Chapter One
Nash
“ L ooking good, Fontaine. Looking real good.”
I adjust my tie in the mirror of my Range Rover, practicing the same smile that landed me on Chicago’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” list three weeks after my trade. New team. New image. Same devastating charm. If only that were enough.
“One more scandal and you can kiss that contract renewal goodbye.” My agent’s words from this morning’s call make it hard to focus.
Like I need another reminder. The Bay City Breakers made it pretty clear when they traded me to Chicago one month before opening day that my “showboating” was becoming a liability.
A handful of paparazzi are already camped out by the gate of Clearway Park’s employee parking lot. Vultures. They’ve been desperate for any story they can get on the team’s new billionaire heir shortstop trying to clean up his image. And today, that’s exactly what I’m going to give them.
Nash Fontaine, arriving early for a meeting with management to prove he’s ready to play ball both on and off the field.
I grab my leather portfolio from the passenger seat and check the mirror one last time. Perfect, as always. Time to show Coach Donnovan and the rest of the team why I’m worth every penny of that contract.
I take the stairs two at a time until I reach the stadium’s premium level and strut into The Dugout Club without feeling the least bit winded.
I flash another smile when I see Bucky Donnovan, head coach of the Chicago Street Sweepers, and my agent, Carmen Sandovahl sitting at our usual table beside a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows that overlooks the field.
The rest of the room is packed with wealthy business executives and a handful of teammates, no doubt here on their day off for the same reason I am.
Whether we come for business or pleasure, the Dugout Club is the only place we go when we want to grab a drink and a decent bite without getting hassled by fans.
I slide into the chair across from Carmen. “Morning.”
She doesn’t look up from her tablet. “Ten minutes early. Who are you, and what have you done with Nash Fontaine?”
“Today’s a big day, right?” I ask, ignoring the jab.
Coach Donnovan takes a long swig of his coffee and squares his shoulders. “A big day is right. All eyes are on you, Nash. You sure you’re ready for this? It’s a big commitment.”
My jaw tightens. Great. Here we go with this again. “You don’t think I am?”
“It’s not that, Son. It’s just… The Street Sweepers took a chance trading for you.
You may be the best in the league, but after what happened in Sacramento, you’re lucky you’re not watching baseball from your living room.
You’re a public figure. And if you ever expect people to treat you like a role model, you’ve got to learn to act the part. ”
I cringe when Coach brings up the Sacramento incident.
But how was I supposed to know the airspace above the stadium was restricted?
Apparently, my date was the only one impressed when I snuck her in after hours for a healthy round of drone racing.
Turns out my little stunt ended up flagging California’s entire National Guard.
Carmen finally looks up, her southern drawl cutting through the tension. “Which means no more late-night club appearances. No more tabloid headlines. And definitely no more ‘accidentally’ showing up in places you shouldn’t be.”
Okay. Now she’s playing hardball. I narrow my eyes with a smirk that’s met by a pair of pursed lips.
“I mean it, Nash.” Carmen leans forward in her chair, lacing her fingers together. “You might think this kind of lifestyle is cute, and maybe even harmless. But I can assure you, it’s not. Your behavior affects the entire professional baseball brand. It’s not just your name on the line anymore.”
I lean back, my features falling into a neutral expression. Is it possible they’re both right to question my intentions? Am I really ready for this level of commitment?
Carmen’s gaze stays fixed on mine long enough for my pulse to race as an opportunity for a good old-fashioned stare-down presents itself. That is, until a crash of shattering glass on the other side of the dining room makes me break away first.
I look up and see a waitress behind the bar with dark hair and a crisp white shirt just as she mouths something under her breath that suspiciously looks like one of my favorite four-letter words.
“Oh my gosh, Avery!” Another server with blonde hair streaked with red and orange underneath rushes over. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”
Avery.
A warm honey color flickers in her big brown eyes, and I wish she was closer so I could get a better look.
“No, I’m fine. Shook up is all.” She looks down at the broken pieces of glass scattered across the floor. “I’ll clean this up and—“
“No. I’ve got the bar. Just… go run table seven’s order and let me deal with the mess.”
While Carmen and Coach Donnovan rattle on about whether they want to order from the breakfast or lunch menu, Avery pushes through the kitchen’s swinging door and returns with a tray of plates, weaving through the crowded room like a pro.
I perk up when she approaches the table with a group of guys in Street Sweeper team gear.
“Hey there,” one says, flashing a smile that probably hasn’t worked for him since he played varsity in high school. “Those plates look heavy. Need some help?”
Avery doesn’t miss a beat. “These plates and I have been managing just fine,” she says, setting them down with practiced precision. “Gentlemen, can I get you anything else? Perhaps a menu of conversation topics that don’t involve cheesy pickup lines?”
The burn is so quick and clean that I’m in awe when it renders them speechless. The guys exchange embarrassed glances as she turns to check on the rest of her tables. What a bunch of amateurs. I bet I could teach them a thing or two about catching a woman’s attention.
It’s only a matter of time before she makes her way around to take our order, and when she does, I’m ready with my A-game.
“What can I get for you today?” she asks. Her gaze sweeps across Coach and Carmen, then lands on me—with zero recognition, I might add. Or maybe she knows exactly who I am and is really… really … good at her job.
Carmen orders a grilled chicken Caesar salad and a refill of her Diet Coke, then Coach orders the burger with a side of sweet potato fries. When it’s my turn, I keep it simple. “Iced tea, please.”
“Sweet or unsweet?”
“Unsweet. Thanks.” I give a curt smile I don’t expect she’ll return, then wait patiently as she repeats our order back. When the rest of the table nods in approval, Avery turns and makes her way to the nearest computer, which is conveniently located right next to the men’s bathroom. Time to pounce.
“Excuse me for a moment.” I nod to Carmen and Coach, then push out of my chair. “I’ll be right back.”
Steering toward the men’s room, I catch Avery just as she finishes sending our order to the kitchen. When she turns, our bodies collide, and it’s even better than I imagined as I let the small object in my hand fall discreetly to the floor.
“Oh!” Her hands plant square on the broad of my chest, and I fight the urge to take them into mine as color rushes into her face. “Excuse me.”
The warm scent of vanilla in Avery’s hair is intoxicating, and I almost forget my own name when she looks up at me with those big, honey-brown eyes. I give her a clumsy smile, then pull away. “Excuse me. “ I say in a mirroring tone before stepping to the side.
When she steps forward to pass, I reach down to pick up the item I dropped—a white packet of sugar I fished from the caddy back at our table—then catch her by the elbow.
“Whoa, not so fast,” I say, pulling her close.
I slip the sugar packet into her free hand and whisper in her ear. “You dropped your name tag.”
Before she replies, I disappear through the bathroom door and let the rest of the magic do its work.
Only… when I’m back at the table, it’s like she’s Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates and I’m the village idiot her mind won’t let her remember.
What just happened? Am I the only one who thinks we shared a moment?
Avery refills Coach’s coffee and walks away without so much as a smile.
Frown lines etch across my forehead as Carmen raises a brow. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I mutter, suddenly feeling less like Chicago’s finest and more like the nerdy teenager with braces and bad acne who got rejected by the captain of the cheerleading squad. “So, tell me about this kid I’ll be mentoring.”