Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The driver dropped me off at the entrance to admin’s offices at the practice facility and had no sooner opened the car door for me than a blonde dressed in a sleek business suit pushed open the heavy glass door and offered me a warm, familiar smile. “Well, hey there, McRae.”
“Molly.” I grinned back at the Royals’ human resources specialist. They’d snagged her from the Rush after my rookie year when she was an intern.
“It’s so good to see you.” She wrapped me in a hug before gesturing me inside. “Let’s catch up afterwards. For now, we’re all ready if you are.”
I was ushered into a conference room where upper-level management was seated around the table. After greeting them all, I was given coffee, and we shot the shit until the head coach, Austin Grant, came in from the field, where the team was midpractice. This was the fifth interview I’d done for a special teams coaching position, so the interview process felt familiar and smooth by now. When the usual rigamarole of questions was finished, Coach Grant settled back in his chair and eyed me.
“I’m a little surprised you flew out here.”
I perked a brow. “Really? This is a huge opportunity.”
“You’ve turned down Phoenix, Boston, Dallas, and Atlanta.”
“Atlanta passed me over,” I pointed out.
He smiled. “Fair enough. Fact remains on the other three. Made me wonder for a while if there was something more than family ties keeping you bound to Denver. Now I get it.”
In all my strategizing about me and Cullen, I’d committed the rookie move of not anticipating how trying to help his career might throw up some roadblocks in my own. Fuck. “My relationship with Atwood is recent. But—” I straightened in my seat and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “—I’ve always admired the Royals, and there’s nowhere I wouldn’t go for the right opportunity, the right fit. It has to be mutual, though.”
“The right fit is important.” Coach thumped the table. “We’ve got a few other candidates we’re interviewing, but I’ve always liked that level, from-the-hip aspect of yours. How about we tour the facilities, catch a bit of practice, and then we’ll try to woo you with some of LA’s best sushi.”
I chuckled. “That sounds like a plan.”
I met up with Whitt at a fancy bar in downtown LA after dinner, joining him in the VIP area at a booth.
I grinned as I slid onto the leather bench, eyeing his stylish fade and hard part, the manicured scruff along his jaw, and sleek tailored pants with a casual button-down. Hard to imagine a guy like him getting roughed up and dirty on a field—he looked like a model more than a cornerback—but he did it and did it well. “Bougier than ever, I see.” I stuck out like a sore thumb in my plain button-down and jeans. Fashion was something else in LA. Shit, maybe I’d have to hire a personal stylist to update my wardrobe if I got the job. Cullen would laugh his ass off at that.
And why was I thinking about him again? I didn’t need to be going down that treacherous mental path. I needed to be focusing on my career.
Whitt waved a hand with a smirk. “Just keeping up appearances. Long time no see, man.” He clapped me on the back, then lifted his empty rocks glass, and a server came running over. “Another whiskey on the rocks, please. McRae?”
I ordered my usual vodka tonic and, once our drinks were delivered, settled back in the booth. “Is me being here your doing?” I asked, and Whitt laughed as I gave him a skeptical side-eye.
“Shit, I don’t have that kind of pull, but Molly does. I’m pretty sure she’s the one in your corner. I just told them all the reasons why they shouldn’t hire you, especially considering your former team,” he joked. “Made a PowerPoint presentation and everything.”
“Like you’ve ever made a PowerPoint in your life.” I scoffed. “Didn’t you pay someone to make one for you once for a class freshman year?” Whitt had transferred to FU right after freshman year for reasons that had always been kinda vague to me. He’d been cool enough back then, but his ego seemed to have become magnified over the years.
“Sure did. Some of the best thirty bucks I ever spent, too. God.” He exhaled a low whistle. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Me either,” I lied. My college memories remained vivid and striking, mostly because of Cullen, I was sure. “It’s been a while.”
“Sure as shit has. A lot has changed. In the league. In… Just in general.” He gave me a pointed look, and I knew what was coming. “You and Cullen Atwood, though, for real?”
“For real.” I nodded slowly. Fuck, I hated lying. But in a way, was I really lying? Ironically, it was refreshing to be able to say anything at all, even if it was under the guise of a fake relationship.