Page 14 of Mad Rivals (The Bradley Legacy #1)

She’s Not My Type

I wasn’t nervous when recruiters came to watch me play football in high school.

I wasn’t nervous when I headed to the Combine.

I wasn’t nervous for the draft, my first training camp, or the first time I took the field as an NFL player.

But this? This stupid fucking meeting…yeah. I’m a little nervous.

I don’t want to fuck anything up, and I don’t want to come off looking like I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t.

I still have no clue why my dad gave me this project. I guess it sort of just fell into my lap. He’d planned on going to the bid walk, had an emergency and couldn’t attend, and let me handle it.

And here we are. Now the real work begins, and I assume today will be establishing timelines and planning out where and when our two companies will need to collaborate to ensure the smoothest possible build.

I’m out of my element here, and the irony of that strikes me as I walk into Starbucks to pick up two iced coffees. I have no clue if she has her own, but it can’t hurt to walk into a meeting like this with a gift, right ?

I pick them up and trek down the block to the VBC offices located up on a high floor in a skyscraper—just like the Bradley Group offices a few blocks the other way.

I take the elevator up, and I’m met with a receptionist when I walk in. I’m carrying two coffees, and the fancy laptop bag I bought two nights ago specifically for this occasion is slung over my shoulder.

“Good morning, I’m Madden Bradley here for a meeting with Kennedy Van Buren,” I say to the attractive woman in her mid-twenties sitting behind the desk and eyeing me like I’m a piece of meat.

“Of course, Mr. Bradley. Right this way.” She stands from her desk, and her sleek dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail that still falls to the middle of her shoulder blades.

She’s exactly my type, to be honest, but she’s also…

Well, she’s not Kennedy.

I have no idea why, but that’s who I’m interested in right now.

And truthfully, she’s not my type.

She’s gorgeous, yes. Stunning, really.

Historically I’ve slept with more women with dark hair and dark eyes, but Kennedy has blonde hair and this interesting shade of eye color I still haven’t quite identified.

Hazel, maybe. Sometimes they seem to glow green at me, and other times they’re an amber shade.

I wonder what shade they turn when she’s being fucked.

I draw in a deep breath as I do my best to ward off the impending hardening of my cock at the mere thought of that.

Jesus, I have got to pull myself together.

Ponytail leads me to a conference room where I immediately spot four people gathered: the CEO of this place, his daughter, her friend, and some dude who already looks bored.

I suppose it slipped my mind that her dad was going to be here. And whoever she was texting about me, which is likely the friend I’ve already met .

I was too focused on the word hot in that text to comprehend anything else it said.

“My apologies,” I say, entering the room. “I only knew Kennedy’s order.” I set the iced coffee in front of her.

She’s watching my every move like a hawk watches its prey, and she looks… different as my eyes meet hers.

Something is different with her hair. It’s maybe wavier than usual. Her eye makeup is a little darker today, and she looks professional in a white shirt and skirt.

She looks prepared.

She looks like she put in some extra effort.

Was it for me?

She looks hot as all fuck.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and those interesting eyes of hers are golden today.

The four of them stand to shake my hand, and I tear my eyes from her as I introduce myself to each of the men. I learn the bored dude is Dave from zoning, and Kennedy thought it would be a good idea to have at least one of the department heads sit in on our initial meeting.

The meeting goes surprisingly well. She’s prepared. I’m prepared. We establish a timeline, and her father, Dave, and Clem pretty much just sit back and listen.

It’s just hard to concentrate when I can’t stop staring at her hair. Or when her eyes meet mine and I forget what the fuck I was saying.

“I’ll run this by my office and let you know if we anticipate any changes,” I say as we wrap up the meeting.

She nods. “I’ll do the same and get back to you via email by next Tuesday. If all goes well, hopefully we can get this timeline to SCS and get started on the permits in the next few weeks.”

I stand and reach my hand across the table to shake hers, and she stands, too. She sets her hand in mine, and fuck it if fireworks don’t start booming and crackling all around us.

Can her dad see those? Clem? Dave ?

Can she?

Or is it just me?

I don’t know what the fuck is happening, and I don’t think I like it. But the more time I spend around this woman, the more one thing is clear.

There’s heat between us.

And I’ve never ignored heat. It’s too dangerous to ignore. It could lead to heatstroke, or fire, or worse.

Now I have to figure out how to get her to stop ignoring it, too.

I head back to the office and send the timeline to the rest of the team. I wrap up a few other loose ends, and then I head home.

I don’t have anything planned tonight—a rare occurrence on a Friday night for me, but since I’m no longer playing in Chicago, the opportunities have already dwindled. Clubs and bars want local players, not traitors, which I’ve been called more than once since I signed the trade deal.

I didn’t even have a choice, but people neither understand nor care.

I should’ve planned a trip to San Diego this weekend, but I didn’t. I didn’t know if the meeting would turn to shit today and I’d have to spend all weekend revising the timeline or what. Thankfully that’s not what happened, but now I’m left on a Friday night with nothing to do.

I grab a beer from the fridge and turn on ESPN for some background noise, and then I open my phone and find myself navigating to her contact.

I read through our text messages from yesterday.

I can’t help my smile at the one where she called me hot .

And then I stare at the bar where I’m supposed to draft my next message, and I think about what the hell I can say to open the door to try to get to know more about the mystery that is Kennedy Van Buren.