Page 9 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Marlowe

A pang cuts through my head as I sit up in bed. The hotel room is dark, the blackout shades covering the windows.

I frown, looking around, trying to get my bearings.

“Shit,” I mutter as the night before comes back to me in waves.

Arriving in Spain. Gerard with the blonde. Drinks at the bar.

Ale.

Dinner and drinks and dancing.

Kissing!

Shit!

I throw back the covers, swing my legs to the edge of the bed, and stand. My head spins and my mouth is dry. I grasp the headboard to steady myself and nearly weep with gratitude when I note the bottled water and two paracetamol tablets on the nightstand.

I take them quickly, savoring the cool water as it slides down my throat. Glancing around the room, I half expect to see a naked Ale. Relief floods my limbs when I realize I’m alone.

I spot something on the desk and hurry over, my breath lodging in my throat at the wad of cash folded next to a note.

For a heartbeat, fear rushes through my limbs.

Was our exchange somehow transactional? Did I misunderstand…everything?

As soon as I read the note, relief snakes through my veins and I drop into the desk chair, exhausted from the surge of panic, the dip of relief, and the range of emotions in between.

Marli—tonight was incredible. Thank you for a beautiful memory. The hotel room is settled for two more nights. This is the cash I had on hand—use it. And get your cards sorted as soon as possible. Be safe. A.

Be safe.

This time I understand the words for the intent behind them. Concern.

Ale is a good man, and he did something kind and thoughtful for a stranger, asking for nothing in return.

In fact, I don’t even know his last name or have his telephone number to thank him.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes at the compassion he showed me.

Especially after the hurt Gerard dragged me through.

Forcing myself to stand, I push open the curtains and suck in a breath as I get my first full glimpse of Valencia in daylight. It’s stunning.

Blue sky, bright sun, and vibrant flowers. Colorful buildings and delicate architecture. Proud palm trees and zipping motorbikes. A fountain with a pool of sparkling water.

“Wow,” I murmur, pressing my fingertips to my lips.

Still grinning, I turn to take in the hotel suite. It’s luxurious, decorated in creams and beiges. A high ceiling, motif of Spanish tiles cutting through the center of the walls, and high, arched windows, letting in loads of natural sunlight. It’s stunning—and mine for two more nights.

I find my purse on a small settee and dig into it to retrieve my phone. Whoa, it’s already two thirty p.m. I’ve slept the entire day away!

I guess that’s what happens when you come home with the sunrise. But, also, jet lag. That must be part of it, right?

There’s less than ten percent battery but enough juice to scan the text messages that appear on the screen.

Oh my, the Sewing Circle has a lot to say.

Judith

Did you arrive safely?

Dorothy

I’m tracking your flight. You should be there! How is it?

Gladys

Was he surprised? Did he propose?

Judith

Still waiting…

Gladys

Updates! We need them, Marlowe.

Some photos would be nice too.

I spoke to your grandpa—he hasn’t heard from you either.

I snort out a laugh. My Sewing Circle—Judith, Dorothy, and Gladys—were my grandmother Beth’s best friends.

She passed when Mom was pregnant with me and since Mom’s parents both passed before she married, Mom didn’t have any female wisdom to rely on.

The Sewing Circle stepped in, serving as honorary grandmothers from my very first breath.

When Mom passed twelve years ago, they became my only female role models, a foil to Grandpa and Dad.

Dorothy

It’s not nice to make the old people wait, you know?

Judith

Yeah! We could pass at any second.

I roll my eyes. Judith’s flair for dramatics is unrivaled.

Gladys

You’re worse than my grandson, Marlowe. And that’s saying something.

Dorothy

My daughter just called me! She said you’re trending on social media! Trending. Or viral? You’re something, Marlowe. Call us!!

Judith

Is this you? You look beautiful!

image attached

Gladys

I have the image on my phone too. Judith took a picture of my phone and sent it to you!

Judith

Why are you in a gossip blog?

And who is that handsome man with you?

Did we finally decide to live a real life?

Gladys

I hope so.

I’m giddy!

Dorothy

I’m coming to meet you ladies for coffee. And breakfast, I’m hungry. We have so much to talk about!

Gladys

It’s you, Marlowe. We’re meeting to talk about you!

I snort at the messages. Dorothy must be confused, or her daughter sent her misinformation. There’s no way there’s a picture of me in a blog.

I tap on the image and gasp as the photo appears on screen.

It’s a picture of Gladys’s phone, but on the screen is me and Ale.

We’re casually holding hands and I’m gazing at him over my shoulder like he hung the fucking moon.

Narrowing my eyes, I try to read the headline of the post beneath the photo but since Judith zoomed in on Gladys’s screen, I can’t make out the words.

Huh? I pull up my internet browser to search for more information but messages from Grandpa come through in the next moment, drawing my attention.

Grandpa

Marlowe, did you see my message about José Costa?

Please arrange for a meeting as soon as possible.

In addition to losing Lawrence Sailing, Brown University also pulled their contract.

Nausea rolls through me. It would break my father’s heart to know that Brown University, his alma mater—my alma mater—will be buying their sailboats and dinghies from another manufacturer.

Tears prick my eyes. Maybe it’s for the best Dad doesn’t know we lost the Brown account. I don’t know how many more setbacks my father can handle.

Grandpa

Try to set up a meeting with Costa. If not, let’s meet as soon as you’re back. We need to drum up some new business as soon as possible.

The university Gerard connected us with didn’t accept our proposal.

I think word is getting around that your dad isn’t himself…

It might be time, kid.

Fuck. I close my eyes and tip my head back, as if the position will help reabsorb my tears.

It might be time.

I’ve known it in my heart, in my gut, for months. It’s partly why I clung to Gerard, even as he started to pull away. My world is spinning out of control and Gerard was supposed to be my rock.

He knew the real version of my dad—the passionate, lively, intelligent jokester. Any man I meet now will only know an imposter. A shadow of the greatest man I’ve ever loved.

I’ve been holding up okay, doing my damnedest, to serve as COO for the past nine months. With Grandpa’s guidance, we’ve been managing, trying to keep Dad’s image intact. But it’s only a matter of time before we need to announce a change in leadership. And that time is rapidly approaching.

While Grandpa still serves as the CEO of the company, he’s nearly eighty-five years old.

It was always assumed that Dad would take over when Grandpa retired.

Now, that’s no longer an option. I know Grandpa wants me to fill his position but as a single, caretaking, twenty-six-year-old woman, I won’t inspire confidence in our partners and clients.

I sigh, gazing back out the window. For a heartbeat, I let my mind wander. What would it be like if I lived here? In this beautiful, bustling city of sunshine and sea?

What would my life look like if I had a circle of friends—the way Ale has Luca and Andrés?

I shake my head. The thoughts are ludicrous and yet…and yet. A bubble of daydreaming pushes away some of my uncertainty and I pull in a deep breath, calming my mounting anxiety.

I have to call the bank and book my flight home.

I tap a reply to Grandpa.

Marlowe

I’ll rebook my flight now and be home sometime tomorrow.

He replies immediately.

Grandpa

Did you connect with Costa? See if you can secure the meeting first. We need this account, Marlowe.

I sigh, about to tell him that I need to know Dad’s okay when another message comes through.

Grandpa

The Sewing Circle is helping with your father. Trust me, he would want you to stay in Spain too.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, knowing Grandpa is right.

Marlowe

It could take weeks to make a deal happen.

Grandpa

I know. But you can do it, Marlowe. You’re the future of this company—of this family. I have more faith in you than anyone in the world.

The tears I kept at bay trickle over at Grandpa’s confidence in me. Dad always had faith in my decision-making, my client interactions, my vision for the future, too.

Marlowe

I won’t let you down.

Grandpa

You never have, kid.

A knock sounds and I whip my head toward the hotel room door.

The knock sounds again. “Marlowe!”

Ale? I stand slowly.

“Marlowe, please. I can explain.” Ale’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door.

Frowning, I toss the phone on the bed as I move through the suite. I pull the door wide open, and Ale almost stumbles inside the space.

He manages to hook his fingers on the doorframe to keep from tripping and instead, leans sexily against it like a model posing in a photoshoot.

Green eyes pierce mine, causing me to suck in a breath.

Shit! I didn’t even look in a mirror yet. I have no clue what I look like, but I’d bet my life that I look nowhere as put together, as gorgeous and sultry and perfect, as the man standing in my doorway.

“Marlowe,” he breathes my name like a plea, and it does strange things to me.

My heart flutters, my abdomen clenches, and heat sweeps through my veins like a warning. And a promise.

Oh, God! What is wrong with me? I never react like this to men. Not even Gerard.

Is that really surprising? my conscience snips at me.

If I thought Ale was attractive last night, after heartache and tequila, then I wasn’t seeing clearly. Because even exhausted after a night out of drinking and dancing, the man is the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on.

His full lips are pressed together, and his eyes drink me in, as if searching for injuries—physical, emotional, psychological—I have no clue. But he looks at me as though he’s peeling back the layers I didn’t realize I painted myself in.

“Are you okay?” he asks, reaching for me. He cups my cheek and gently tilts my head. “You’re crying.”

“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe me but instead of questioning further, he inclines his head toward the hotel room. “Can I come in?”

I hold the door open wider and he slips inside the suite.

I fold my arms over my chest, feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed.

Why were we in a blog? Why is he here? Why the hell didn’t I look in a mirror the moment I woke up?

Ale glances around the suite, his eyes narrowing on his note and cash left on the desk. He turns back to me.

“The money was just to hold you over until you called your bank.”

I run my fingertips below my eyes, drying my tears. I laugh lightly, touched by his concern, by his thoughtfulness. “I know. It’s not that.”

“What is it?” he whispers, his eyes fearful. “I can explain the social media posts and the blogs.”

I sigh, closing my eyes.

“Will you hear me out? Please, Marli.” His voice cracks.

“Yes, I-I just need a minute.” My eyes dart to the bathroom.

He nods, understanding washing over his expression. “Did you just wake up?”

“A little bit ago.”

“I can come back or…wait.” He juts his chin toward the sofa in the seating area.

“Would that be okay?” I shuffle from one foot to the next.

Ale doesn’t smile. He doesn’t crack a joke. “Of course. I’d wait in the lobby but…” he sighs, his eyes closing briefly. When he opens them, there’s an apology in his irises that makes me uneasy. “Is it okay if I hang here?” He points to the couch.

Who are you? Why are we on social feeds? Why can’t you wait in the lobby?

The thoughts loop in my mind but I’m out of my league.

So inexperienced. So unsure of myself that I could scream.

Already out of sorts from Grandpa’s suggestion that I remain in Spain; Ale’s appearance heightens my apprehension.

I clear my throat and nod. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” I gesture toward the bathroom door. “But…is everything okay?”

The air between us is heavy with awkwardness. It’s nothing like last night when everything felt natural and organic. Now, now my head is a mess, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice.

Who is Ale? Why is he so worried? And what does it have to do with me?

“Yes,” Ale says unconvincingly. “It will be.” But his expression—pinched lips, worried eyes—belie his words. “Take your time, Marli. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” I murmur, even though something is clearly wrong.

But I need a minute to myself. To brush my teeth. To dress. To…feel more prepared for whatever he’s about to share with me.

I move toward the bathroom, lock the door behind me, and, as my anxiety mounts, Grandpa’s messages mixing with Ale’s words, I throw myself into the shower to pull myself together.