching my eight a.m. class. “He’s ready for you, Ms. Costello.”

Stiffening my spine, I grabbed my folder, prepared to make a deal with the devil himself. I only hoped I came out with my soul intact. I also knew how far I would go where I was concerned, but Brody Shaw was off the table. His career was his, not mine to gamble with.

Dick’s office looked down on all of Oz—it was very J.R. Ewing. Expansive windows. Brown leather couches and chairs where I’m sure he banged his secretary. Enormous oak desk and wet bar with crystal decanters.

The ick factor was high.

“To what do I owe today’s visit, Liliana?” He met me with a repulsively haunting grin that prickled the hair on my neck.

When I was young, I loved to read Little Red Riding Hood with my dad. I always read the little girl’s part aloud. “Grandmother, what big eyes you have!”

Dad read the wolf’s part in a grumbly voice. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”

Seeing Dick smile like that, all I could think was, “Grandmother, what big teeth you have!”

Shaking off the willies, I walked directly to his desk and dropped the file on it. “I need your help.” The words came through gritted teeth with my jaw locked and a little bit of bile sitting on the back of my tongue.

“Oh, you do, do you?” He chuckled, flipped the folder open. “A rescue.” He took a seat in his monstrosity of a chair.

I preferred to stand. Avoiding all details about Brody, I gave Dick my pitch. I told him about my mill search, and the resulting discoveries. How the mill would be too big for one shelter, or one trainer to handle, but that I could arrange to take only the least adoptable dogs. “As you’ve said before, the Bulldogs are always looking for charitable causes to fund. Why not a dog shelter? Think of the tax write-offs, branding tie-ins, et cetera. The Dallas Bulldogs would fully fund their own dog shelter where players and staff would volunteer. It would be unprecedented. The commissioner would be all in.”

He flipped through the papers I’d prepared, scanning over the numbers. “I’m aware that you and Mr. Shaw have been searching for this mill. Let me be blunt.” He stared straight through me, but I didn’t flinch. “Are you sleeping with Brody Shaw?”

I’d expected this question. He’d already asked me to rat on Brody. I lied with psychopathic precision and cold calculation in my voice; it did not waver. Nor did my eyes stray from Dick’s.

“No, and frankly I’m offended you asked. You know damn well I’m not my mother.” Sorry, Mom .

Dropping the fingers propped on his chin, he raised an eyebrow. “This is a handsome investment, Lily. You can’t possibly think I’d do this without quid pro quo.”

I had expected that, too. I was fully expecting to leave this room with my tail tucked between my legs. I would posture, negotiate, beg, borrow, and lie my ass off at world-class level in the hope of keeping a sliver of my integrity intact. But the truth was, he had the upper hand and we both knew it.

In my head, I’d already agreed to the Head Trainer’s position.

But, a girl’s gotta try. “Of course. You’d never do it simply because it’s the right thing to do. Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you what I’ll give.” I sank into the chair across the desk and crossed my legs, tapped my fingers against the tufted leather that was an exact match to the color of a football.

Dick put his elbows on the desk. “You will leave your dog training position and come to work for me as my head trainer. You’ll be given a fitting salary, and you can remain the figurehead of the Bulldogs animal shelter because it’s good publicity for my stepdaughter to have a pet project of that magnitude.”

So far, it was what I’d expected and I’d get to work with the dogs at the shelter.

“However, you will find someone else qualified to attend to day-to-day operations and oversee construction.” That gave me pause. “You’ll also have to choose another trainer to work with the dogs. Any time you spend at the shelter will be outside of your hours here, and unpaid.

“In addition, in your function as head trainer, you’ll work closely with me, Trey , and select medical staff to provide the players with outcomes that will best benefit the Bulldogs organization.”

Whoa. There it was. He’d try to manipulate me into gaslighting players and coaches like he and Trey had done to Brody to benefit the organization’s bottom line and championship hopes. And why was I not surprised my ex-fiancé was under Dick’s thumb? Adam Chase III was nothing if not slippery as fuck.

“Last but not least, the Bulldogs will not break ground on this shelter until you’ve reached your third anniversary in your position and I’m satisfied with your performance.”

Nope. “Let me tell you what I’m willing to give.” Leaning forward, I planted my elbows on the corner of his desk, mocking him. “I will leave my position at the training center and come to work for the Bulldogs, but I will oversee all phases of the shelter’s development. When it’s ready to accept dogs, I’ll hand day-to-day operations over to someone of my choosing who reports directly to me. I want two days a week, paid—three during the off-season—to work with the dogs at the shelter myself. I will not report to Trey. Figure something else out there. Oh, the Bulldogs will break ground on the shelter as soon as I identify a suitable space to build or renovate, and I want it close enough to this campus that the players and staff can give freely of their time. And I want it all in writing, Dick.”

He laughed. Literally fucking laughed. In my face. “It’s good that you have that backbone, Lily. You’re going to need it. It helps that you’re not a half-bad liar as well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignored the question. “And player outcomes?”

I shrugged, but kept my eyes locked on his. “It is what it is. The dogs are what matter.” The answer was short, noncommittal, and easy to twist. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to gaslight the players for Dick. I suspected he thought he could force the issue later.

Eh, let him try. Poor Dick. He’d brought a bulldog to a Cane Corso fight.

His lips split into a slimy grin. “Your father always knew when to roll over, too.”

Asshole!

“Here’s my best offer, Liliana. You can oversee the shelter planning and construction You can even pick your replacement and they can report to you. You get one day a week at the shelter—two in the off-season—unpaid. I will break ground on the shelter in one year and I will put most everything in writing. You will work with Trey, and whether you think you can hold out or not, you will ‘rat’ for me, Liliana.”

He made the damn air quotes with his fingers. What a douche. “Six months and you break ground. The shelter should be up and running nine months from then. And if I have to work with Trey, you have to tap some of your resources to help me locate the mill.”

“It’s a deal. I’ll get it drawn up and take it to the board.” He stuck out his hand and I clasped his palm, but for the first time in my life, I wondered: if this was a win, why did I feel so utterly hopeless? Lost, empty, completely beaten down, and badly in need of a scalding hot shower with a side of Clorox bleach.

For the dogs, Lily. For CC and Mack and Laila, and all those dogs in the woods that didn’t make it out like Mack did. For all of the underdogs, the unwanted, the throwaways who are out of sight, out of mind. For the mamas that never run on the grass with their babies, and the males that are met with the end of a cattle prod instead of a loving hand.

You did it for the unlovables, Lily.

I did it for the unlovables. Because it was what was best for the dogs.

I made it into the elevator and watched the door shut before I let my tears fall.