Evan Cook squinted against the blanket of newly fallen snow. The plows had only cleared half the roads since the storm had finished a few hours before, and Evan grinned as the tires of his Chevy Colorado Zr2 kicked up a large wave of snow as he turned into the valet parking pull-through.

Evan checked the time and found himself five minutes early. This meeting needed to be quick so he could get to the airport before one.

A scrawny valet jogged to the truck, leaving puffs of steam in his wake, and Evan rolled down the window. An icy blast chilled his face. The valet couldn’t be more than twenty-one, and looked as if he might still live in his mom’s basement. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he squared his shoulders. “Good morning, sir.”

“Hey.” Evan left the truck running and hopped out, rising to his full six feet and four inches.

The valet opened his mouth and then closed it. Evan waited until the kid worked up the courage to speak. “Pardon me, but are you Evan Cook?”

Evan smiled and nodded. “Just call me Evan.”

“Uh, okay, Evan.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I just wanted to say, congratulations on being number one in sacks this season.”

“Thanks, man. You a fan?”

“Yes.” His blue eyes lit up. “My whole family watches the games together.”

“Good on you,” Evan said, slapping the kid on the shoulder. “Thanks for the support.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Evan leaned in. The kid did the same. “What’s your name?”

“Nick.”

“Nick”—Evan patted the door of his truck—“if you get bored, I double dog dare you to get this baby stuck in the snow.”

“Wh—what?”

“I’m joking.” Evan fished a twenty out of his wallet and gave it to Nick. “Well, mostly joking.” With that, he went around the kid to the front doors, where a uniformed employee let him in.

“Mr. Cook?” the hostess asked.

“Yes,” he said, moving to the hostess’s podium.

“The other half of your party is already here. I’ll take you to your table.”

Evan swallowed. He’d been hoping to get here first, because for some reason the meeting would feel like it was on his home turf. Now he was the away team.

The woman walked away, and Evan followed. Mild beige and gold greeted Evan as they walked into the dining room, including the chairs and linens. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and there was enough space between the booths and tables for privacy.

He spotted Landon King sitting in a corner booth, looking at his phone.

“Here you are,” the woman said, gesturing at the table with a hand.

“Thank you,” Evan said.

“May I take your coat?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Evan fished his phone out, then shrugged off his leather coat and handed it to the woman.

Landon King stood. An expensive gray suit hugged his thin figure, and Evan wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to prove with the purple pocket square. The man’s almost black eyes studied Evan, and his dark skin looked like the night sky. However, Landon smiled and offered his hand.

Evan shook his hand. “Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. King.”

“Call me Landon,” he said as he sat.

“Evan.” He pointed at himself and slid in on the opposite side of the table.

The waiter appeared. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Water,” Evan said.

“The same,” Landon said.

“Very good.”

“Do you know what you want?” Evan asked.

Landon nodded.

“Go ahead.”

They both ordered, and Evan watched the waiter go before turning his attention back to Landon.

Landon stared at Evan with a steady gaze. “Mr. Cook, I realize that you’re on a tight schedule, as am I. So I’ll get right to it.”

Evan’s stomach clenched, and his hands shook ever so slightly as he unwrapped his silverware.

“I’ve read the proposal for your foundation,” Landon continued, “as have my colleagues.”

Evan resisted the urge to tap his foot.

Landon placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I find your approach interesting.”

“Is that good or bad?” Evan asked.

“Both.”

“Can I clarify anything for you?”

“No. What you sent was perfectly clear.”

Evan swallowed. “But?”

Landon’s lips quirked into a small smile. “But I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead.” Evan had spent months writing up the proposal, and he’d asked every legal mind he knew for help. It was solid. Then why was he so nervous?

“Can you tell me why you want to do this?”

Evan cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Can you tell me why you want to do this? Starting a foundation for inner-city youth is no small commitment, and we’d like to know your motivation behind it.”

“As you know, I grew up in a rough neighborhood in Milwaukee. My dad gave me the chance to get out, but without him I would have ended up in a gang, and probably dead by now.”

“Yes, so you said in your proposal.”

The seat creaked beneath Evan as he shifted his weight. “So what’s your question?”

Landon sighed. “This seems very personal to you. We want to know why.”

A tingle ran up Evan’s spine, and he wondered if these investors had found out about what had happened when he was a teenager. But since there was no way that could be the case, he calmed his mind and gave the standard answer. “Because I watched too many of my friends slip away. Too many good kids slid into ruin just because they didn’t have the means to stop it. I feel that if we can find those who are willing to put the work into getting out, they would be the perfect candidates for my foundation. Quality over quantity.”

“Yes, so you said.”

Evan studied the other man. The tight line of his lips told Evan that he hadn’t yet answered in an acceptable fashion. “I don’t talk much about my past—mostly because it wasn’t pretty. I did things I wasn’t proud of, but my dad gave me the chance to rise above it. I want to give that chance to others.”

Landon’s eyes softened, and he sat back as the waiter brought their food.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Evan couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, Mr. King, if you’re going to tell me no, please do it now. I’d rather start looking for another investor as soon as possible.”

“The answer isn’t no.” He set his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But we’re cautious. I heard about your arrest last night.”

Evan flinched. “Yeah, that was unfortunate.”

“You and your friends attacked a reporter?”

“The reporter stole my phone and smashed it. I was trying to stop him. In the end, no charges were filed.”

“All to protect Will Kent?”

“Do you think the Denver Storm quarterback really needs protection?” Evan asked.

Landon chuckled. “Perhaps not. However, the incident has dissuaded my colleagues.” He held up a hand before Evan could protest. “We’re wondering if you could get another big name in on this thing? Preferably someone who isn’t a professional athlete.”

“Did you have someone in mind?” Evan asked. He had to fight to keep his voice above a growl.

“No. We’ll leave that to you.”

“Anything else?” Evan asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Landon said. “Do you still plan to pick your first ten candidates this coming week?”

“Yes. I leave for Milwaukee this afternoon.”

“Good. I think my company would be more willing to invest if we could be part of that process. Just from afar. Let us know how you’re choosing, and why.”

“Why would that help you?”

This time Landon shifted in his seat. “Well Evan, I came from a similar background. I hope to be able to get to know you a little more through this process.”

“Okay, fine. I can do that,” Evan said.

“Wonderful. You keep me informed, and we’ll talk about this right after Christmas.”

“Great.”

The rest of the time they talked about sports and the holiday. Landon King shook Evan’s hand before he got into his Uber, and Evan waited for the valet to bring around his truck.

He needed to find another celebrity to back him.

His phone buzzed, and he glared. It was a message from Will Kent. Evan tapped the screen.

Did you make contact yet?

Evan rolled his eyes. The stupid bet. He’d been challenged to find his first love and kiss her—if she was still single—before Christmas. This was what happened when a drama-queen quarterback had both a hurt shoulder and a hurt ego.

Evan still couldn’t believe he’d let the other guys talk him into it. Mostly, he still couldn’t believe that he’d been thinking about it ever since then. He closed his eyes and pictured his first love.

Anna Jordan. Head cheerleader at his high school, and his date to junior prom. Now, after a couple extraordinary performances on screen, she was one of the most sought-after actresses in Hollywood. Nowadays she called herself “Berry,” a reference to her first role in which she played a destitute raspberry farmer who knew she was destined for greater things, which always made Evan laugh.

Abruptly, he felt like he was sixteen again, and he wiped his palm on his pant leg. He hadn’t seen Anna since they’d graduated. He had gone one way and she another, and they’d ended up on opposite ends of everything.

Evan bit his lip and brought up her Instagram feed. She had plenty of pictures with guys, but never the same guy twice. Mostly it was her looking hot with varying amounts of clothes on. Dark skin. Dark eyes. Perfect lips, and a smile that made Evan think of the times he’d wanted to kiss her but had chickened out. His heart beat faster at the thought of calling her.

He frowned as he scrolled through and saw an attractive blonde woman in the background of many of the public pictures. Was that her security?

It didn’t matter. He was distracting himself. Anna might actually be interested in helping kids from their old neighborhood. What could it hurt to call? If she was dating someone—man or woman—at least he was out of the bet. And also out of a potential ally.

Evan inhaled, filling his body with courage, and typed a quick message on Instagram. The moment he hit the send button, he shoved his phone into his pocket.

As he stood there brooding over Berry, the bet, and the solid “maybe” he’d just received from his investor, a petite woman approached. Her red hair barely stuck out under her white hat, and she wore a long blue coat and dress pants.

Evan recognized Jackie Smith, a small-time reporter for ESPN. He gritted his teeth and willed the valet to get there faster.

“Mr. Cook?” the woman asked, stopping a mere two feet away.

“That’s me.” He gave her a smile and told himself to be nice.

“Jackie Smith, ESPN. May I ask you a few questions?”

“If it’s about last night, I don’t have any comment.”

The small woman shook her head. “Oh no, it’s not about last night.”

Evan glanced in the direction his truck should be arriving from. Still nothing.

“It’s about Blake Jamison.”

Evan’s lips froze before he could answer. His mouth hung open, and his heartbeat sped up. A flash of panic pushed the cold away. It took Evan a moment to get his voice to work. “I’m sorry, who?”

Jackie stepped closer. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Evan moved back, and the sound of his truck coming around the corner took him another step away from her.

“Mr. Cook, I know what happened. I also know that you’re trying to start a foundation to help inner-city kids.”

“What?” How had she found that out? Only a few people knew.

She followed him. “If you give me the exclusive on your story, I’ll make sure it goes your way.”

A shot of anger flared inside Evan. “Excuse me?”

His truck stopped a few feet away, and the door swung open. Evan started toward it.

“Oh, come on,” Jackie said behind him, “we both know a story like this about a football player at the top of his game could send not only your career, but also your foundation, spiraling into oblivion.”

Evan took a breath, turning back. “Look, Ms. Smith, I’m not sure what you’re referring to. And I need to be on a plane in a few hours. I hope you have a nice holiday.”

With that, he tipped the valet and hopped in his truck.

Jackie came to the door. “I’m trying to help you. You go with me, and I’ll make sure everyone loves you. I can’t guarantee that with any other reporter.”

“Sorry, have to run.” Evan shut the door, threw the truck into drive, and pulled away.

He scowled at his shaking hands and wondered how in the world Jackie Smith had found out about Blake Jamison. If Landon King and his investors discovered the truth, the solid “maybe” he’d just received would turn into a hard “no.”