CHAPTER FOURTEEN
J.T. and Joan Greer didn’t call an eight o’clock meeting unless there was an urgent development that required a quick decision that affected the franchise.
Pumped with adrenaline, Veronica marched in her business suit and bustier blouse to the operations staff conference room. A secretary opened the doors for her, unveiling the long mahogany table, tall chairs, and an oversized replica of the Las Vegas Villains logo that glowed beneath track lighting.
Colleagues toting thermoses, Starbucks cups, pastries, and electronic tablets meandered about. Heather, settled in next to the administration coordinator, Antoine Isaiah, waved Veronica over to the vacant seat beside her. In front of her were the remnants of some sort of flaky pastry and an empty to-go cup that still held the aroma of a vanilla latte.
In fact, crumpled napkins, crumbs and half-drunk beverages could be found all around the table.
Veronica checked her wristwatch. Eight sharp. “How early did everyone get here?”
Heather quirked an eyebrow. “We all got here on time. Seven-thirty.”
Whipping out her phone, Veronica confirmed that Joan’s text message had instructed her to be present at eight for the meeting—not seven-thirty. Why mislead the general manager to arrive a half hour late for what must have been an important discussion?
“If there are no questions, you’re free to leave,” J.T. announced.
Veronica’s head snapped up. She’d missed the meeting! It wasn’t savvy for the GM to ever appear out of the loop. “I have a question, sir. What the hell just happened?”
“We have further details for the GM and HC,” J.T. addressed the room. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the others.
Amazed, Veronica watched them go. She stopped Heather with a tap on her arm. Even her assistant had been given the correct start time. “What did I just walk in on?”
Heather’s glance of sympathy was strange. “Boss, I’m sorry. Offense change. Brock Corday’s out as starting QB.”
To avoid repeating what again, Veronica pressed her freshly glossed lips together. She and Finn Walsh remained seated as wait staff cleaned the tabletop and set out fresh pitchers of water and coffee. A server rolled a cart of pastries to them. Finn grabbed a bear claw, and Veronica took two.
“Veronica, you look out of sorts.” Joan, in her warm-toned designer ensemble, looked, of course, the exact opposite of “out of sorts.”
“You gave me the wrong meeting time. Why didn’t anyone call me?”
“Your assistant, Heather, took detailed notes. I asked her to be especially diligent. J.T.?”
“Brock Corday’s not healthy enough for us to pin the rest of the season on him. We’re making an offer to Simon Smith. I want him and his agent here today. Heather’s arranging the appointment now.” J.T. turned to Finn. “If Smith’s ready to work—and I think he will be—I want you to start him on passes this afternoon. Good?”
“Good.”
No, not good! Bad. Unbelievable. “Simon is finished with this team. That was made abundantly clear. You gave the order to release him and bring someone else on.”
“Things change. Adapting is key. Corday’s injury makes him too unpredictable. He’s also too safe outside the pocket, a weak reader. This team needs a risk-taker. Smith’s rookie team has been making noise about courting him, but we’re prepared to act. Our offer will get him back where he belongs—on this team.”
And out of Veronica’s life in every way but what would be a strictly employer-employee relationship….
“I told you to always be sensible,” Joan said softly, focusing her gaze on anything but her daughter.
J.T. excused Finn, and when the coach left, J.T. turned to her. “Confidentially, we’ll need a statement from both you and Smith, Veronica. The personal relationship ends before he signs any papers for our franchise.”
“Wait—”
“Don’t insult us by denying that you’re sleeping with that man,” Joan said. “You were very clever to hide your relationship in plain sight.”
“I wasn’t going to deny it. If bringing Simon to this team is a ploy to stop me from being with him, to turn me back around to Chance, it won’t work. Chance’s with someone else now. I’m with someone else.”
“You’re not ‘with’ Simon Smith. That’s ridiculous. Know what kind of trouble you’d be asking for?”
“What’s so wrong with Simon and me being together? Is it because I’m the goddamn Greer princess and he’s a farmer’s son? Is this about class?”
“Of course not. You know we don’t care about that. We care about you.”
“And I care about Simon.”
“The GM cannot have a sexual relationship with an employee—let alone the motherfucking quarterback!” J.T. went for the breast pocket of his jacket. Antacids. She’d really done it now.
Shame churned inside Veronica. Was this what Waverly experienced when she and Jeremiah had been found out? Was this what Aly dealt with constantly, living under their parents’ scrutiny?
“I love him.”
Joan stamped her foot. “I cannot imagine you would fall into this trap. Does he know you love him?”
Love wasn’t a trap, though. Finally, Veronica could see that. “I didn’t tell him.”
“Nor will you. Think of how it would look if the public knew what your so-called friendship was really about. A GM protects the interests of the team, not her sex drive.” Joan sighed, composing herself. “If you love Simon, don’t stand in the way of his career. That man is loyal, driven—just who we need to lead our team.”
Just who I need in my life. But Joan was right. Simon’s career meant everything to him, and Veronica loved him too much to stand in the way.
◆◆◆
Simon was certain there was no deeper hell than not having a spot on a pro roster…until he got one. Sitting in the Villains’ conference room—the same room where he’d been fired—with his agent next to him and the Greers across from him, Simon let the details of the offer register.
He’d be back in his number eleven uniform, possibly playing next weekend. There would be a formal announcement and press party to show the world that he could shake off being kicked to the curb. And the salary…
Even Shaw, who dealt with seven- and eight-figure deals on a daily basis, had cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me?”
Veronica sat stoically in her chair, between her parents, answering questions in a crisp tone that couldn’t disguise the hurt hugging her. They both knew that the acquisition would coldly sever their relationship.
Shaw Bordeaux leaned back in his chair. “Makes sense now. Veronica, all along you were prepping Simon for starting QB. That’s what this ‘cleaning up his reputation’ bullshit was about from day one.”
Simon stared at Veronica, who was tapping an ink pen rhythmically against the table. She’d said that firing him had been “just business.” Had befriending him, fixing his reputation, and fucking him also just been business? That would be one effin’ shady way to take one for the team.
No, he couldn’t believe that. She wouldn’t give up her body, her heart, for business.
“That’s not true,” Veronica argued. “This franchise’s decision-making process is proprietary, but I will tell you that my involvement with Simon—my friendship with him—was not a business strategy for my own or the Villains’ gain.”
“If you sign with us, Simon, we’d like you to be looked at by our physicians and back on the practice field as early as today,” Joan said. “There’s no reason to delay announcing that the Blue-Eyed Badass is back in Las Vegas.”
“Shaw. J.T. and Joan. I need a minute with Veronica.” Simon rose from his chair, as did the others.
“We’ll give you five. And only five,” J.T. said.
When the owners and his agent left the room, he walked around to Veronica’s side of the table. “I’m not going to take this offer.”
“What other offer do you have?”
“There isn’t another.”
“Then don’t piss on this opportunity. You love football. You missed your mother’s funeral just to take the Villains through the play-offs. Don’t sacrifice your career for me.”
In the days following his mother’s death, Simon had regretted not realizing what was important. But he was damn glad that the woman in front of him had shown him how to change. “I want to be with you, without all the hiding and pretending. Yeah, I do love football,” he told her. “But I love you more, Veronica.”
“And I love you,” she insisted in a broken whisper. “I mean that. I love you so much. That’s why I’m telling you to take the offer.”
Suddenly the owners crowded back into the conference room, followed by Shaw.
Veronica’s agitated glance at her father was met with a cold “We gave you your five minutes. Back to business.”
A waiter ushered in a bottle of Cristal and a tray of flutes. Veronica politely accepted a flute and put as much space between herself and the others as she could without exiting the room.
“I didn’t officially decide anything,” Simon reminded the group in a growl.
“A toast to wise decisions,” Joan Greer suggested, walking over to Veronica and raising her glass to her daughter’s. “To being sensible. To the hope that Number Eleven starts next Sunday.”
◆◆◆
“No one should be depressed on a Friday night.”
Making room for Aly, Veronica folded her legs beneath her on the cushiony wicker sofa. They were on the “patio” that seemed more like an outdoor living room with its stone columns, ceiling fans, striking fireplace, and all-weather television. The space, designed for entertainment and envy, was nothing short of what she expected her parents to own.
The housewarming party was an extravagant event. Guests filling up on liquor and gourmet appetizers were everywhere—poolside, in the gardens, inside the house on all three floors. Vehicles practically blocked street access, but Veronica would worry about that later, once she figured out a way to escape the luxurious cage that was her parents’ home.
And Aly’s. It was easy to forget that this was also her residence. Probably because she still hadn’t moved her things out of the Bellagio. J.T. and Joan had grown impatient with her and stated that Aly would be responsible for the villa’s rental payments unless she cleared out.
“Who says I’m depressed?” Veronica challenged over the cacophony of sports TV, blaring music, and conversation.
“The hard lemonade in your glass. That’s your third. Plus, you downed the piña colada I fixed you when you got here. You’ve got me out-boozed.” Her sister scoped out their surroundings, then hopped off the sofa. Her girlish glittery crochet sweater fell past her bikini bottoms. “Shake off the edge. C’mon.”
Veronica followed her to the pool.
“You’ve seemed sort of unhappy these past few days,” Aly said.
“Just a lot of changes to digest.”
“Those photos of Chance with his ‘new rising talent,’ right? No doubt she’s raising his talent.”
“Chance is free to fuck whomever he wants. Hope it brings him happiness.”
“Oh. Admirable of you to wish him well.” Aly shifted her weight from one high heel to the other. “Then there’s the team. Brock Corday’s out and Simon Smith’s in. I wonder how he’ll do out of town on Sunday.”
“Dad, Mom, and Finn are optimistic. As am I.” Veronica gave her drink a frown. Even she could hear the note of wistfulness. Maybe it was time for caffeine if she didn’t have the energy to keep the reins tight on her emotions.
“Could you be any less enthusiastic? I thought you’d be jazzed about having a sexy man like Simon at such easy access.”
“Except it’s a no-access situation, since he’s our quarterback and I’m the GM.”
The regret in Veronica’s voice couldn’t be masked, and the enormity of it hung between the two sisters.
“I was right, then,” Aly muttered. “I can tell when two people are on fire for each other, and the two of you had lust written all over you when he came to your office that day.”
“Who did you tell?”
“No one,” her sister insisted, looking offended. “I tried to convince myself I was wrong, because you’d never risk upsetting our parents. So it seems that was the thing I was wrong about.”
“They know. They’re not pleased with me.”
“Welcome to the We Pissed Off Our Parents Sisterhood,” Aly said dryly.
Veronica contemplated her drink.
“Too soon for jokes?”
“What’s funny about losing their high opinion of me and losing Simon?”
Aly shrugged. “Can’t think of anything, put on the spot like this, but give me some time—”
“Enough. Please.”
Aly let up, for a good three seconds. “Let’s jump,” she proposed.
“Jump where?”
“In the water.” Aly circled a finger at the well-lit pool. “It’s a crazy idea. Just do it.”
What would it feel like to get an idea and just act on it, without analyzing and finding reasons to play it safe? Veronica stared at the water. It wasn’t double Dutch, but… “I’ll jump. But only if you promise me something.”
Aly took her hard lemonade and passed it off to a server. “Jesus, what?”
“Take my keys.”
“Well, if you’re that buzzed, then you shouldn’t be diving into a pool.”
“No, my house keys, Aly. Chance doesn’t want the house. Neither do I. I don’t want to live there, and you clearly don’t want to live here with Mom and Dad. So take them, and, please God, fill it with love and babies someday if it’s what you want.” Veronica hooked an arm around her to hug her. “You need to grow up, sis. The house, and the condition that goes with it, might be the push you need.”
“A condition? Lay it on me.”
“Volunteer at Faith House. It’s more than passing out flyers and answering phones, though. Consider it?”
Aly gave her a curious look, but nodded and grabbed Veronica’s hand. They took off running and jumped into the pool.
Soaked to the skin and invigorated, Veronica resurfaced laughing. She gave Aly a high five. Applause greeted them as they emerged from the pool.
J.T. threatened to close the bar if anyone else got the nerve to take a dip fully clothed. Then he called for a housekeeper to bring out towels.
Patting the terry cloth against her wet shirt and jeans, Veronica went into the house to inspect the damage to her makeup. The main-floor powder room was occupied. Upstairs, she tried to recall which doors belonged to what rooms. Linen closet. Bedroom. Makeup room.
Yes, this house included a room devoted to Joan’s meticulous beauty routines.
Veronica opened the door wider. A little bronzer and mascara wouldn’t hurt. She clicked on the lighted mirror, then heard murmurs. A man’s baritone and a woman’s whispered response.
She turned into the hall, peeping into the adjacent room’s open doorway. Jeremiah Tarantino sat at the foot of the bed, with Waverly pressed beside him. Their hands were locked, their heads bent.
“We could elope.”
“Your family would give us hell, Waverly.”
“Imagine a traditional wedding, though. Your father and my parents would interfere. Veronica would exploit it for Villains publicity—if Mom and Dad don’t order her to stop the whole thing.” Waverly leaned in for a kiss. “I just want to marry you, Jeremiah.”
Wounded, Veronica dropped back from the doorway. Her older sister was engaged, yet she wouldn’t even share the news with Veronica. To her sisters, she was too controlled by the team and their parents to make her own choices.
Veronica did make a choice—a promise, really—as she moved unseen downstairs without taking the time to repair her water-ruined makeup. A night’s sleep would bring clarity, but she knew she wouldn’t break the promise she’d just made to herself.