Misconduct in Miami (The Miami Sports #3)

Chapter One

I ease my car into the line waiting outside of the posh Collings Motors dealership in Miami Beach, drawing an anxious breath as I pull up behind a long string of very expensive sports cars and SUVs.

A hot-pink carpet—Manatee Pink, it’s called—has been rolled out in front of the glittery dealership that’s home to some of the most expensive supercars in the world, and members of the Miami Manatees hockey team begin their walk up the carpet on this windy November evening.

Storms are expected later, but for now, guests are able to arrive in their glamorous evening wear without fighting rain.

The players are greeted by the press as they approach, as well as the sideline reporter for the Manatees, no doubt asking fluffy questions about attending Casino Night, the biggest fundraiser of the year for the Miami Manatees Foundation.

I should know. I work in social media for Real Miami FC, the professional soccer team here in Miami. If this were my event, I’d be filming with my phone, putting up arrival pics on social media, and discussing the fashion of the guests.

But I’m not attending tonight’s event as a social media professional. I’m attending to support my family. Specifically, my dad, who is the head coach of the Miami Manatees.

I tuck some of my long, dark brown hair behind my ear, pulling it away from my cheek.

I put some balmy highlighter across the tops of my cheekbones tonight for extra glow, but unfortunately, my hair sticks in it.

I smile wryly to myself. It’s a very attractive look, having my hair stuck in shimmery pearl goo.

I really should have thought out the makeup better, I muse.

But since I’m about to approach the front of the line, it’s too late to have pearl-shimmer regrets. I put my car in park as I reach the entrance to the dealership, and within seconds a young valet is running to my door.

“Good evening, welcome to Collings Motors and the Miami Manatees Casino Night,” he says to me as he opens my car door.

“Good evening,” I say, gathering some of my long evening gown in my hand so I can gracefully slide out from behind the wheel of my car. I step one foot out, planting my strappy silver stiletto onto the pavement. Then I carefully lift my dress and exit my car.

“Your name, please?” the valet asks, ready to type it into his phone.

“Scarlett. Scarlett Rivershon,” I say, standing upright.

He goes to the front of my Audi A4 and snaps a picture of my license plate. “Have a good evening,” he says.

“Thank you.”

I turn around and face the pink carpet, knowing I’ll have some pictures taken by the team’s social media, but none of them will actually make their feeds.

Which is fine by me. It’s hard enough that I have to share some of my personal life for content—like “get ready with me” videos—when I’m not completely comfortable with that.

But here? I’m the coach’s daughter. People know who I am, but that’s about it.

This is my dad’s world, not mine, and while I love hockey and coming to games, I make sure to keep myself separate from the players, team employees, and their families.

That’s not just a rule, but a set-in-stone kind that I wouldn’t dream of breaking.

The bright lights of the cameras flash as I begin my walk up the carpet, and when I reach the end, I’m asked to stand in front of a Collings Motors backdrop for some more pictures.

Okay. I’m really glad I rented this evening gown for this reason alone.

I’m in a stunning black Emilia Wentworth-Hay creation.

It’s got spaghetti straps and a high slit on the right side.

But the best part? It’s adorned on the top with black feathers, giving it a Black Swan vibe.

The feathers sweep down asymmetrically from the left shoulder across the top of the dress, ending at the right hip.

The only thing I noticed when I received the dress is that the feathers at the top of it seemed like they were damaged by the previous renter, as they weren’t as secured as the rest of them.

A few of them are barely hanging on to the fabric.

I wonder if they got caught in a seat belt or something, and someone tore a little too hard on the fabric.

I reported it, of course, but with some careful fluffing, I have it looking just as good as it looked on the website.

It’s dramatic and fashion-forward, and a bit risky—which I like.

When it comes to fashion, at least.

“Hello, Scarlett,” Heidi Marchant says, smiling brightly at me. “Can I get a few comments from you about tonight’s event?”

I smile at the sideline reporter for the Miami Manatees. “Of course.”

“Can you tell me what tonight’s event means to you?” Heidi asks, holding her mic in my direction.

“Well, I’m very excited to be here, since this is the first time I’ve been able to attend a Miami Manatees Casino Night,” I answer.

“It’s such a great event for the fans, to be able to get up close and personal with the players and have a fun evening that helps raise money for the Miami Manatees Foundation. ”

If this clip is ever posted, everyone will know I wrote out my answer in advance and practiced it. As someone who likes natural reactions on social media, I’m appalled at myself. But as someone whose dad is the head coach of the team?

I’m leaving nothing to chance.

“What are you looking forward to the most tonight?” Heidi asks.

“I want to play blackjack. And I’m hoping to win some things in the silent auction.”

I leave out the part that I’m crap at card games and blackjack is the only one that makes sense to me, as well as the fact that I love shopping and can’t wait to place some bids tonight. I can be competitive, and I kind of like trying to outbid someone for an item.

“Thank you for your time,” Heidi says, flashing me her brilliant smile. “Enjoy your evening!”

“Thank you, Heidi, you too.”

I walk toward the entrance to the building, and the doors are quickly pulled open for me.

I step inside the dealership, which has been completely changed over to look like a high-end casino.

All different kinds of gaming tables are set up, and so is a stage.

There’s a large circular bar in the center of the room, and a long buffet set up on the right wall.

There are tables draped in white linen for people to hang out and eat at, and video monitors in the room display information for the event.

Upbeat pop music fills the air—the DJ has already gone into high gear spinning some pulsating tunes.

The room is crowded with fans, even though the event doesn’t officially start for another half hour. The dress code is black tie, and I’m in a sea of black suits and tuxes and sequins.

I smile. Lots and lots of sequins. Which makes me glad I went for feathers.

The gaming tables and silent auction haven’t opened yet, so I decide to dash into the ladies’ room to check my makeup.

I enter and find another woman checking her appearance in the mirror, too.

We smile at each other and say hello, and then I shift my attention to what I see reflected back at me in the glass.

My hair falls in waves down past my shoulders. I’ve done soft browns on my eyelids to make my blue eyes pop. I’m wearing a matte red lipstick—my signature color.

And of course, I have shimmery cheekbones.

I frown a bit. I shouldn’t have used the shimmer balm tonight. I mean, it was my first time trying it—what an idiot move to make. But I wanted radiant, glowy skin.

And oh, I’m glowing all right. With gooey cheeks.

I thought the product would have died down by now—no such luck.

But if I try to pat it down, I’m going to lift off the rest of my makeup or smear it. So I can tell I’m going to be fighting it all night, trying to keep my hair out of it.

FAB.

I carefully push my hair away from my face once again and exit the restroom.

I stand on the precipice of the room, searching the crowd.

I don’t spot my parents right away, so I make my way through the crowd to the auction tables.

There’s lots of sports memorabilia, including framed jerseys from all kinds of professional athletes.

I move past those to the table that has experiences, ranging from golf outings to sitting in a suite for a Miami Copperheads game.

I don’t see any experiences I’d like to have.

I smile to myself. Nope, that’s a lie. I don’t see any experiences I can afford to have.

“Scarlett,” a familiar voice says from behind me.

I turn around, finding my dad standing behind me. “Hi, Daddy!” I say, going in for a hug. My father’s familiar embrace warms me before he steps back, giving me a shrewd look.

“It’s a good thing my players know you’re off-limits,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling up in the corners. “Because you look beautiful tonight.”

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. Of course, nobody can probably see it due to the darkness of the room. Or the fact that it’s hidden by a thick layer of pearl shimmer.

“Dad, stop,” I say.

“Complimenting you? Not a chance.”

“No, not that.” I chuckle. “Trust me, none of your players will come near me.”

He rakes a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and frowns. “Well, dressed like that you might tempt them.”

“No, I won’t,” I reassure him. “Besides, you—along with my way overprotective brothers—have drilled that lesson into my head. No players.”

“I’m glad to hear your brothers did their job.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need any of you to do your job. No player has ever shown the slightest bit of interest in me. I don’t expect them to start now. Where’s Mom?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

“She’s socializing with some of the foundation board members,” Dad says.

I nod. Over his shoulder, I can see there’s already fans waiting for him. I lean forward so I can speak in his ear. “A line is queuing behind you for selfies,” I murmur in his ear.

He smiles. “I understand. Well, have fun tonight, honey. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”