“Quinton will be expecting you at HERS this afternoon. The owner, Brynn Sterling, works closely with our organization and will make sure you will both be comfortable for what may be a very uncomfortable conversation.” Suddenly, Mr. Mahler’s posture changes as he sits up and levels me with the same intense stare that haunted my dreams after my interview. “It’s imperative that you get Quinton on our side. The damage his accusations could cause not only our organization, but the League as a whole, is enormous. From this point forward, you are to work only with him and the mess he created. Understood?”

“Yes.” The word comes out weak. I close my eyes and take a deep breath and try again. “Yes, I understand.”

He nods his head. Satisfaction is written across his time-weathered face, but I speak before he can, because for some reason, I know that he’s not finished with me yet. “Just so you know, Mr. Mahler, this job means more to me than just a paycheck. My father passed away earlier this year. We spent his final months together watching the Mustangs play. My favorite memories of him are wrapped up with your organization. I want what’s best for everyone.”

His gaze softened as I spoke, but I have a sick feeling in my stomach. It was less because of what I said, and more of what he hadn’t. “I’ll hold you to that. We can’t have an entire season of bad press, and if you don’t have a handle on this by playoffs, we will have to find someone who can get it done.”

Dammit.

Sometimes I really hate being right.

Three

“Wait,” Liv’s voice booms through my car speakers. “You’re meeting who?”

“You heard me.” If the bumper-to-bumper Denver traffic wasn’t enough to make a sane person go crazy, listening to Liv’s voice rise approximately twenty decibels would be mad entertaining. “Quinton Howard Junior. The stubborn quarterback who just had to do this on his own and possibly put an end to my career before it even started.”

I figured a lunch meeting would mean avoiding rush hour. However, I forgot that with the influx of Denver residents over the last few years, every hour is rush hour. It has taken almost an hour to finally reach my exit and I’m most definitely not amused.

“By stubborn, do you mean extremely hot?”

“No, I definitely do not mean hot.” I used to think he was hot, but the whole “could cost me my job” thing has changed my mind. “Do you understand how good I am at my job? I’m really fucking good. All he had to do is reach out to me and I would’ve helped him organize this! Do you know how many people would love to have me at their back? Now the Mustangs—”