Chapter 2

Zora McCoy

A lazy Sunday is what I planned.

After practice, I came to my office, to find the owner there. Not Pete, my owner, but Harvey, the other one from Friday night. He was sitting in the seat meant for visitors across my desk with his overcoat draped over his thighs. It was such a power move even if he was merely sitting in my chair.

When his gaze met mine, he smiled, then stood up to greet me. Dressed in a tailored, navy suit with a gold, striped tie and a handkerchief square poking from his jacket breast pocket. 

“Miss McCoy.” He held out his large hand for me to take but I stared at it first since he was in my office without my consent.

“How may I help you?” I asked while taking his hand.

To my surprise, the man's large hand enveloped mine. He lifted our joined fingers to kiss my knuckles, causing all sorts of spasms to run through my body. Those whiskey-colored eyes were on me, adding to the sensation.

That was weird.

Slowly, I removed my hand from his grasp and asked again, “How may I help you?”

“It's probably more along the lines of I'm here to help you.” His wicked mouth, framed with a neatly manicured mustache and completed with a thick beard, slid into a knowing smile.

All the thoughts that clouded my mind were not good.  Why the cloak and dagger approach by setting no appointment and this assumption he could help me. I did not want to know. I wasn't a messy person and honestly, if he needed something from me, there were channels that needed activated before he came straight to me. Plus, the kissing of my hand, those lingering eyes, and that damn smile made me wonder.

“Whatever I need, I will speak to my owner. No one else's,” I emphasized.

“On the contrary,” he said with renewed enthusiasm.  Though, his smooth voice elevated with excitement, the man still held the same facial expression. “You need a championship and I can give you that. This will get you that position at the national level and, my dear, that's what you'll get from this owner, not your current one.”

Shit.

I knew it.

Nothing good.

I shook my head and sank into my leather chair.

“Mr. Black.” I held back a smirk. “Clearly you don't know me very well but let me clue you in on why that would never happen. One,” I held up my index finger. “I could give a fuck about a championship or a position in the national league. Two,” my middle finger joined my other. “I don't do shit like this. Underhanded, behind closed doors, with whispers and hushed tones. Three,” my ring finger joined the others as they stood straight in the air, “your team will not make the playoffs. Sure, they have solid players, but what they don't have is stamina. So, they won't win. Now, that is something you can take to the court. Which, by the way, I don't ever see you on.”

One of his thick eyebrows rose in what could have been interest or absolute shock. I am almost certain nobody ever talked to him this way.

Ever.

Harvey’s lip turned up, then he said, “Well, you may have a point. But, since you won't let me be an owner for you professionally, how about personally?”

What in the dribbling hell?

“What!” I blurted.

He leaned forward and said with short, succinct, words, “Own. Mine. You. Me. Fuck.”

Was he a goddamn caveman?

“What?” I gasped again because I could not believe the words he was saying.

“You, Zora,” the man repeated. “You won't take one proposal, so take the other. Fuck me when and where I say. I'll own your sweet ass and in turn, you'll want for nothing.”

There was one man who proposed to me in my lifetime, but I turned him down because he was drunk off his ass, a complete stranger and homeless. Therefore, that did not count. This proposal, however, seemed more serious than I anticipated. The only thing I could think about to keep my mind from my wet panties was the fact I knew his ass was elicit. I knew he was trouble. The way he looked at me, the other night, I knew he wanted a piece of me. But what he didn't know, I was not the fucking type to let someone own me or just fuck me for shits and giggles. I wasn't in my twenties trying to find my way through life. I was a grown ass woman, with responsibilities and shit that did not involve fucking. I was establishing myself as a professional and world-class coach. Then, here goes a man trying to help me sleep my way to the top.

On top of that, I swore off all men.

Sexy ass owners, included.

I was not that woman, and I'd never be her.

“Mr. Black, I don't like you. Now get out of my goddamn office.” I turned around to face my computer. “Any other requests, please have them go through my owner.”

I typed my password for my laptop, so I could get to work on the new plays we were planning to do. The computer chimes rang through the tension in the air with a finality that I'm sure had Harvey gathering his pride along with his shit.

Something slid across the top of my glossy oak desk and then Harvey said, “Just think about it and get back to me. I'll be waiting.”

“I wouldn't,” I said as I kept typing.

“I will. You should know I'm not a man easily deterred. I get what I fucking want. One way or another.”

When I turned to ask him if that was a threat, the asshole was gone.

Who in the fuck does that?