Me: Good night. Please use your pillow to muffle the sound if you have the urge for another moaning session. I need my beauty sleep.
I put my phone facedown and snuggled deeper into my bed. I heard it beep, but instead of answering it, I turned over and giggled into my pillow, knowing exactly what I was going to do Monday morning before Hunter got to the office. I planned to lay low and work over the
weekend. It would be too hard to face him knowing what he was doing next door. I had to fight every urge to slip my fingers into my panties and make myself come. I refused to give Hunter that satisfaction, even if he never knew. But if I didn’t get some relief soon, I might detonate like a nuclear bomb from sexual frustration.
12
Kendall
I sat in my office with the windows open. The Lysol was embedded into every fibrous surface in my office, but after a weekend of working there with the windows open, I believed I had aired it out sufficiently. I’d gone through the city’s supply of lemon candles. At least I didn’t taste the Lysol when I took a deep breath.
Hunter will be in the office today. I checked the time—it was a little past nine, and he wasn’t in the office yet, which was odd. But I wasn’t going to reach out. He was a big boy.
I wanted to see him. There had been several times over the weekend when I’d gone to text him but stopped myself. I enjoyed the sparring. I wondered if he thought of me as much as I did him.
Stop it. Stop being stupid. I was there to do a job. Nothing else would come of it. When I proved myself, I would move back to North Carolina and hopefully take over the company. I wasn’t good at relationships. They weren’t for me.
What am I going to do when Hunter walks into my office? His smell would overpower my lemon candles. And my stomach couldn’t handle any more Lysol. I felt like I had overdosed on the disinfectant.
I wondered what he’d think if I started Febrezing him when he walked in. That would neutralize his masculine scent. Oh, Hunter, don’t mind me, it’s a new protocol for all visitors. I groaned when I realized how stupid that sounded.
I looked at the bottles I had bought to spray in the carpet that weekend. Nope, Febrezing him was not an option. It was official—I was losing my mind. How in the world did I think that would work?
I focused on the paperwork Hunter had sent me for some of the players he considered options to replace our running back and linebacker. Any of them would be amazing choices.
The problem lay in their choosing to be part of this disastrous team.
My phone vibrated, and I couldn’t hide my grin when I saw the alert.
Hunter: I’ll be there soon. My Golden Horse got out this morning. About twenty minutes or less away. I’ve stopped for coffee.
Me: She really needs a name.
Hunter: When it’s time, she’ll get one.
Me: It’s probably why she hates you. Do you want to be called muscled tattooed guy? Probably not. You like being called by your given name.
Hunter: So you like my muscles?
My email pinged, distracting me from my conversation with Hunter. It was a media link from our PR team. After this mess was sorted out, they were going to get raises. I clicked on the link, a headache beginning to form as I watched the latest newsreel. The team had created a video on YouTube of them eating… detergent pods.
How is this a thing? Detergent pods? What the hell?
The video ended with one of the team members vomiting violently. Anger surged through me like a raging storm. This was a disaster. Inside, I was fuming. Not only were they making a mockery out of me and the team, but they might inspire children to do something dangerous. Plus, they were going to cause me problems with Hunter. He’d barely taken this job, and I needed him to stay.
I furiously typed out a text.
Me: Where is your bat?
Hunter: My office. Why?
Me: You may not have a team by the time you get here.
I dropped my phone on the desk and watched the video again. My phone vibrated like crazy with a call from Hunter. No, I was not going to be deterred. At that moment, I had some players’ heads to bash in with a baseball bat.
I stomped out of my office as Amber stood. “Mr. Owens is on the phone for you.”
“Later.” My voice was cold and angry.
I kept going, refusing to be distracted when Joseph called from the hall, “Ms. Wales, Mr. Owens is on the phone for you.”
“He’ll have to wait. Prepare the contracts of the players with payouts for firing.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them.”
There were gasps around the office as I kept moving. Enough was enough. By the time I’d made my way to the stadium, the fury had built to an insurmountable level. I heard laughter coming from inside the locker room. Those assholes. I was done. I had officially reached my limit.
In Hunter’s office, which was surprisingly tidy, I looked for the bat. His shipments of candy had arrived, and the boxes were lined up along the back wall. I found the bat leaning up against the wall and quickly grabbed it before heading toward the locker room.
Remembering everything the players had done only aggravated me more. I grabbed the bat and clenched it. My heels clicked a staccato rhythm as I stalked toward the locker room. From ten feet away, I yelled, “Woman coming in. Cover up any of those unmentionables, boys.”
Without waiting, I stormed into the room. They were gathered in a loose circle, holding their phones, probably looking at the latest story on the news. Beside me stood the battered red locker Hunter had abused. I wanted to smirk at the huge dents he’d already put there, but I kept my composure. I glanced around the room. No one paid any attention to my presence.
“We need to talk.”
There was no response. They kept laughing as the familiar sound of the video clip came to the part where Gavyn puked.
With all my might, I swung the bat into the locker, and it made a thunderous racket. That got their attention, and it felt good at the same time. Maybe there was something to this locker hitting.
“What the hell were you thinking? Detergent pods? Eating them? First it was that Keke song challenge with moving cars where you two hit a fire station. Then the water fountain incident. Next, you’re caught snorting condoms like fucking twelve-year-olds. Thank goodness that wasn’t on the news. And now you guys have taken it upon yourselves to be complete idiots and eat detergent pods!”
The quarterback, McEvans, started to speak, and I hit the locker again. “I am not finished. Do not interrupt me, assholes. I’m headed back to get the contracts for each and every one of you who were involved, so stay put! Each and every one of you.”
The center, Edwards, stepped forward and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have the bankroll to buy us out, lady.”
Even if I had to call my father and beg to get these bastards out, I would do it. They were done. But first, I’d find every breach of contract I could. I shifted my weight and gripped the bat harder. “Think again. I have the bankroll to buy all of you out and make phone calls across this nation to ensure you don’t ever get a job with any reputable team. Andrews, the middle linebacker, was released from the Mustangs this morning after they saw his video of adding soap to the fountain. You better get a grip, boys; I am done.”
Edwards growled, “Take a fucking hike. You need us, bitch.”
The door slammed open, and I jumped. Hunter stood there, fuming. His dark eyes were a thunderstorm on the worst of nights. The veins in his neck stood out like they might explode. His blue T-shirt clung tightly to his muscular arms. I’d missed having him around, and that irritated me more.
With a dark, threatening voice, he said to Edwards, “You’re going to apologize to Ms. Wales right now before I ram my fist so far down your throat you’ll be eating from a tube for the rest of your life.”
The room grew so silent you could have heard a pin drop. The center stared, but I saw the nervousness in his eyes. I swore the temperature in the locker room dropped simply from Hunter’s icy demeanor. He took a step forward, and Edwards put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?”
“Ms. Wales, will you please process Edwards off the team. You’ll find a clause in his contract that requires you to pay nothing for his release due to his behavior today. I need to have a word with the rest of the team.”
Edwards stood. “Man, you can’t. I apologized.”
>
“I can. I did. And I will do the same to any other fucker who doesn’t think I’m serious. The games and all this other shit are over. There is now a zero-tolerance policy, or you’ll find yourselves flipping hamburgers with your fellow team members.”
I squared my shoulders. “Edwards, security will escort you off the premises. Do not leave until they arrive.” Then, I lifted the bat and handed it to Hunter. “Thank you, Mr. Owens, for loaning me your bat. It proved quite useful.”
He nodded, taking it back. The set jaw and tense shoulders told me this team was only at the beginning of their lashing. I left the locker room with my heart fluttering in my chest. Hunter had rushed here. And he had been furious with how Edwards had spoken to me. Maybe he would have been like that with any woman. But there was something sexy about what he’d done. I hadn’t needed saving, but he had been my knight in shining armor, nonetheless.
Bang!
The bat crashed into the locker again, and Hunter yelled something I wasn’t able to discern. We were definitely going to keep that set of lockers in an unrepaired state to beat from time to time.
13
Kendall
I took Edwards’s name off the team listing on the board that dominated one wall in my office. It was like the song “99 Bottles of Beer.” Take one down, fire his ass, one less player’s name on the team wall.
Good one, Kendall.
Yeah, I was stressed. We were hemorrhaging players.
Shit.
I’d called my father to let him know. It was best to be on the front end of it so he wasn’t flying back out here. He praised Hunter’s and my actions. I smiled at his words. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Kendall. I’m proud. You are doing a great job. I knew you would have a mountain of issues to conquer when you took it. I also knew it would be a great learning experience before you transition to the NFL team at some point.”
And it had been. What still perplexed me was how Coach Bailey had let them run amok. It was bad… worse than bad. I figured I was the laughingstock of minor league football. And honestly, I deserved it. But if we got this turned around, the team would begin to earn respect.