Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Cat
After a horrendous night, I resisted wearing sunglasses to work that Monday morning only after applying half a jar of concealer to my hopelessly sad eyes. I didn’t want to see Hunter with almost as much vehemence as I did want to see him.
When I took the seat behind my desk I saw an envelope with my name scrawled on it and knew, even though I had no way of knowing, that it was Hunter’s handwriting.
When I ripped it open, my car keys fell out.
I examined inside for a note, words of any kind, even directions on where to find my damn car.
But there was nothing. The pang of disappointment cut deep.
Too deep to handle without caffeine. I’d run late enough this morning that I hadn’t stopped for coffee and I needed it desperately.
I dialed Jason, hoping he’d meet me at the diner just across the street from the stadium, where we’d met before once.
I knew he wasn’t working and he didn’t live far, only five minutes away in post rush-hour traffic.
Waiting for him to pick up the call, I grabbed my bag and shrugged back into my coat.
Jason was the exact antidote I needed. He’d cheer me and console me in a no-pressure zone, totally absent of judgment. After all, I’d done the same for him back in college when he’d had more than one failed romance with paramours unknown.
With my sunglasses in place and the collar on my coat standing straight up, I wound my way through the building, stopping to let my boss know I was going for coffee, and down the stairs on the other side of the complex.
I left the ground floor of the stadium along the side bordering Avon street.
The other three sides of the stadium were surrounded by parking lots and outbuildings with deep fencing.
I dashed across the street and slipped inside the diner, where Jason was taking off his coat at the prime corner booth.
He’d made it in record time. Standing, he opened his arms and I threw myself at him for a world-class hug.
He was the big brother I never had. It was funny that I never thought of him as a sister, though maybe I should.
When I finally realized we’d be attracting unwanted stares, I let go and fell into the booth sitting opposite him.
“Tell me all about it, Cat. Leave nothing out.” He raised his hand to summon the waitress, but it was his stunning eyes and killer smile that made the young lady come running. He shamelessly used his looks to persuade people for favors, all the while leading them on. I’d seen it a million times.
The upshot was that I got my fresh, steaming hot coffee in no time.
I told Jason all about the sizzling attraction between me and Hunter, that we’d had phone sex, about our stolen kisses and about dinner with Dad and about Dad’s not-so-veiled warning.
“We’re dying for each other, but there’s this great big skull and crossbones plastered over any relationship between us besides strictly business.”
“I get it, honey, but football season doesn’t last forever. Maybe you can ask your dad to trade him.”
“Hunter would never forgive me for that. This is his chance to play for the best coach in football and he knows it.”
“You said he needs the money, right? Well, after he has a successful season—he only has a one-year contract, right?—he’ll be a free agent and can go somewhere else for the money. Then he’ll be all yours.”
I looked at him with skepticism, too weary and disheartened to point out all the flaws in his logic.
If he left town, he wouldn’t be mine because I’d still be here.
There was no way another team would hire me.
They’d presume I was a spoiled kid who got the job because of my father and didn’t know what I was doing.
Then some other gorgeous smart woman would snatch up Hunter in his new city and I’d be a distant memory.
And that was only if he had a successful season this year.
We still had eight games to go. Half the season. So much could happen.
“I know what you’re thinking and I’m surprised,” Jason said. “It’s not like you to be such a Debbie Downer. You’re really stuck on this guy?” He looked amused and sad.
“Hook, line and sinker.”
“Then quit your damn job,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.
“I could do that, but it would be very selfish of me. Since my job is to get him his reputation back.”
“Someone else can do that.”
I shook my head. “I’m in a unique position to be able to do it, Jason. I know things other people don’t. I know the secret behind him punching his coach. I know why he did it.”
“Yeah. So?”
“And the reason would exonerate him and even make him look like an angel. They’d be calling for his nomination for sainthood if they knew.”
“So what’s the secret?”
“It’s a secret,” I said, knowing I was being unfair. “And it has to stay that way until Hunter wants to reveal it. It’s his secret to tell.”
Jason blew out a breath, getting the picture.
“Self-sacrificing bastard.”
I nodded, then chugged down the rest of my coffee.
“Then it’s up to us to somehow make him reveal his secret.”
“He won’t. He’s too honorable.”
“We’ll have to make it honorable.”
“What do you mean by we?”
“The royal we. I mean you. I won’t ask what the secret is. I know you wouldn’t tell me anyway. You’re like a vault with confidences. One of your many charms.” He sipped his coffee. “Have I mentioned to you what a lucky bastard Hunter Quintanna is to have you in his corner?”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. He laughed. My first genuine smile of the day popped out of my gloom.
“Let’s get a picture.” I took out my phone, bounced around to his side of the booth and, throwing one arm around him, took a selfie of the happy pretend couple.
The least I could do today was my job. I could do good for Hunter and that would make me feel better because he deserved it.
Grinding through the week with only ghost sightings of Hunter, if I didn’t get a decent night’s sleep, I’d end up drowning in the coffee cure.
It was already Thursday and, though I’d worked hard on the social media campaign in support of Hunter and had made some progress, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that the other shoe was going to drop any minute.
And it was going to be a spiky cleat straight through my heart.
There’d been photos in the paper and on social media of our family dinner and the dish was mostly favorable.
The snarky commentary was on the decline and that should make me happy.
I’d set up Hunter to attend a prime charity event Friday night and the PR people were so pleased with it they were rounding up a few other guys to attend.
It was a St. Jude’s Hospital Celebrity Auction at the Parker House.
Hunter was donating himself for a night out with dinner at Grill 23.
But he didn’t know it yet. Of course I convinced the restaurant to donate the dinner.
The St. Jude’s people were thrilled. I should be proud of my good work.
The problem was that I hadn’t talked to Hunter about it and I dreaded the call. I made an attempt last night but hung up the phone, realizing phone calls between us would forever be tainted by our one naughty night, our major lapse that I didn’t think I’d ever get over.
The experience was emblazoned on my memory forever. As it should be.
Aside from my hang-up call, I hadn’t so much as texted Hunter. And of course there was radio silence and every other kind of silence from him.
That bothered me, but it wasn’t the only thing.
After I posted photos of me and Jason to my own social media account and snuck one in under the team’s account of us at the game, my spirits sank.
I had no choice. There’d been a few comments on Instagram speculating about me and Hunter over the photos of us at dinner.
Not much, but one of the commenters questioned Hunter dating the coach’s daughter and I couldn’t let that stand.
The worst had been this morning, telling Dad I was seeing Jason. Another offensive move to defend against any potential gossip. Without blinking, he’d said I should invite Jason to the next postgame dinner. I reluctantly agreed—a new low for me.
It was already Thursday, 4 p.m., and I had to talk to Hunter about the charity event tomorrow night.
I shouldn’t have put it off this long. Staring at the phone on my desk, I wimped out and pulled my cell phone from my bag and sent him a text asking him to come to my office as soon as practice was over.
I made sure he knew it was for an official business meeting to go over charity options.
My conscience squeezed my chest a little for making it seem like he had choices. Tomorrow night’s event was a command performance. Even Coach had already approved it. It was all set with a few guys from the team and a few cheerleaders slated to attend. Plus me.
On edge didn’t even come close to how I felt waiting for Hunter to show up.
Once I heard the air horn signaling the end of practice and saw the field lights going off a few minutes later, the tension tightened until I could hardly suck air into my lungs, as if they were squeezed shut by all my muscles clenching down fiercely, anticipating .
. . something. Bad? Exciting? Impossible?
Pacing around my office hardly helped. The space was too small and I almost made myself dizzy.
Or that could have been from forgetting to eat lunch.
Looking at the clock—6:15—and then at my computer, I contemplated resuming my research into Hunter’s family and his past. I hadn’t found much.
It was about time to put a call in to a sorority sister who lived in the area.
She was older than me, older than Hunter, in her forties, but she’d lived in the area all her life and might know some things because she was a teacher at his old high school.
Standing in the middle of the office, staring at my computer as if I could operate it remotely with my mind, I jumped when the knock on the doorjamb came, followed by Hunter’s darkly shameless voice.
“You look like a Cat on the prowl.”
I turned.
“Not like a Cat being hunted?” I was more shameless than he was, but it was my kneejerk reaction always to give sass when I got it, to quip when in doubt. And I was always in doubt where Hunter was concerned.
He smirked and didn’t grant me a response, but walked into the office, absorbing all the space and sucking whatever remaining air I had left in my shrunken lungs. No time to choke now, Cat.
Taking the lone guest chair, he sat and stared at me, daring me to speak. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back like he had all night and was perfectly under control.
I knew he wasn’t, could feel his tension on top of mine. Needing to get this over with—it didn’t matter how prettily or professionally I gave him the news—I did my other thing: I was blunt.
“I scheduled you for a charity event tomorrow night. Eight p.m. Black tie. Parker House. St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.
A dinner out with you will be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
I’ll accompany you with a few other men from the team and three Militia cheerleaders.
” I paused to take a breath. “Sorry about the last-minute notice. We just finished making the final arrangements.” He stared at me without response, without reaction, though I could feel the anger, the belligerence coming off him in waves of cold intensity. I stared back at him.
“Any questions?”
“Only one.”
I waited, not wanting to hear it because I knew it would be bad and I hoped I could force him to cooperate. He needed this good-guy exposure.
“Well?”
“Are you f—cking out of your mind? Auctioning me off? Without my permission? Without so much as asking me? I’m not—”
“You are. You need the positive exposure. You will go. You will wear a tux—I’m having one sent to your place tomorrow afternoon. And you will be on your best behavior.” I didn’t budge an inch, standing with my hands on my hips, my power pose, according to Jason.
Hunter eyed me with mocking eyes.
“You get off on this power shit, don’t you?” His words lashed me.
“No. I know when I’m right.”
“An auction? Like I’m a piece of meat, Cat?” His accusation lashed deeper still.
“It’s all you have. All we could offer. No one knows your jersey number yet, so that wouldn’t have gone for much.”
“My jersey is worthless?”
“Stop it. It wasn’t my idea. The program manager from St. Jude’s suggested it, insisted on it. Blame her. You want her number?”
He laughed at me, his face changing as if he’d been playing some great joke.
“Are other guys being auctioned off?” He already knew the answer.
“No. They don’t have a handler looking out for them. I don’t give a crap about the other guys. They’re coming along for the ride because our PR office liked the idea. They’ll show up and sign some posters.”
He studied me for another beat and stood, face back to neutral. “Okay.”
It wasn’t much of an apology, but I sensed the hint of one.
“I’ll pick you up at 7:45.”
He rolled his eyes and walked past me.
“Yes, Mom.”
I laughed. It was a dark, mean thing to say, given our relationship, but I got his point. He left without turning back, without touching me, though I felt the effect of his presence on me, in me, running through me like a high-voltage jolt. I felt burned. And excited.
Later that night Hunter texted me to say he was getting a ride with Wyatt tomorrow and would meet me at the venue.
Not even a call. I was an idiot for expecting anything. We weren’t supposed to have a relationship. But was I expecting too much for him to be civil? To not be singed by his acid presence, his scalding hostility? I knew the answer to that.
Every cell in my body jumped up and down at once protesting the idea that I could ever be just friends with Hunter Quintanna. I didn’t bother responding to his text.