Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

And my reputation as an arrogant, unemotional asshole was born.

“The press conference isn’t a bad idea. You’ve barely spoken at one in years, and trust me; they’ll be salivating in that room.”

“Not helping, Lawrence.”

“Too much has been said about you in the past—including Sophia’s lies—and you’ve never defended yourself. You lost the Super Bowl. You ran over a kid—accidentally. It’s time to buckle down and think about putting yourself out there. Look, you hired me to fix your image issues. You have this anxiety thing when it comes to reporters in your face, but just try this time. Stare at the ground if you have to. Just get the words out about what happened. It wasn’t your fault, Jack, but when you won’t even tell people, they form their own opinions.”

I stand there, mulling. I don’t even know the root of the fear. It’s just there.

He exhales. “People like a villain, Hawke, and you make a great one. There are rumors of trading you.”

“Rumors from whom?”

“I don’t have specifics.”

I close my eyes.

There are always rumors, especially after a big loss, but if they do trade me . . . it’s a death sentence. It says, Jack has problems, and Nashville doesn’t want him. Plus, this damn shoulder. I rub it for a moment, then grab the hangers he’s holding and head to the showers.

He keeps pace behind me, his headset from his phone in his ears as he talks to someone. Probably my agent.

I flip on the water and give him a look. “Are you gonna talk to me the whole time I shower?”

His lips press together. “If I have to. We need to run through a few responses to questions I’m anticipating. We’re going to spin it and blame the kid. He never should have been outside the stadium in a restricted zone anyway. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t see him—”

“Lawrence, he’s a kid. I can’t blame him. Get out of here, okay? Let me think.” I pause. “Also, find out what you can about a girl named Elena.”

He crosses his arms. “Not your secretary.”

“Personal assistants. That’s what they call them these days. But you are my PR guy.”

He rolls his eyes. “A girl, huh?”

I grab my gym bag and pull out the NDA, scanning it. “Yeah. The one from last night.” My stomach drops. “Dammit!”

“What?” He looks over my shoulder.

I groan, dread filling my stomach as I scan the papers. “She didn’t sign the NDA with her real name.”

He shrugs. “Juliet Capulet? Has a nice ring to it. Maybe Elena is her middle name?”

“Hardly.” My lips tighten.

“Is there an address?”

I grimace. “Home address: Verona, Italy.”

“Is she Italian?”

I huff out a laugh. “Dude. Romeo and Juliet. How the hell did you ever pass freshman lit?”

He shrugs. “Your dick is going to get you in trouble.”

I slam the papers back in my bag. “Just find out who she is, okay? I left her this morning with my digits, but she may not be in the best mood when she wakes up. She thinks I’m the local weatherman, Greg something—”

Lawrence sputters. “You lied to her? That alone is enough to make the NDA invalid. What if she runs straight to the media?”

I wince. I wasn’t thinking straight last night . . .

“Just find her, and we’ll do a new one, true?”

He throws his hands in the air. “Unbelievable. You actually want me to hunt down some random you screwed—”

My finger spears him. “Not a random. Don’t talk like that, Lawrence. She is a person.”

And I liked her.

His eyebrows hit the roof. “I should just quit this job now.”

“You threaten to quit once a month, and no one believes you. ’Cause you like me too much, and I pay you well.” I slap him on the arm. “I need you. I have two good friends in this town, you and Devon. Do you have any clue how lucky we are to be together?”

Lawrence, Devon, and I all attended Ohio State and played football and won a national championship our senior year. I was drafted to Nashville—first round, first pick—and Lawrence’s family lives here. Football wasn’t a lifetime career for him, so I hired him as PR, not even realizing how bad I’d come to need him in the next few years. And Devon—he was traded to Nashville from Jacksonville a couple of years ago, our best wide receiver and my go-to guy on the field.

Lawrence scowls. “I don’t know how to find a girl.”

“Liar. You’re like a pro, man, all stealth and spy-like. You’re a laser with sharp focus. You’re a ninja who scales tall buildings. Hell, you’re—”

“Fine. I’m awesome. I have skills.” He studies his carefully manicured nails. “But this is different. Maybe this girl doesn’t want to be found. Does she live nearby?”

I stop, recalling our conversation. “Daisy. Small town. I’ve never heard of it, but then I don’t leave the city much.”