Our first round is against the Seattle Storm and they are a formidable opponent, having the hottest rookie on their first line and a veteran netminder.
But I feel victory within my grasp. Deep down, I’m confident we’re going to take it.
Mrs. Osborne starts picking up the woman’s clothes, an indication she needs to hurry along. She’s a gem—my Mrs. Osborne—and my most trusted and valued employee. It’s not the first time she’s had to rid me of an overnight companion so I can get my day going, which makes her irreplaceable.
I incline my head to the blonde in my bed, who seems extremely confused. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Tamara.”
Given my abrupt brushoff this morning, she appears almost surprised I remember her name.
But I do, of course.
When a woman is with me, she has my undivided attention. I listen attentively, and I remember every detail she gives me.
Now, will I remember her next week?
Probably not.
Without a backward glance, I pad through my master suite into the bathroom, my thoughts now on another woman.
I have not forgotten her name, nor one single detail about her.
Willow Monahan is absolutely unforgettable.
She’s actually the sister to one of my star players on the Vengeance—Dax Monahan. We’ve had a few encounters, and when I say “encounter,” I mean one spectacular coming together of two people with explosive chemistry. Sadly, though, she is annoyingly frustrating because she’ll no longer give me the time of day.
She has become a bit of a challenge, but one I intend to conquer.
Within a short fifteen minutes, I manage to get showered, shaved, and dressed in a custom-tailored suit paired with a green-and-blue tie representing the colors of the Arizona Vengeance.
When I make it into the kitchen, Mrs. Osborne waits with my coffee and a chastising expression. “Your lady friend was quite disgruntled. Perhaps it would be easier if you took them to hotels. That way, you could leave without a confrontation.”
Taking the steaming cup of java from Mrs. Osborne, I flash my most endearing smile. “But I love my house. I love my bed. Besides, I have you.”
Mrs. Osborne snorts as I make my way to the dining table overlooking a view of the Pacific Ocean. Why would I want to be anywhere else?
I take a seat as Mrs. Osborne grabs her own cup of coffee from the counter before joining me. “It’s a good thing you pay me an exorbitant amount of money.”
“Indeed,” I murmur as I surf through the news headlines on my smartphone.
“Just a few other things I need to go over with you before you leave,” she says, once again referencing something off her iPad. “I have a reminder for your annual donation to The Miller House. How much would you like to give this year?”
“Five million,” I reply without batting an eye. Mulling over it, I take a sip of my coffee. “And let’s add some new scholarships this year. Another million should do it.”
“Got it,” she replies as she makes a few notes with her Bluetooth pen.
“I’ve also confirmed your furniture has been delivered at the new home in Phoenix. Would you like me to take the liberty of having some groceries and other essentials stocked today?”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
It might be an extravagant purchase, but I felt a home in Phoenix would be a good investment. I’m going to be spending a great deal of time there throughout the playoff months. Besides, I have high hopes for this team in the coming years. Sure, plopping down eighteen million on an eleven-thousand-square-foot mansion might seem a little obscene for a home I plan to stay in probably a quarter of every year, but I’m worth billions. It’s a drop in the bucket.
The doorbell rings, and Mrs. Osborne pops out of her chair. “That will be your driver.”
As she strides toward the door to answer it, I take another leisurely sip of my coffee. They always arrive a little early so I have some time to finish it. However, had they been right on time, I’d force myself to leave. I’m never late for any appointment, something that’s incredibly important to me as a businessman.
Pulling up my texts on my phone, I scroll to find the last one I sent to Willow. It was three days ago, and she still hasn’t responded.
She never responds, though—unless it’s to tell me to quit bothering her.
It’s so annoying. She often makes the palm of my hand itch with the need to take it to her backside.
Her “playing hard to get” doesn’t stop me though from whipping off another message. I’m flying into Phoenix today. Dinner?
I don’t explain how I know she’s returned from her job in Kosovo. She’s a photographic journalist, and she’s staying at her brother’s house in Phoenix. I’ve curried enough favor with some of my players on the Vengeance for them to feed me the information. This particular nugget came straight from Bishop Scott, the team’s captain. I expect this little favor was an overdue thank you for lending him my private jet to chase his fiancée across the country last year.