Chapter 3

Millie clicked her pen and pushed away from her desk with a decisive nod. “Excellent.” She flashed a stiff smile at her assistant as she snagged her tablet from the corner of the desk and rose. “Call the chancellor’s office and give them the update. I’m going to run by the AD’s office to get my travel lined out, drop the new press kits by the bull pen, then circle back around before I head home to pack.”

“You want me to send the releases about the coaching changes in the baseball program?” Cassie asked as she stood too.

“Yes. And I’m sending you a picture Kate sent me from the island. If she asks, I’m claiming someone hacked my cell, but could you sort of…” She made a circling motion with her hand.

“Leak the photo on every social media outlet I can find?”

Millie grinned. As far as assistants went, Cassie was worth her weight in free media coverage. “Make whatever pithy caption you come up with more football related than basketball. We want to shift the focus away from all talk of basketball, so for now, Kate will have to be Mrs. Gridiron.” She smirked as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Serves her right for looking so damn good in a bikini.”

“Yeah!” Cassie chirped.

Millie paused in the doorway. “Okay, maybe don’t leak the photo.”

“But we can still hate her for looking so awesome?” Cassie asked hopefully.

“Yes, but we have to store it deep down inside.”

“Got it,” her assistant chirped.

Millie held for another moment to be certain she hadn’t forgotten anything. After a quick rundown of her mental checklist, she nodded and sprang into motion again. “If Chancellor Martin decides he wants to talk to me, I’ve moved to Mozambique.”

“Do you even know where Mozambique is?” Cassie called after her, but Millie didn’t break stride.

She knew exactly where Mozambique was on the map. She knew lots of things. And coastal Africa seemed as good a place to hide as any. One of the baseball coaches jumped out of her way as she swung around the corner at full speed. She smiled but didn’t stop. Not when she was this close to escaping campus.

The morning after Davenport’s story broke, she’d appeased the gaggle camped outside Ty’s front door by sending him out to recite a brief but seemingly heartfelt statement wishing his soon-to-be-ex-wife well. Getting something slightly better than nothing worked for the majority of them. Most just wanted something to put in their sidebars. Unfortunately, the one who didn’t bite was the biggest thorn in her side.

Slowing her pace, she focused on regulating her breathing before she reached the athletic director’s office. The past few months had been rough on Mike Samlin. She needed to appear calm and collected. The thought made Millie smile. Not because she disliked the man, but she fancied herself the Joker to Mike’s Bruce Wayne each time they stood side by side. He was everything cool, crisp, and conservative, while she liked a pop of color. Or ten. And colorful or not, she wanted to be taken seriously.

Mike landed at Wolcott in the nick of time, in Millie’s opinion. The university was becoming a tad too comfortable in its role as Mid-Continental Conference’s patsy, and influential alumni were getting restless. Intercollegiate athletics generated an astronomical amount of money.

Kate Snyder’s unparalleled success in women’s basketball was certainly a huge feather in the university’s cap, but it wasn’t enough. They needed to build their men’s programs and fast. That’s why Mike had hired Danny McMillan to revive the football program and Ty Ransom to bring men’s basketball up to speed. And Ty was starting to have some success. Dante Harris was the first marquee player to come out of the men’s basketball program in more than two decades. His defection was a stunning blow beyond the scandal surrounding his departure.

Millie drew to a halt and blew out a long breath, a technique she’d picked up at one of those god-awful yoga retreats her friend Avery insisted she and Kate attend semiannually. As much as Millie hated to admit buying into any part of Avery’s new age crap, the breathing thing worked.

While blowing out a single measured breath, she wiped her mental slate clean. These days, her job was less about spinning Mari Ransom’s infidelity and more about Ty’s big mouth. Damage control had been bumped to priority one in the aftermath of Jim Davenport’s scoop, and Millie hit the ground running. Ty’s contract would be up in a couple of years, and the last thing Millie wanted was to give the scandal-shy university reason to look elsewhere for a basketball coach.

For nearly a week, she’d paraded Ty around to various print, web, and television outlets. As expected, interest started to wane when he opened his mouth and started speaking rationally and without rancor. He’d taken every poke, prod, and outright jab like a man…so far.

Taking it on the chin was not an easy task for a guy like Ty. He’d been born a winner. Trained to be a champion. Labeled a disappointment when he went pro. And now, after years of building his reputation as a coach and rebuilding his ego, this mess.

Their dog and pony show had kept them booked solid all week, but the next day, they’d tackle their biggest hurdle yet—the only person who hadn’t succumbed to Ty’s charm, NSN lead anchor, Greg Chambers.

She nodded a greeting to the grad student who acted as Mike’s assistant. The girl smiled and motioned for her to go on into the inner sanctum, but she paused anyway. Millie wasn’t one to open a closed door without at least tapping first. That was how a person stumbled onto unwelcome surprises.

Then again, for Millie, there was no such thing as a welcome surprise. The secret to her success was knowing exactly what cards she held versus who might possibly be hiding an ace up their sleeve. Rolling her shoulders back, she imagined an invisible string pulling the top of her head up until she stood straight and tall, then she raised her hand to knock.

The AD called for her to come in, and after making a mental note to burn Avery’s newest Birkenstocks for implanting the whole string out of the top of her head thing, she twisted the knob and entered, bravado firmly in hand.

“So I have calls in to Today as well as LIVE, but word is Kelly Ripa is pretty much off the jock bandwagon since Michael Strahan jumped ship. They’re both long shots, but you don’t get what you don’t ask—” She stopped on a dime when she spotted Ty sitting in the chair opposite the athletic director. “Oh. You’re here.”

Ty craned his neck to look at her. From this distance, his eyes looked like they were simply light brown. She knew they were so much more than the color of mud. Up close, she’d spotted flecks of gold and burnt caramel, sort of like a tortoiseshell. They were sheltered by thick slashes of black brows so severe they almost balanced out the lush sensuality of his full lips. Almost, but not quite. Taken as they were, the combination was arresting. Against the backdrop of his flawless, tawny skin, the individual assets packed the punch of one of those sneaky umbrella cocktails. Pretty and seemingly innocuous at first glance, but potent enough to land a woman flat on her back.

Oblivious to the turmoil clapping eyes on him stirred, he bobbed his head in a casual greeting. “Hey, Millie.”

A bitter laugh rose in her throat, but she swallowed the tickle. Her brain cried a silent, Surprise! She wasn’t supposed to see him until they left for New York. She wasn’t expecting to see him. Or prepared. Damn him.

It really burned her biscuits that he had such an implacable game face. He’d kissed her, then tried to apologize for it. She didn’t want an apology, but she needed at least a little time to psych herself up to be near him.

Not that she didn’t want to be. On the contrary. She wanted to be near enough to him to feel his warm, damp breath on her cheek. What she wouldn’t give to feel those big, broad palms slide down her back and cup her ass again. Would he pull her close and hold her so tight she might forget where he started and she ended? Or would he be more reserved in the cold, sober light of day?

This was exactly why she didn’t care for the unexpected. When she was prepared, she could pretend their kiss was nothing more than impulse on the part of a friendly coworker. She could control the compulsion to stare at his mouth and make sure she spoke in a normal voice rather than the sex-kitten purr his intense gaze all but demanded she use. With a little advance notice, she could school her racing pulse and do that whole inner pep talk thing Kate was so fond of invoking. She wasn’t opposed to all forms of combustion, only the spontaneous type.

“Ty.” She managed to spit his name out with a cordial head bob perilously close to a curtsy. Or maybe she was feeling a bit weak in the knees. “I thought you had meetings today.”

She tried to keep the observation light and casual, but the lift of his dark eyebrows told her he’d heard the hint of accusation at the edges. A glance at Mike proved he’d caught the sharpness in her tone too, so Millie did what she did best. She spun the situation to her advantage.

“I mean, you had me clear the schedule for today because you said you were booked solid.” Activating the touchscreen on her tablet, she swiped the wallpaper away and punched in her security code. “If you’re free now, I have a couple of bloggers I can line up for a webchat.”

He rose from the chair, slowly unfolding all eighty inches of his lean, muscular frame with the grace of a man who was certain of the gifts God had given him. Ty Ransom was one of those people who appeared to be moving in slow motion, even when he was flying past in a blur. Everything he did seemed purposeful and deliberate. His wariness was one of the things she liked about him. Also the main reason the clinch they’d shared one dark, scotch-soaked night was still headlining in her dreams. She never thought he’d actually kiss her.

Like his magnificent body, his smile was slow to bloom, but when it reached its peak, the damn thing was devastating. “You know, Mike, I’ve gone almost twenty-four hours without being bossed around by a woman half my size. I have to admit, I was feeling sort of lost.”

Mike chuckled and pulled a file off the stack on his desk. “We all live to be managed by Millie.” He flipped open the folder, pulled the top sheet off the stack, and waved the paper at her. “I’m approving the trip to New York for the NSN interview, but I’m not putting you up for a week so you can make the morning show rounds.” He placed the page back in order, closed the cover, and held the dossier out to her. “Your travel arrangements are in the folder. Ty’s leaving from New York to head straight to Reno.”

“Reno?” Her head whirled as she accepted the folder. First, she had to wrap her mind around the prospect of being alone on a trip to New York with the man, then the realization he wasn’t coming back with her. “Already?”

“Takes six weeks’ residency.” Ty lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “If I go now, I can have the divorce finalized and be back before fall practices are in full swing.”

“Right.”

Six weeks in Nevada, and his divorce would be final. The plan was logical. Reasonable. And for some reason, slightly more disturbing than the prospect of Ty being free from his wife once and for all.

Ever since the night he’d bottomed out in a bottle, he’d been as calm and placid as a pond in the heat of high summer. Cool too. Not to her in particular, but to everyone and about everything. The man had his game face on, for sure. The problem was, Millie wasn’t entirely certain if she was supposed to be playing offense or defense whenever she was around him.

“My lawyer and I met with Mari’s. I was with my attorney all morning making sure the bases were covered. We have the plan worked out. She doesn’t want to leave lover boy alone for long, so I’m going to Reno to establish residency,” he explained. “The divorce will be final by Labor Day, and I can get on with things.”

Something about the gleam in his eyes struck her as odd. He was wary, and his steady gaze was more than a little speculative. As if he were expecting her to react in a certain way but not quite sure she wouldn’t disappoint him. Feeling as if she were tiptoeing through a field filled with land mines and all too aware of their audience, Millie gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “I see.”

He laughed and took a step toward the door. Sucking in a sharp breath, Millie stood her ground as he passed too close for comfort. The little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told her he’d brushed past her on purpose. But she wasn’t the type to be intimidated by big men. On the contrary. The bigger, the better, as far as she was concerned. The move came off as a bit adolescent, in truth. And finally, the reason why pinged on her radar. He was as off-kilter as she was. Maybe even more.

A rush of power pulsed through her veins. She tipped her chin and upped the ante with a full-on sassy-pants grin. “Well, good luck. I hope everything works out for you.”

He stopped, standing way too near for either of them to be completely unaffected. “I’m going to see you later, aren’t I?”

The husky, intimate timbre of his voice short-circuited her brain. “What?”

She darted a meaningful glance at Mike, seated behind his desk with his hands resting on the blotter. He studied them with narrowed eyes, like they were a couple of amoebas trapped under a microscope slide. Or worse, as if they were hooligans and he was trying to figure out which one had thrown a baseball through his window.

Clearing her throat, she arched her brows as she tried to deflect with some good old-fashioned professional detachment. “What’s scheduled for later?”

Ty tapped the travel documents in her hand with one long finger. “You, me, flying to the Big Apple.” He flattened his hand and mimed an airplane taking off. “You wanted a front-row seat for my beheading, remember?”

She blinked, then scrambled to recover as she threw up mental barriers in front of every naughty thought the prospect of jetting off to New York with this man spawned. “I’d never wish for any such thing,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart and aiming for an accent reminiscent of a scandalized Southern belle. “The dry-cleaning bill would be horrendous.”

Mike barked a laugh as he pushed his chair back. “Our Millie, the soul of sympathy.” He came around the desk and extended his hand to Ty. “Be good. Do everything the boss lady tells you to do,” he added with a nod in her direction.

“Yes, sir,” Ty answered, his smirk growing into a smile so wide, it upgraded his face from merely handsome to breathtaking. “I always do whatever Ms. Jensen thinks is best.”

“Good luck.” Mike gave Ty a slap on the back, then ushered them both toward the outer office. “We’ll be watching.”

Before she could get another word in edgewise, the door closed behind them, and she and Ty were left facing each other. At last, Ty glanced over at the solid mahogany door. “If I didn’t know he’d played football, I’d swear the guy was a point guard.”

Millie nodded. “I guess there’s a good reason they call them directors.”

The athletic director’s assistant didn’t look up or even break rhythm in her typing. “I emailed copies of your itineraries to your university and personal emails as well.”

Millie recovered first. Pulling the mantle of brisk efficiency around her like a cloak, she plastered a big smile onto her face and started toward the open doorway to the hall. “You’re the best, SaraAnn,” she called over her shoulder.

“I know!”

Millie laughed, and her stride hitched. Then, six feet eight inches of freight-train-solid man almost plowed right over her.

“Oh! Oof!”

His hands closed around her upper arms. Millie wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to catch himself or keep her from falling, but she figured intention hardly mattered as long as they didn’t end up on the floor of the main hall in a tangled heap.

“Sorry,” he breathed as he shifted his center of balance to correct their momentum.

Ty repeated the apology under his breath while he straightened to his full height once again, but she waved the annoying little word away. “I didn’t use my brake lights.” Too chicken to look directly at him, she cracked open the cover and peeked at the neatly typed schedule inside as she pivoted away from him. “So I guess I’ll see you at the airport this evening.”

“About that.” He fell into step beside her, waylaying her attempt to escape. “I was wondering what you’d think about giving me a ride.”

She wasn’t sure if it was his phrasing or the hopeful note in his voice, but something set off the warning bells in her head. She paid about as much attention to the clamor as a native New Yorker does a car alarm. “A ride?”

“Not that kind of ride,” he said with a chuckle. “Wait. No.” He drew to a sudden halt, and automatically, she stopped too. His forehead puckered as he gave the innuendo due consideration. “Yes to both kinds, if you’re willing.”

“Stop.” She raised a hand to underscore the command.

A wicked smile curved his sculpted lips, but he ducked his head deferentially. “A ride in your car to the airport,” he clarified.

She thrust her hip out, standing her ground. “You locker room jocks think everything is an opening, don’t you?”

“I am a playmaker,” he countered.

She rolled her eyes and directed her commentary to the trophy cases lining the deserted corridor. “Barely a week since I found him crying in his cups, and now he thinks he’s a player.”

His smile warmed, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I don’t think I am. I know.”

“Well, try to keep your pants zipped for the next six weeks, Romeo. I’m having enough trouble paying off the checks your mouth wrote without you adding a paternity test or two to the mix.”

The winning smile disappeared, and he looked injured. “That was uncalled for,” he said, his voice low and soft with disappointment.

“I’m sorry.” And she was. “A joke, and a bad one.”

He’d been getting too close, pushing all her buttons. She wanted to back him off a bit.

“Last week notwithstanding, I know how to handle myself both personally and professionally,” he said stiffly.

“I know. I apologize.”

Didn’t he understand? Didn’t he feel the buzz? She needed to distance herself, because having him so near was becoming too much for her to handle. Millie had spent the better part of the week reminding herself this was a dangerous situation for both of them.

Or maybe it was only dangerous for her. Maybe he wasn’t actually interested in her but just…felt lonely that night.

Either way, she needed to buckle down and tough it out. She could get through the next twenty-four hours without doing something she couldn’t undo. Then, once he was safely on a plane winging his way west, she could think about him.

“Aren’t you on my side?”

The question surprised her. She looked up to find him searching her face as though the answer might be tattooed on her forehead. She hoped he was getting a clear read on the indignation flaring in her cheeks. “What? Why would you ask me that? Of course I am. I’m the one who’s been standing right beside you all week.”

“I’m not questioning your loyalty to the school or your job, Millie. I’m asking you.” He paused long enough to take a deep breath. “Do you like me? As a person.” He added the last part in a rush, like he felt an urgent need to sew up any loopholes she might dive through.

Torn between being mortified and affronted, she did the only thing she could do when put squarely on the spot. She fired back with the truth. “Yes. Of course I do.”

“As much as I appreciate the ‘of courses,’ I’m well aware not everyone does like me, and I’m okay with that.” He gave her a wry little smile. “I’m not okay with you not liking me though.”

“I don’t,” she blurted.

He reared back as if she’d slapped him across the face.

Panic gripped her by the throat while she scrambled to rewind the last bit of conversation in her head. Sadly, her babbling came across every bit as muddled the second time through. “I mean, I do.” He cocked his head like a quizzical spaniel, and she blew out an exasperated huff. “I like you. There. I said it, okay?”

He opened his mouth to retort, then snapped his jaw shut. Then he smiled. Not one of those broad lady-killer grins but a small, pleased smile that made her feel fluttery inside. Which was disconcerting. She wasn’t a fluttery sort of woman. In fact, she prided herself on her logical, if not surgical, approach to life. She was strong. Decisive. Independent and opinionated. Millie liked to say she was a leader, not a lemming.

Her ex-husband simply called her a ballbuster.

Millie gave her head a hard shake. No sense in dwelling on ancient history. She needed to focus on the present. They were standing mere feet from their boss’s office, acting like a couple of junior high kids trying to decide if they were going to be an item. She needed to make it crystal clear that they couldn’t be one. Ty was still married.

Besides, he hadn’t said he liked her. He’d only asked if she liked him.

The whole thing was nuts. She should be focusing on ways to parlay the media attention into positive press for the university. Instead, here she was, breathing harder than she did in mile seventeen and wondering if he was going to kiss her again. His lips parted as if he’d read her mind. Her gaze zoomed in on his mouth like she was the director of some low-budget porn flick. The ridiculousness of the situation wasn’t lost on her, but she had a hard time mustering a laugh. Acting out of impulse and a healthy dose of self-preservation, she pressed her fingertips to his mouth and tried not to think about how impossibly soft his lips were.

Tried and failed.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” she managed in a desperate whisper.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, the movement so slight he didn’t even dislodge her hand. Millie’s breath caught in a snarl when he pursed his lips and kissed the pads of her fingertips. Curling her fingers into her palm, she let her hand fall to her side.

“Pick me up at six,” he ordered in a low, gruff voice. When she was slow to respond, he quirked a challenging brow. “You remember where I live, right?”

A strangled laugh escaped her, and she ducked her head, amused by his audacity. The drunk and discombobulated man was long gone. No sight of him all week. Thank God. In his place stood this quiet warrior, committed to doing what he needed to do to reclaim his life. And damn if his determination wasn’t as attractive as all get-out.