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“Isaac? Or do you prefer Price?”

“Yeah. I-I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.” I needed to say something that didn’t make me look like a complete asshole. Because the truth was I didn't give two shits about that man. “And Isaac is fine.”

“Thank you," she whispered. “It was a shock to everyone. My grandmother still hasn’t left the house.”

I shifted from one leg to the other. I wasn’t interested in getting into the McCade personal family business. I had to forget the tits on this woman and the curve of her hips and get down to business. I wanted a $20 million signing business for this season. I had to forget the idea of fucking her. No matter how damn gorgeous she was, no fuck was worth that much money.

I licked my lips.

Or was it?

Four

Vanessa

I could do this. I had to do this. There had to be a way to pretend I wasn’t completely drawn to Isaac Price. I had to cover every ounce of attraction. The instant my fingertips brushed over his palm, I felt a blaze underneath my skin. It was ridiculous to have such an instant and sudden pull to someone. It wasn’t rational. Was it?

I took a step away from him, trying to clear the steam that had clouded my head. His broad shoulders and sculpted arms were enough to make any woman’s panties wet. But there was something intoxicating about knowing I owned him. He was on my team. I shook my head. I couldn’t believe I was even thinking something like that.

“Why don't you have a seat, Isaac and tell me why you wanted to meet this morning.” I tried to sound professional and in control of the situation.

I pointed to the couch that was tattered on the edges. I was embarrassed this was the furniture in my office. If I lasted past opening night, I would have to hire a decorator to take care of this.

Isaac settled his heavy frame onto the sofa. I tried not to lick my lips when I saw him stretch his arm over the back. I could see the way his bicep flexed and tightened with every movement.

“I wanted to have this meeting because I think it's important we began salary negotiations as quickly as possible.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was restless.

I crossed my legs carefully, realizing my skirt showed off more thigh then I intended. I saw his eyes flash to my skin. I felt another rush of heat in my core. There was no way Isaac thought of me as anything other than ownership, but it didn't mean the fantasy wasn't there. I tried to push it away. I needed to focus on the meeting. I was officially a businesswoman. I needed to act like it.

“Salary? Don't all the players have contracts?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I need you to consider that I’m here on behalf of a lot of the guys. Some don’t have the skills to negotiate and I don’t want them left behind. I don't know how to say this any other way.” He rubbed the back of his thick dark hair.

“Go ahead,” I urged. There was something honorable and sweet about how he stood up for his teammates. “I’d like to hear what the players think. I need to gather as much information about the team and organization as I can.” I smiled.

“Honestly, the Warriors are the lowest paid team in the American Football Association. There’s no justification for it. I can tell you right now, some guys out there have agents. Some have attorneys. And they all want the same thing. Money.” His dark eyes flickered.

“Oh.” I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed about the sofa, but mortified that if what he said was true, my grandfather had underpaid the entire team. Would Granddad do that? If so, there were things much cheaper in this building than his choice in furniture.

“I could give you facts and figures,” Isaac continued. “Or I could just tell you, if you don’t pay them what they are worth, they are going to walk. They’re not going to win games for you. You’re not gonna make money this season. And I don’t know how you'll ever have a team. It won’t matter if you get the first-round draft pick and the second and the third. No one wants to be a Warrior when they can go somewhere else and make triple the money.”

“What about the other wide receivers on the team?” I asked.

Isaac shook his head. “Same. Dylan James makes less than me. No one on this team brags about the money. Everyone knows it. Everyone in the league. The Warriors used to be the Texas team.”

I could tell he was on the verge of breaking free. Of breaking out from behind the filter. There was more he wanted to say, but Isaac was a controlled man. He had chosen these words with purpose.

“Just tell me. It might be my first day in the office. But it’s not my first day with the Warriors. I know more than you might think.” I had to play the charade as long as I could.

He exhaled heavy breaths. “Fine. Your grandfather was a cheap son of a bitch. This team is a disgrace because he didn’t pay any of us well. The locker room is a shit hole. Our equipment malfunctions. This is no way to be a professional team. Something has to be done, or you’re going to lose the Warriors in this ownership cycle. Someone will buy the team from you for next to nothing.”

I felt a strange sense of resentment sink into my shoulders. Part of me knew what he was saying was true. I saw it. When we traveled for away games, I saw the facilities the other teams had. I sat in other family boxes. I knew ownership profits on other league teams were distributed into the business. But that's not how my grandfather ran things. The McCabe family fortune was massive. We had more money, land, and houses then we could ever use or need.

I needed a minute. I didn’t want him to see my defensive stance.

“Thank you, Isaac. I’ll look into it." I began to rise from the seat, pushing my hands into the armrests. I needed them to steady myself.

“That's it? Are we going to talk numbers?” There was a new flicker in his eyes. It made me catch my breath. He was intoxicating without even trying.