Chapter 14
NOVA
Harlan wasted zero time “implementing my idea,” to quote him, of letting the players behind the curtain. Apparently, the way to do that is host a spur-of-the-moment backyard event involving the entire organization.
But when Mari got her hands on it, she insisted that adding a few VIPs from the Denver business community was the best use of their sprawling scenery.
While I was pleased Harlan took my suggestion, my first thought was whether one player in particular would be gracing us with his growly, sexy presence.
Thursday’s game was nothing short of a disaster. Clay acted as if I was some stranger he had never met before, treating me with a distant, icy coolness. And I was sure that he had seen my red face and burning cheeks, too embarrassed to do anything but stand there like an idiot.
He’s texted me a handful of times since. I didn’t feel like answering. Getting my heart stomped on twice in one week is not my idea of a good time.
I’m questioning whether Clay will even show up today. Probably not for Harlan’s sake, and he doesn’t strike me as the garden-party type. The knowledge should be a comfort, but it only makes me feel worse.
The caterers arrived around eight in the morning and began unloading their supplies while I helped Mari get everything ready.
At almost noon, I’m about to go change into some cut-off shorts when Mari says, “Hey, tell me you’re not wearing that?”
My heart drops as I glance down at my outfit – a ruffled tank and jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”
Mari rolls her eyes. “You look like a caterer. The mayor is coming, Nova.”
Nowhere did it say “fancy outfit” on the list of items to prepare. Then again, Mari did invite the entire Denver business community.
I go upstairs and strip down to my bra and thong to sort through my clothes, dismissing one item after another. I’m not sure I brought anything appropriate for this event. Hell, even the limited contents of my tiny apartment closet in Boston might not have fit the bill.
Suddenly, a sharp knock comes on my door, and it swings open before I can even attempt to cover myself. Brooke stands in the doorway, looking stylish and polished in a high-necked coral minidress.
“Is that what you’re wearing? Bold choice,” she says as I cover my exposed chest. “But, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
I laugh. “I’m not sure I have it.”
“Are you kidding?” Her gaze scans my body. “You’re gorgeous.”
My hands fall to my sides. If it’s not weird for her, I guess it’s not for me either. I don’t have any particular hang-ups about my figure, but I’ve never had the all-out confidence some women have.
“I’m surprised you’re not in stilettos,” I say.
Brooke crosses to my bed and sits gracefully on it.
“Wedges are lawn friendly. As much as I like to skewer people, I leave the ground intact.” Her legs cross, and she folds her hands on top of them, beaming. “If you don’t have something to wear, I brought options. I’m getting photographed, and I need to look good against the backdrop.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Done.”
She rises and leaves the room.
I’m not sure why she’s so keen to help me, but I’m grateful for the save.
Three short minutes later, she returns with a long garment bag slung over her arm, which she drops unceremoniously onto my bed. She unzips it with a flourish and pulls out a cream-colored floral dress with a deep neckline and tiny capped sleeves.
My eyes widen in shock at the gorgeous garment. “That’s beautiful.”
“Put it on.”
Gingerly taking it from her outstretched hands, I slip on the dress and pair it with a set of nude wedges. When I turn to look at myself in the mirror, whatever words I had evaporate.
“Wow,” is all I say as Brooke zips me up completely.
“Accurate.”
The dress clings to my curves, hugging my breasts and nipping in at my waist before ending in a flirty hemline that teases my thighs. I preen in the mirror, pleased with the way I look. With wild pink hair and soft eye makeup, I feel like a garden fairy.
"What if I want to sit down?" I ask Brooke with a hint of apprehension.
"This is not a sitting down dress," she says with a laugh as she adjusts my hair.
"I'm not trying to impress anyone," I explain. "I just don't want to be mistaken for a waiter."
"So, there's no grumpy all-star you want checking you out?" Brooke teases.
Cautiously, I peek out the window, watching as groups of people start gathering on the lawn below.
"He's probably not coming."
But then I spot him, standing with a couple of the guys from the team and looking unfairly handsome, and my traitorous heart skips a beat.
"It kind of looks like he did," Brooke whispers.