Ten

JENSEN

One thing I knew was that I’d have a better chance of convincing Aunt Priscilla to fund my project if I presented my case in person at the LCCO offices. Plus, my mother’s presence would help sway my aunt if she seemed hesitant. An official business call meant I couldn’t show up in athletic gear. After my three-hour workout, I returned to my place to slip on a suit.

As I stood in front of the mirror tying my tie, I went over my game plan—which admittedly wasn’t much. Luckily I excelled at spur-of-the-moment ideas and could adapt my suggestions on the fly.

At the Lund Industries corporate headquarters, I parked in the underground garage reserved for family members. We even had a private elevator so the executives could arrive and leave undetected. Recently the elevator had been put on weekend lockdown in an attempt to curb the Lund workaholic tendencies—or so I’d heard; I hadn’t been in this building on a weekend since my childhood. My weekends had been devoted to football since I’d joined my first peewee league at age ten.

Astrid, the prissy college intern who took her receptionist job very seriously, looked up at my approach. No smile from Astrid—no surprise. That might add an extra two seconds to her workload. “Mr. Lund. I wasn’t aware Lund Industries had a board meeting.”

I smiled at her. “As usual, Astrid, you’re right. I’m here to see—”

“Jensen?” A familiar voice echoed behind me.

I turned and faced my mother. “Hey, Mom.”

She hugged me, enveloping me in warmth, silk and the scent of Joy perfume. “You are solid, not wispy dream fragment.” Stepping back, she flicked her gaze over me. “Was there press conference today?”

“No.”

“You coming from funeral?”

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “You dressed for a date! Yes, I approve of the suit.” She squinted at my tie and tsk-tsked. “Come closer so I fix that ugly knot. Looks like noose, not a four-hundred-dollar tie.”

“There is no date. Unless I can convince my beautiful mother to fika after my meeting with Aunt Priscilla.”

“Honey-sweet words dripping from your lips just like your father,” she scoffed with a smile . . . as she attempted to straighten my tie.

Astrid cleared her throat. “I don’t see you on Priscilla’s calendar today, Mr. Lund.”

“I’m hoping my aunt could squeeze me in.”

“Her schedule is full today. Perhaps—”

“Of course Cilla has time for her nephew,” my mother said to Astrid sweetly. “We appreciate that you keep us on right trail but sometimes . . . we must freewheel.”

“You mean track,” I corrected Mom before Astrid did.

“Yah. Whatever.” Mom grabbed hold of my arm as if I were a ten-year-old in trouble. Over her shoulder she said to Astrid, “Hold the phone, please.”

I had the mental image of Astrid literally holding the phone until we finished the meeting.

Mom squeezed my arm. “When you were little boy, I could wrap whole hand around scrawny chicken arm. Now? My fingertips don’t touch from you having athlete’s arm.”

“Athletes’ foot is a thing—not a good thing—but there’s no such thing as athlete’s arm, Mom.”

“I say it is so, it is so.” She opened Aunt Priscilla’s door and made the after-you gesture.

My aunt smiled at me. “Jensen. What a lovely surprise.”

I chose the floral visitor’s chair on the left across from the desk, leaving the chair on the right for my mom.

After we were settled, my aunt said, “We can skip the usual chitchat and get to the point, since I doubt this is a social visit?”

I appreciated Aunt Priscilla’s directness. She’d always been the aunt who organized formal outings for the Lund kids, forcing us to wear matching T-shirts if we were going to a populated place. She defined organized, so it wasn’t nepotism when her son, Ash, the COO of Lund Industries, named her head of Lund Cares Community Outreach. Both my mother and my other aunt, Edie, devoted time to LCCO, but it was Priscilla Lund’s baby.

LCCO had expanded in recent years. Given the staggering amount of money at her disposal and her husband’s status as a billionaire heir to the Lund family fortune, Aunt Priscilla could’ve been a snotty, snooty socialite. But she used her powers for good, not evil, and she always put family above everything else.

“Astrid indicated you were swamped today, so I’ll give you a brief rundown. My neighbor is a single mother and she’d set her summer schedule around a dance camp that her son attended last year. My understanding is the program strives for economic and ethnic diversity. But the program either lost funding or lost their venue and it’s displaced thirty kids whose parents had counted on this camp. So I thought I’d ask if LCCO could step in.”

“This is late notice, Jensen.”

“I know. It’s late notice for the families since school gets out in three weeks.”

My aunt’s gaze turned shrewd. “Is everything else in place? The staffing, et cetera, and you’re asking LCCO to provide the facility?”

I shook my head. “My neighbor suspects this organization knew at least a month ago they wouldn’t be able to host the camp this year.”

“So no facility and no staff?”

“No, ma’am.”

She removed her neon-pink reading glasses and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “It’s a tight spot, Jens. If the administrators for the company needed a physical location to hold the camp, I’d have no problem issuing a check today.”

“But . . . ?”

“But while LCCO supports the local arts community, we don’t fund anything at one hundred percent. The organization is considered a partner, even if the financial split isn’t fifty-fifty. They have to be invested some way, and it sounds to me as if there is no organization any longer.”

I scratched my cheek. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Did the defunct organization require deposits to hold the kids’ place for the camp?”

“Yes. I wanna say it was a hundred bucks. Nonrefundable.”

“So thirty kids at a hundred bucks a pop . . .” She shook her head. “The organization should’ve charged double that. If they didn’t have a financial cushion, there’s no alternative but to pack it in. I’ve seen this happen too many times recently.”

Not what I wanted to hear.

My mother sighed. “My heart hurts for the children. It is not their fault.”

I remembered Calder’s glum body language yesterday.

Dammit. There had to be a solution.

Aunt Priscilla asked, “How many hours a week were the kids scheduled to be at camp?”

“Eighteen hours. Monday, Wednesday and Friday from nine A.M. until three in the afternoon.”

“Not full-time.”

“That’s the issue with the parents trying to find an alternative. Most places require the kid to be enrolled full-time.”

“Do you know the weekly camp fees per child?” my mother asked. “That income could cover some of the program, so it wouldn’t be fully funded by LCCO.”

I took my cell out of my jacket pocket. “Give me two seconds to fire off a quick text to Rowan.”

Me: Financial breakdown questions ahead.

RM: Hit me.

I typed in the questions and read Rowan’s text responses out loud. This went on for ten minutes.

My aunt said, “Last questions. Staffing, food service and medical.”

All of which I dutifully texted.

Me: How many staff members for thirty campers?

RM: Six. All six were there every day.

Me: Did campers bring their own lunches?

RM: Yes. The camp supplied the snacks.

Me: Thanks for all the info. That’s it for now. I think.

RM: Rocketman, I’ll give you whatever you want if you can actually help us with an alternative solution to this

I grinned. No mistaking that; the woman was flirting with me.

Me: Whatever I want? Don’t you think that’s a little . . . reckless?

RM: I’m due for reckless behavior and I’d owe you BIG TIME

Me: I’m holding you to that.

“Jensen,” my mother said sharply.

The little sneak had been reading over my shoulder.

“So, here’s what I found out,” I said quickly shoving my phone in my pocket and filling them in.

After I finished, Aunt Priscilla looked thoughtful. “That does change a few things. The staffing issues aren’t nearly as impossible when the attendees are expecting intense master classes. But we’d still have to find someone to oversee the camp and coordinate—”

“I’ll do it.”

My mother actually gasped after I said that.

I faced her. “What? You don’t think I’m capable of doing this?”

“If you are capably overseeing it, when will you train?”

“Whenever I want. Just like now. Official training camp doesn’t start until July. If I get the right people to help with this camp, someone can take over for me.”

“Sounds like you’ve already thought about who you’re hiring,” my aunt said.

“The only staff that gets paid are the dance and music instructors. Everyone else will be strictly volunteer. I plan to put the Lunds back in LCCO.” I smirked. “Lots of talent in this family.”

My aunt smirked back at me. “You’re finally getting even with my daughter for making you play dress-up with her when you were kids?”

“Yep. Dallas will say yes without question when I tell her Rowan is in a bind.”

“Rowan,” she repeated. “That name didn’t register until just now. This Rowan is—was—Dallas’s cheer coach at U of M?”

“Yes. She and her son, Calder, live across the hall from me. Rowan’s brother is Martin Michaels . . . remember Axl’s groomsman with the dreads?”

“Of course,” my aunt said. “He was certainly the life of the party.”

I grinned. “That’s Martin. He and his girlfriend are traveling through Europe, and Rowan is subletting the apartment this summer.”

“How old is her son?”

I felt my mother’s gaze boring into me, but I ignored it. “Calder is six.”

“Almost the same age as Mimi. This kind of camp would be good for her.”

I kept it to myself that I’d planned to ask Lucy, Mimi’s mother, to help out. “So what’s the next step? Do I get my volunteers lined up while you secure the venue?”

“That’d be best. Swing by at the end of the week and we’ll see where we’ve gotten to.”

I stood and skirted the corner of the desk, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Aunt Priscilla. You put the awe in awesome.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome. Now shoo, you charmer. I’m behind schedule.”

Out in the hallway, Mom had me by the arm again and towed me into the conference room. She planted herself right in front of me. “You tell me everything about this Roman, Jensen Bernard Lund.”

“Rowan. Not Ro-man or Ro-nin. Her name is Row-an.”

“Fine, yah, whatever. This Row-an. Did she demand you help with this camp?”

My tiny bit of amusement vanished. “No. I offered to help her.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the way you raised me.”

“Do not.” She paused and exhaled, but her laser-focused Mom gaze never left mine. “Do not treat my concern for you as a joke.”

“I’m not. But don’t assume that I’m a sucker for every beautiful woman with a hard-luck story either.”

She blinked as if that hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m sorry.” She placed her hand on my chest. “Ever since you were little boy you have a soft heart. Now grown man, hard body, but still soft heart.”

“Softhearted doesn’t mean I’m soft in the head,” I said gently. “Trust me, okay? Rowan and I are friends. She’s raised Calder on her own and done a great job because her son is a sweet boy. I saw how much he looked forward to the camp and knew I could help them and the other families who were affected.”

“So you spend time with them?”

I’d opened myself up for that one. “Occasionally.”

“Because you are . . . friendly with her.”

“Yes. And she’s a Vikings cheerleader.”

“Which one?” she demanded as if she knew them all.

“She has red—”

“The redhead high kicker is your Rowan?”

I really had to watch the stadium tapes and see Rowan in action if my mother was aware of her cheerleading skills. “She’s not my Rowan.”

“But you want more than friends with her?”

“She breaks all my rules.”

“Rules,” she scoffed, “are made to be beaten.”

“You mean broken.”

“Yah. Whatever.” She smirked at me. “You didn’t deny the desire to be more than friends because you cannot lie to your mother.”

I had lied to her more times than I would ever admit, but that wasn’t the point. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Rowan doesn’t date athletes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Calder’s dad was a football player. He’s not in his son’s life at all. So Rowan has rules too. Can we please drop this?”

“For now.” She offered me a dazzling smile.

My gut clenched. That smile meant she was up to something. “What else?”

“I wish to meet this Rowan the redhead and her sweet son.”

If she thought I’d argue about that . . . she’d be wrong. What better way to prove Rowan and I were just friends than to act like introducing her to my family was no big deal?

You are kidding yourself. It is a huge deal.

Shoving that thought aside, I said, “Sure. Next time you come over we’ll wander across the hallway for introductions.”

Another suspicious Mom laser-eye probe.

I smiled at her. “So we’re good?”

“Yah.”

“I’m off to start recruiting volunteers. But don’t warn any of the Lund Collective I’ll be hitting them up for this favor, okay?”

“Surprise them like Jack-in-box—popping up at worst time?”

“Something like that.” I kissed her forehead. “Later, gator.”

“Bison.”

I laughed because my sweet, slyly funny, meddling mother also put the awe in awesome.

As I approached the receptionist’s desk, I realized Astrid wasn’t scowling at me for a change. “Hey, Astrid. I need to make an appointment with Aunt Priscilla on Friday.”

“Already done.”

“Thank you. Sorry if I messed up the schedule today.”

“I shifted a few things around. Not a big deal.” Then she smiled at me.

What the hell? I’d never seen that before.

“But if you’re truly feeling bad, I’ll let you make it up to me.”

Not this. Before I pulled out the standard “I’m one hundred percent focused on getting my career back on track with zero time for dating,” she spoke—but it wasn’t to hit me up for dinner.

“I overheard what you’ve got cooking with this camp thing, and I want in.”

“Excuse me?”

“The camp. I want in. I want to help.”

“What about your job here?”

The annoyance returned to her face. “It’s an internship, so I’m done in two weeks. I start training my replacement next week. And if I don’t have anything lined up regarding my major? My parents will expect me to come home for the summer.”

“You don’t get along with them?”

“I get along with them fine, it’s the rest of the people in my small hometown that I don’t want to be stuck with.” She peered down the hallway and then refocused on me. “It could be an extension of my internship. Hands-on experience in addition to administrative experience with a nonprofit like LCCO will look great on my résumé.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m listening.”

“I’m an organizer. I could be there during all of the camp hours. I’d be good at herding little people to where they needed to be in a timely fashion. I could handle the weekly payments from the parents and make sure the money hits the right LCCO account. I could order supplies. I could fill out the reports for the number of volunteer hours.”

My head? Spinning. This wasn’t a “Hey, kids, let’s put on a camp!” kind of project if I had to fill out reports.

Astrid paused and gave me a challenging look. “You had no idea about the required LCCO reports, did you?”

“No, but I bet I know who ordered those reports.” I paused. “My brother the CFO.”

“In triplicate, no less.”

Jesus. “Now I have a question. How old are you?”

“I turned twenty-one last month. Why is that relevant?”

I shrugged. “Just wondering if the reason you want to stay in the Cities instead of going home is to party like it’s 1999.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Props for the Prince reference, but I’ve never seen the fun in getting drunk and acting stupid. Besides, since this would be an unpaid internship, I’d have to keep my other job waiting tables at Brit’s Pub.”

I offered her my hand. “I’d be happy for your expertise. But—”

“But keep in mind, as a Lund, you’re large and in charge, running the show, yada yada. Got it.”

“Has a smart-ass always lurked beneath the brusque receptionist?”

“Yes, but a respectful smart-ass, Mr. Lund, sir.”

“You and me are gonna get along just fine, Astrid. Text me your number and I’ll be in touch.”

I wasn’t sure, but I might’ve seen her saluting in the reflection of the elevator doors.

Since I was already in the building, I figured I might as well clear the next hurdle. I took the elevator to the PR department—my sister Annika’s domain.

I bypassed her assistant and knocked on her door before walking into her office. “Hey, sis,” I said as I strolled toward her.

“Why, yes, Jensen, please just barge in any time you feel like it. It’s not like I’m doing real work here.”

Her snappish tone had me pausing midstride. “What the hell is that about?”

She sighed and spun her chair to face me. “Just sharing the loathing, bro. Mondays suck. I’m stuck doing the worst part of this job because I’m the boss.”

Annika’s mentor and former boss had decided to stay home full-time after her last baby. Since Annika had been second-in-command, she was the logical choice to take over. “What are you doing?”

“Running cost analysis for our two biggest campaigns last quarter.” She pointed at me. “Don’t think I didn’t see your eyes glaze over the instant I uttered ‘cost analysis.’”

I grinned at her. “Busted. But seriously, is this a bad time to talk?”

That was when Annika gave me a quick once-over. “Not that you don’t look great all GQ’d up, but what’s with wearing the suit in the off-season? Did someone die?”

“Mom said the same thing to me.”

“Obviously we’re both concerned someone has been drinking Polyjuice Potion and is impersonating you.”

“Hilarious.”

“Let’s sit in the lounge area.”

“Look who’s all fancy with her ‘lounge’ area in her fancy-ass office.”

“Shut it or I won’t share my almond pastries with you,” Annika warned.

“Who made them?”

“I did. I made a shit ton because Axl loves them.” She stopped in front of her space-age coffeemaker. “Coffee?”

“You know how to work that thing?”

“Yeah, it’s real hard poking the buttons.”

After we were settled in with our coffee and pastries, she said, “What’s going on?”

So I told the story for what felt like the bazillionth time. Then I followed it up with the camp situation and how I’d come up with a solution.

“It sounds like you’ve got everything under control after your meeting with Aunt P.”

We never called her Aunt P to her face for obvious reasons. “I’m lining up volunteers. Which is where you come in.”

Annika said, “Hit me with it.”

“Can I talk to Lucy about her summer plans for Mimi and if she would be interested in sending Mimi to camp and teaching craft classes?”

“Every day for the entire summer?”

I shook my head. “Three days a week, six hours a day.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re her boss. If you can’t spare her I’d understand.”

“I’m sure she’d be all over it. Especially since she won’t lose income by helping out.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “What do you mean?”

“Any LI employee who volunteers for an LCCO event is paid their regular salary.” Her eyes searched mine. “You’re on the LI board of directors, Jens. How did you not know that?”

I shrugged. “Some of that shit bores me to tears, so I tune out during the meetings.”

“You and Walker.” She smirked. “And I suspect Dad is right there with you guys. Anyway, things are projected to slow down in our department during the next couple of months, so the timing is good.”

“So I can ask her?”

“Yes. But if she says no . . . I won’t get involved, okay?”

“Deal.” I started to get up.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast.” She pointed at me. “Park it. Tell me more about Rowan. Because you’ve got it bad for her.”

“She and I are friends. That’s it.”

“Right. That’s why you’re going to all this trouble for her kid.”

I kept my cool demeanor. “First off, I had to come up with a project for LCCO anyway. This one fits the parameters. Second, she’s my friend’s sister. Martin wouldn’t want me messing with her. Third, Rowan breaks every one of my rules. I could look the other way if it was just one, but it’s all three. Fourth, she doesn’t date athletes.”

Annika laughed.

“What’s funny about that?”

“You. Trying to convince me that any of that matters. The fact that she breaks all your rules is a cosmic clue and a celestial sign that you should just toss out the rule book.”

I scowled at her. “You’ve been hanging out with Dallas too much if you’re talking about cosmic clues and celestial signs.”

She leaned forward. “Nope. Still haven’t convinced me.”

Screw it. I drained my coffee like it was a tequila shot. “You’re right. Rowan is amazing. She’s smart. She’s so damn devoted to her son and for some reason I find that incredibly hot. She’s funny. And sweet. But she’s not a pushover. That red hair fits her fiery personality perfectly. She doesn’t act fake nice to me because I’m famous and rich and then she’s a raging bitch to everyone else. She’s genuinely nice.” I blew out a long breath and ran my hand through my hair. “Calder’s dad, a pro football player, screwed her over, so she’s all ‘pass’ when it comes to athletes—especially pro athletes. And worst of all, at least from my side, is that I didn’t have a clue that she’s been a Vikings cheerleader the entire time I’ve been part of the team. Oh, and she cheered for the U of M football team too.” I felt my cheeks heat. “So yeah. I’m the stereotypical egotistical football player who doesn’t see anything in the stadium beyond my teammates standing on the sidelines and the damn end zone. How would I ever make up for that dickhead behavior?”

“You can’t. But I think it’s great you’re trying to redeem yourself even when there’s no chance the two of you will ever have a romantic relationship.”

I bristled. Even my sister didn’t have faith I could overcome Rowan’s perception of me.

Annika pointed at me. “Oh, wipe the mulish look off your face, Jens. If you showed her the sweet, charming Jensen I know and love, she’d be all over you. I’m just saying it’s too bad the NFL has that stupid rule about cheerleaders and players not getting involved.”

As I’d gotten to know Rowan, I’d conveniently forgotten that rule. Which, now that I thought about it, bordered on infringing on personal freedom. Why did the national organization believe they had the right to tell me who I couldn’t date?

“Although technically,” she said slyly, “with you being on the injured reserve list, you’re not an ‘active’ player until the coaching staff officially deems you eligible.”

I stared at her. “You scare me sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Because you are unparalleled in finding sneaky-ass justification to get what you want.”

“Dude. I’m in PR. It’s all about the spin.”

No lie there.

“What am I contributing to camp?”

“Cookies. Or whatever Swedish treats you’re baking for Axl.”

“Done.”

I glanced at the clock across the room. “Thanks for making time to talk to me given your busy executive schedule.”

She waved me off. “I always have time for you. Here’s one bit of sisterly advice.”

“Shoot.”

“While this friendship is new and exciting to you, she has to do the day-to-day parenting stuff. Be her friend, but don’t insert yourself into their daily lives without a clear invitation that’s what she wants. Keep it cool and casual, okay?”

I hated to hear it because she was probably right. I needed to back off. “I get it.” I stood.

Annika followed me to the door. “Who else are you recruiting besides Lucy?”

“Dallas. Trinity. “

“My advice? Ask Trinity when the big, bad daddy-to-be isn’t huffing and puffing around, demanding she stay off her feet.”

“On it. I’ll keep you updated.”

•   •   •

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a productive day besides having a great workout or making progress on my physical therapy.

Everyone I’d contacted about volunteering for camp had stepped up—that was one of the reasons we, Astrid mostly, had chosen Camp Step-Up as the new camp name.

I’d been texting with Rowan sporadically. I hadn’t asked her plans for the night—even when we needed to discuss camp specifics.

Tonight, I needed something besides flirting and conversation.

I needed action. Real action that I hadn’t had for over a month.

I made the call.

“’Bout time you came crawling back to me. The beer is cold, the joystick is hot and I am ready to kick your ass at Assassin’s Creed, baller.”

“In your dreams is the only place I’ll ever lose to you, puck-head.” I paused when Axl told me in Swedish to do something obscene to myself with a cruller. “Do you have food or should I pick some up?”

Axl snorted. “It’s sacrilegious not to eat pizza when we’re playing. We’ll order in. Bring more beer. And none of that cheap shit you billionaire Minnesotans insist on serving. The good stuff.”

Snobby Swede. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Grain Belt beer. So that was what he was getting. “Be there in thirty.”