Page 12 of Mad Rivals (The Bradley Legacy #1)

Tiger & Mule

Me: Can you meet tomorrow morning to

I stare at my draft. To what? To kiss me? To bend me over the conference table? To…

I backspace.

Me: Tomorrow morning, 9:00. Conference room B at VBC.

Too bitchy.

I delete that, too.

I decide to text Clem instead since we’ve barely talked since we started working even though we live in the same house.

Me: How’s VBC treating you?

Her reply doesn’t come right away. I know I need to get in touch with Madden’s office.

We have a ton of project planning to do together up front.

Part of our bid had sustainability and environmental goals, and from the start I need to make sure we’re on the same page there.

Then there’s the timeline and utilities—something vital to the planning stage because if we’re off on our timelines, construction could be delayed.

It just feels like there’s so much to do, and my dad gave me a laundry list of where to start.

He also gave me complete access to the team here at VBC.

I’ll need it, but the best way to learn all this is simply to dive straight in.

After coffee yesterday, I have a feeling that’s exactly what Madden is doing, and I’m not going to sit back while he one-ups me.

I’m going to put in the work and learn this shit so I look informed and prepared for every meeting we have.

I’m placating my dad as I assure him I know what I’m doing. He wasn’t pleased that we’re going to be partnering with Bradley on this, but he was pleased that our enemy didn’t win the entire bid over us.

Ultimately I chicken out on texting him, and I have my dad’s assistant, who’s working a dual role right now as my assistant, call his office to arrange the meeting.

Tomorrow morning at nine. Conference room B.

Clem writes me back a little before lunchtime.

Clem: Going great! Wanna do lunch together in fifteen minutes?

Me: Yes! Meet you by the elevators!

I’m excited to do lunch with Clem. We’ve been working here for a couple weeks together, and we’ve only done this twice before so far.

It’s always a much-needed break from my day when I get to laugh over lunch with my best friend.

She’s waiting there for me when I approach, and she’s looking all cute in a flowery dress, jean jacket, and large-framed glasses.

“We need to do this more often,” I declare.

She nods and offers a smile. “Now that the first paycheck is in, I absolutely agree.”

We both laugh as we walk down to the sandwich shop on the corner, still early enough to hopefully miss the lunchtime rush. Lucky for us, there’s no line. We place our orders, and Clem excuses herself to the restroom while I wait for our sandwiches.

I’m in la-la-land as I think about what I’m going to wear Friday morning to my meeting with the hot football star I hate when a deep voice rasps low beside me.

“Couldn’t rack up the nerve to call me yourself?”

Chills race down my spine as my body seems to physically react to his proximity .

I whirl on him, practically knocking into him but instead stopping myself with my hands on his very firm, very broad, very sexy chest. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

Seriously, Kennedy? What are you doing here ? Could I not have come up with at least a semi-intelligent response? Clearly no.

I’m flustered, and I forcibly remove my hands from his chest. His hard, firm, expansive chest.

Jesus.

“I’m grabbing lunch, which I assume you’re doing. No?” He smirks at me. The bastard freaking smirks .

“I am, and I’m here with someone.” I’m not sure why I make it sound ambiguous. I’m here with my best friend.

“Mm. I came alone.” His words drip with sex, and I don’t even know why.

God, what is wrong with me?

I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, enjoy your solo lunch, then.”

“Maybe I could join you. A working lunch,” he suggests.

I hate how thrills light up my spine at the offer. “No thanks. I’m good.”

I’m in no way good .

“Are you here on a date?” he asks.

“Not that it’s any of your business, no.” I tap my pointer finger on the opposite bicep. “I’m here with my best friend, and we have a lot to discuss.”

“Like that hot football player you’re partnering with on the SCS project?” he asks.

“Make no mistake, Bradley. We are not partners, nor will we ever be,” I snarl.

He holds up both hands in surrender. “Easy, tiger,” he says.

I glare at him. “Tiger? You’re making up pet names for me now?”

He chuckles as if he gets a rise out of ticking me off. He’s damn good at it, that’s for sure. “It wasn’t a pet name when it slipped out, but it does seem to fit. ”

“Okay, then, mule.”

His brows dip. “Mule?”

“Yeah, you know. Like an ass.” I raise a pointed brow as I purse my lips, and boom! I finally got in a jab when I seem to turn into jelly around this man.

He laughs.

The bastard laughs .

This is not going well, and I’m only saved from more of this misery when the lady at the counter calls my order number.

“Excuse me,” I say, needing to move past him to get to the counter, but he doesn’t budge. I huff out a breath and squeeze my way past him, and my ass happens to rub along his body as I move.

And holy. Freaking. Shit.

Is that a banana in his pocket, or is he as affected by these random run-ins as I am?

Is he turned on by this banter we can’t seem to escape?

I gasp a little and turn to look at him, and when our eyes meet, there’s a definite heat there. And he’s smirking again—or maybe still.

The more I interact with him, the more I want to slap that smirk right off his hot face. Why does he have to be so hot and also so completely off-limits at the same time?

Because just to be totally clear, he is off-limits. Not only are we working together on this project, but he’s also my family’s sworn enemy, which means that even though I’m not really all that close to my father, he’s my enemy, too.

His dad did something that cost my dad business, and that affects me. It’s my future company for better or worse, and who knows what sorts of irreversible damage Thomas Bradley did to VBC.

That is why we can’t get involved.

No matter how hot his stupid face is .

I turn and spot Clem grabbing a table, and I take the sandwiches over to join her, not giving Madden a second look on my way by.

“Hottie alert in line,” she murmurs when I sit and pass her the sandwich. “Thanks.”

I glance over and know who she’s talking about, and great , just great , he sees us both ogling him from our table. “Warn a girl when the dude’s looking straight at us,” I mutter.

She giggles. “But how hot, am I right? He must be…what, like six-four?”

“Six-three,” I say, and then my hand flies to my stupid mouth.

“Kennedy Jayne Van Buren, how in the hell do you know that?” she demands, pausing in her pursuit to extract her sandwich from the brown paper bag it’s wrapped in.

“That’s Madden Bradley.”

“The football player?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“And before you get any ideas, he’s the heir to Bradley Group, and he’s an asshole.”

“He’s still looking over here.” She waves, and goddammit, why did I pick such a friendly, inviting person for my best friend? A bitch who glared across the room at him would’ve suited me better in this moment.

I shake my head at her. “Knock that off.”

“There is something crackling in the air here. Talk to me, VB,” she says, abbreviating my last name to two letters as she tends to do. It’s either Kenny or VB, and she’s always Clem or Carter. “Do you know him?”

“He bumped into me at Starbucks one morning, literally. The morning of the bid walk for SCS. We ordered the exact same thing. I was flustered and ran out of there because look at him , and then we ran into each other again at the bid walk. VBC was awarded the residential, and he was awarded the commercial.”

“So now you get to work with that fine piece of dreamboat?” she asks, folding her hands and leaning her cheek on the back of them as she closes her eyes to feign dreaminess .

“Mm,” I grunt. “Something like that. But my dad and his dad hate each other, and my dad already warned me off the entire family. So yes, we’re working side by side, and yes, he’s gorgeous, but it doesn’t matter because he’s the enemy.”

“Don’t you see?” she asks. “That makes it forbidden, which makes it even hotter.”

I roll my eyes. “It is no such thing.” I take a bite of my sandwich, and lettuce falls out everywhere. It’s hanging out of my mouth and sitting on my chest, and wouldn’t you know it? The mule chooses that moment to appear at our table.

“Need some help there, tiger?” he asks me.

Oh, Jesus. Now he’s calling me by his new pet name for me.

Clem’s wide eyes shift from him to me, and I see it all there as I glance up at her.

She wants this for me.

Well, too damn bad.

“I got it,” I say thickly around the food in my mouth. I grab a napkin to clean up my mouth, and I brush the lettuce off my top. “Aren’t you, like, a famous NFL star? Don’t you have somewhere else to sit? Someone else to sit with?”

He shrugs. “I get recognized, but I don’t care to sit with people I don’t know.

” He pulls a chair from a nearby table and sets it on the side of ours so he’ll be sitting right in between Clem and me.

“Hi, Madden Bradley. Nice to meet you,” he says, sticking his hand out toward my friend while he completely contradicts what he just said.

“You don’t know us,” I say.

“Correction, I don’t know your friend .” He says it with more than a hint of flirtation, and I know what he’s doing here. He’s trying to get a rise out of me. He’s flirting with my friend right in front of me to see how I’ll react.

“Oh, well, allow me to introduce you, then. Clementine Carter, this is Madden. Madden, Clem. Fair warning, Madden’s an asshole, and Clem is as kind as they come, so back the hell off.”

They both look at me in surprise, and okay, fine. Maybe that was a tad aggressive. But I stand by my words. I’m not backing down.

“Clementine,” he says, ignoring me. “What an interesting name.”

“It was my great-grandmother’s name. My mom was very close to her,” she says. “Madden is an interesting name, too.”

“Named after John Madden. One of my father’s favorite football figures.”

“Did he ever play?” Clem asks, and I hate how easy conversation is for them when I feel like I’ve struggled through every sentence I’ve strung together with him.

Madden shakes his head. “College, yes. Pro, no. He was drafted and sustained an injury during training camp that ended his playing days.”

“That’s awful,” Clem says.

I’m not sure why that piques my curiosity even more. Why would his parents choose to name him after someone who was injured and never even got to play? The man had quite an amazing career as a coach and broadcaster after that, so maybe that’s why. Plus, you know, the video games.

I sit silently and take another bite of my sandwich, attempting to be a bit more ladylike this time.

“What about you? How much longer do you plan to play?” Clem asks.

He glances up and sort of freezes for a beat, and then he shrugs. “I’ve got one year left on my contract. We’ll see how San Diego treats me.”

I knew he was recently traded to San Diego, so he’ll probably be moving there. Good. A little distance between us wouldn’t hurt things. And I can use my status as a diehard Bears fan to push his buttons.

Though we do have some clients in California …

I immediately push the thoughts out of my brain. I certainly don’t want to leave this city I love so much for a place where literally the only person I know is Madden fucking Bradley.

His eyes sweep over to mine, and I can tell he’s wondering what I’m thinking.

I’ll never admit that deep down, I’m wondering how hard it would be to convince my dad that there’s no time like the present to get a move on the San Diego market.