“Emma should come to the draft party.” I turned to my new colleague, James, drawn from my daydream by the sound of my name.
Mark nodded, looking at me. “Definitely. Keep Wednesday night free. It’ll be a good chance for you to meet everyone.”
Dana, one of the two other girls on the team spoke up. “It’s a good party actually. The first big one since the Super Bowl, so it’s like a mini-reunion of the who’s who in the NFL.”
“Did you end up getting Jensen for the night?” James asked.
Mark nodded, finishing his mouthful of bagel. “Yeah, there’s an interview locked in, and it should be good.” He lifted his chin toward me. “You should definitely meet him, Emma. He’s easily the one you’ll spend the most time with, and our sponsors love him.”
James laughed. “Oh, I’m sure Jensen will be more than happy to spend time with Emma.”
Mark shot James a look I couldn’t quite read. “Not necessary.”
“Sorry boss.” James looked down at his bagel, but I didn’t miss the subtle twitch of his lips.
I frowned, unsure of what he meant but not game to ask.
#
I walked back from lunch with Dana and Carrie, two bubbly twenty-something’s I could already tell I’d get along famously with. “So what’s the deal with Wednesday night? Do I need to pull out my ball gown?”
Carrie frowned. “It’s not too formal, maybe cocktail I guess? Most men will go straight from work, but I’ll be popping home to get changed. I’d go with something in between corporate and Friday night drinks.” She nodded to herself, seeming satisfied with her summation of the dress code.
“That sounds manageable,” I said, mentally cataloguing all of the dresses I’d packed.
Dana smiled, twisting to glance at me as we walked. “Don’t worry, whatever you wear will be fine. Besides, for every woman dressed like us, there’ll be one with a lot more skin on display. These events tend to attract plenty of women looking to snag a pro.”
“Speaking of footballers, what was with the comment at lunch about Jensen being happy to work closely with me? Was that a little weird?” I glanced at each of them, hoping I sounded like I had some clue who this Jensen guy was.
Carrie shook her head. “No, don’t sweat it. You’ll understand when you meet him. Women love Jensen and Jensen loves them right back, and he tends to go for leggy brunettes,” she said, nodding in my direction. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless and actually a really nice guy. It’s just that when you’re the starting quarterback of the New York Warriors and you look like he does, you’re never really short on offers.”
Q
uarterback, finally a football reference I recognized.
I nodded, knowing exactly the type from back home. “Got it, steer clear of the hot quarterback.”
Dana paused as we stepped off the lift, catching my arm. “Yes, definitely steer clear. Every so often we have a pretty, young intern start and they don’t last too long once people figure out they’re more interested in dating the players than doing their job.” She shrugged. “It’s not technically against club policy, but they definitely frown on staff and players hooking up.”
Carrie laughed. “Jesus Dana, don’t scare the girl on her first day.”
Dana shrugged. “If it was me, I’d want to know.”
Halfway through day one and I had already learned two critical pieces of information. First, the quarterback’s name was Jensen and I would be spending plenty of time with him this year. And second, under no circumstances was I to fall for his charms.
I smiled, feeling good about day one. I mean really, how hard could it be?
CHAPTER TWO
By the night of the draft party, I felt like I was starting to get my head around the whole NFL thing. Aside from getting set up in the office, I had spent a lot of time following Mark and the team around to meetings, being introduced to clients and various people I’d need to work with over the next year and brought up to speed on each account. I had consumed a lot of information in very little time and was ready for some fun.
The party was in the Meat Packing District, not far from my apartment, and I had arranged to meet Carrie and Dana at a restaurant nearby for a quick bite before heading in. Not content with what I had brought with me, I was wearing a great little dress I’d found at Saks, a deep orange and black print that contrasted nicely with my green eyes. It was figure hugging to the knee, sleeveless, with a straight-cut neckline that ran across the middle of my collarbone. It was corporate and flattering at the same time, and the peep hole at the back fulfilled the Friday-night-drinks component of the dress code nicely. I was wearing my hair down and straight so that it hung just below my shoulders.
We arrived around eight and the bar was already fairly packed. Carrie had been spot on, plenty of suits, a few players—obvious to spot due to their much larger frames—and an ample number of women wearing anything from corporate attire to mini dresses that barely covered their butts. Thankfully, I fit somewhere between the two extremes.
I was determined to make a good impression tonight, to start off on the right foot with the many people I was meeting for the first time. It was exhausting, all the introductions and explanations of what I was doing with the Warriors while at the same time trying to remember names and how everyone fit in. I needed a breather and was at the bar checking the time on my phone when a deep voice startled me.
“You look like you’re figuring out how much longer you’ll have to stick around.” Looking up, my eyes landed on a rather pronounced Adams apple.
A tall man then.
I let my gaze take in his broad shoulders, covered in a crisp white shirt that revealed a smattering of chest hair on smooth bronzed skin. Following the path of his neck upward, my eyes tripped across the day-old stubble that did nothing to hide the strong jawline underneath, and when I finally met his stare, I realized how overtly I’d been drinking in the sight of him.
Or to put it bluntly, ogling him.
I watched in mortification as his lip curled into a half-smile and he raised an eyebrow in amusement, clearly aware of the effect he was having on me. Maybe it was the intensity of his stare, but for some reason I felt like his smile was for me and me alone, a secret shared between us in the middle of the packed bar.
I straightened to face him, my ankle giving way in the process and he grabbed my upper arm to steady me. “Careful there, Bambi.”
Oh my God, get it together woman.
Forcing a casual smile I said, “No, not watching the clock…I’m having a great night.” I cocked my head. “Why, are you not enjoying yourself?” He blinked a few times in rapid succession, the movement small yet noticeable, and with a tiny sense of satisfaction I realized it was now him caught off guard by my accent.
His smile spread slowly. “It started out a little dull, but it’s certainly beginning to look up.” I felt the full impact of his dark eyes bearing down on me, as if he were searching for something. “You sound like you might be a long way from home?”
I smiled, relieved he was driving the conversation on behalf of my dysfunctional brain. “Yes, I’m from Sydney, definitely a long way from home.”
He cocked his head to one side and his brow creased. “How does a pretty little thing from Sydney find herself at an NFL draft party?”
“I’m actually working for the Warriors on a twelve-month exchange, but I’ve only been here a week.” Judging by his physique, I hoped my guess was correct and continued, “Which team do you play for?”
Again, I felt his eyes bore into mine for a second too long before he replied. “I’m just here for the free food, actually.”
Oh, well so much for that guess.
“Do you have a name pretty-little-thing or should I just stick with Bambi?”
I laughed, offering my hand. “I’m Emma. Bambi really isn’t necessary.” I watched as his large hand engulfed my own, all but making it disappear.
“I’m Will. It’s nice to meet you, Emma.” He kept hold of my hand as he signalled to the bartender and nodded to my empty drink. Our eyes met again and he asked, “What are you doing with the Warriors?”
“I’m looking after a lot of the team’s off-field team commitments. You know, media interviews, events. That sort of thing.” I nodded to the stage. “I’ve been told I’ll be working quite closely with Jensen, and I’ve heard he’s being interviewed shortly.” I smiled, holding up my phone. “Hence, I was checking the time.” Will raised his eyebrows at this and I couldn’t tell if he was amused or just genuinely interested.
I opened my mouth to ask what he did for a living, but the bar lights dimmed and we both turned to the stage as the host made his way on.
It was difficult to concentrate on the stage when I was ultra-aware of how close I stood to the beautiful man beside me, could feel his eyes every so often shift to glance at me, the heat of his arm resting against mine.
We both had our backs to the bar, and when his warm hand slid up the bare skin of my spine, I couldn’t help the way my breath caught. His other arm came around to my front and offered up the champagne he held. I accepted it with a mouthed “thanks,” trying to ignore the way his lip twitched as I willed my breathing back to normal.
My attention was drawn back to the stage as the host started reading off a list of stats in an impressive introduction of Jensen, the man I’d heard so much about over the past few days. Not only had he gone number one in the 2004 draft, he was currently at the peak of his game and a frequent topic of conversation around the office. I was keen to finally put a face to the man I had heard so much about and would be working closely with for the year.
“So ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the New York Warriors quarterback, Will Jensen.”
I clapped as best I could with my full glass of bubbles, turning to look at my new friend when I felt him shift to face me. He was staring at me with a broad grin on his face and when he leaned in close, I felt his warm breath across my neck as he spoke. “I look forward to seeing you round the club, Bambi.” And with that, he walked away.
CHAPTER THREE
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
My hands froze mid-clap as realization dawned.
Jensen wasn’t a first name, it was a surname. Which belonged to a man by the name of Will.
Will Jensen.
The same man I’d just spent the last ten minutes trying not to drool all over. The man I had actually referenced Jensen too, as if he were a different person!
I felt the redness rising to my cheeks.
How
could I not know that? Not knowing your team’s quarterback was almost as offensive to Americans as not being able to name the president. Why hadn’t I Googled him?
I thought back to the couple of times he had stared at me oddly and it clicked into place—he was waiting for me to realize who I was talking to.
Idiot
! I was likely the only person in the room who didn’t know who he was. Possibly the only person in New York.
My mind began reasoning, going into damage control mode. No one knew of the mortifying blunder I’d just made, except for the man himself. But that was manageable. Humiliating, yes, but not as disastrous as it would have been if it had happened in front of my new team.
He was no less attractive from across the room, his voice warm and smooth as he spoke about his experience going number one in the 2004 draft. He had the crowd mesmerized, not only by his looks—although I’m sure more than a few women in the room were probably wiping their drool away with a napkin—but most people were hanging on his every word. In spite of what had just happened, I had to admit he was impressive. He held himself with an air of confidence, yet spoke with a calm openness that made him relatable and warm. I could easily see why sponsors liked him. He was a natural.
“Going number one in the draft is a big deal. There’s a lot of pressure on you from a young age and as you improve as a player, you’re frequently in the spotlight. What advice would you give to this year’s draftees on handling everything that comes with entering the NFL system?”
Will’s shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and it was hard not to notice the natural flex of his forearms when he raised the microphone to respond to the host. “It can be tough, I won’t lie, but especially in those early years, it’s just really important to focus on improving your game and listening to the coaches. Everyone will have an opinion about you, but the only thing that really matters is how you’re playing…how you’re contributing to the team.”
He looked out across the crowd, his gaze lingering as he studied the bar area. If you looked up mortification in the dictionary, you would have seen a picture of my face when his eyes found mine and stayed there. “As for the fame, you need to manage it and you need to surround yourself with people who don’t get caught up in the hype of it all.”
He extended his free hand toward the bar, nodding in my direction. To anyone else, it would have looked like a vague gesture into the crowd, but it sent my heart rate skyrocketing. My head chanted out a
FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck
in time with the frantic thud of my heartbeat. “Just tonight I’ve met someone who wasn’t fazed by the whole NFL circus at all.”
His lip twitched and in that moment I sent a prayer to whoever was listening that I wasn’t about to get called out and humiliated. As if seeing my panic from across the room his arm dropped and he shrugged. “When you find those people, it can be quite refreshing.”
I started breathing again. And just in time too—I felt like I was about to pass out. Will continued to stare at me and I tried my best to hold his gaze, to act like what had just happened was a slight misunderstanding instead of totally inexcusable ignorance on my behalf. In the end it was no good and I gave up, staring down into my drink like it held the cure for cancer.
Not game to lift my head again for fear of finding him still watching me, I continued the stare-off with my drink until the crowd erupted in applause and, with relief, I looked up to see Will making his way off the stage. I made a beeline for Carrie and Dana, desperate to put as much distance between me and the bar as possible. Mark caught my eye as I weaved through the crowd and signalled for me to join him.