Rehabbing him would solve both of their problems. But how could she bear to be around him when his earlier touch had proved how much she’d missed him—physically.
She knew better than to let her heart get involved with him again. That wasn’t going to happen, but being with him day after day wasn’t going to be easy. Especially because she hadn’t been with a man for two years because she’d been so hurt by the last ones.
Maybe if she found another guy to fill that physical void, she could ignore the attraction that was still there with Chad and just do the job.
Shelby and Lori would find her perfect match. They were really good at that.
It might actually work.
But first she had to figure out how to tell him yes after so many nos and still save her pride.
She pulled her cell from her pocket and called Shelby. “So, I saw the plans Chad drew up and—”
“You love them.”
“Yeah. But I can’t figure out how he got everything just right. You must’ve helped him.”
“A little. But he’s been getting his master’s in architecture in the off-seasons. I sold him a ton of property in the area when the market was bad a few years ago, because he knew he’d have to do something else after football. He just isn’t ready for that to be now. So are you changing your stubborn mind?”
“Well . . . maybe. I’m still not sure this is a good idea. And I really hate groveling.”
Shelby chuckled. “Let me give you his number. It’ll be so much easier to grovel on the phone than in person.”
“Thanks.” She jotted down his number, but she was no coward. She’d ask him to meet, face-to-face.
After hanging up with Shelby, she called Chad, not relishing that big, bitter slice of humble pie he’d surely make her eat.
Chad dug his vibrating phone from his jeans. It was an unknown number. He considered ignoring it, but it was from the Denver area, so he answered. “’Lo?”
“Chad?”
He sat up straighter on the park bench, working to sound casual as his heart threatened to beat from his chest. Had she made up her mind? “Hey, Jo. What’s up?”
“I looked at your plans . . . and I’d like to discuss them. Are you busy? Can we meet?”
He glanced at Ryan, who sat a few feet away in the sand with his arms crossed, staring at the slide like it was the Antichrist. “I’m at the park with my kid, who hates me. It’s only a few blocks away. Should we come over?”
“Ryan hates you?”
“I took his electronic game thingy away and told him he needed to play outside for a change. The kid won’t let me out of his sight except when he’s at kindergarten. He’s afraid I’ll leave him like his mother did. But then when we’re together, he acts like he can’t stand my guts.”
“He’s probably just scared and confused. He’ll come around.”
“Yeah. That’s what my mom keeps telling me.”
“Well, you’re busy, so let’s talk tomorrow. When you’re done at the park, you need to elevate and ice your knee.”
So maybe she did care. “Will do. But do we have a deal, Jo? We can start tomorrow morning. It’s Saturday, the café’s closed, so say nine o’clock?”
Silence stretched out for so long, he feared their connection had been lost until she said, “We have a deal only if you agree to my three-strike rule.”
“Explain.” Jo wouldn’t make it easy on him. He liked that.
“You only get three chances to screw up, and then we’re done, but I still keep the money. You have to heed my instructions to a T. No sneaking to the gym behind my back and doing more. You’re famous for that move, but it just makes things worse. And no . . . touching. This has to stay professional.”
“Done. See you tomorrow morning at nine. My address is—”
“Shelby told me. But I’m serious, Chad. No touching!”
When she hung up on him, he smiled. She’d liked the touching as much as he had back in the day, but his rehab had to be top priority. Maybe he had a chance to get back in the game again now.
Saturday morning, Jo tapped the intercom button at one of Denver’s most exclusive downtown condo buildings. Doubts about helping Chad churned her stomach as a tinny voice rang out, “Name, please?”
“Joann Westin. I’m here to—”
Before she could finish, the locks clicked and the door opened automatically. A tall, uniformed man greeted her. “Hello, Ms. Westin. Mr. Jenks is expecting you.” He held out his hand toward her gym bag. “May I take that for you?”
So this is how the über-rich lived. Maybe she should have charged Chad more.