“There is one thing.” She wore an earbud in one ear, the black cord disappearing in her dark hair; she was probably listening for messages from the public relations coordinator already in the media room. “It will just take a moment.”
Adelaide rarely requested his time, understanding her job and his needs so intuitively that she could prepare weeks of his work based on little more than his daily texts or CCing her on important emails. If she needed to speak with him privately—now—it had to be important.
“Sure.” He waved her to walk alongside him. “What do you need?”
“Privately, please,” she answered tightly, setting off alarms in his head.
Commandeering one of the smaller offices along the hallway, Dempsey flicked on a light in the barren, generic space. The facilities in the building were nothing like the team headquarters and training compound in Metairie, where the Reynauds had invested millions for a state-of-the-art home. They played here because it was downtown and easier for their fans. The tiny box where they stood now was a fraction the size of his regular work space.
“What is it?” He closed the door behind him, sealing them inside the glorified cubicle with a cheap metal desk, a corded phone from another decade and walls so thin he could hear the lockers slamming and guys shouting in the team room next door.
“Dempsey, I apologize for the timing on this, but I can’t put it off any longer.” She tugged the earbud free, as if she didn’t want to hear whatever was going on at the other end of her connection. “I’ve tried to explain before that I couldn’t be a part of this season but it’s clear I’m not getting through to you.”
He frowned. What the hell was she talking about? When had she asked for a break? If she wanted vacation time, all she had to do was put it on his calendar.
“You’re going to do this now?” He prided himself on control on the field and off. But after today’s loss, this topic was going to test his patience. “Text me the dates you want off, take as long as you need to recharge and we’ll regroup later. You’re invaluable to me. I need you at full speed. Take care of yourself, Adelaide.”
He turned to leave, ready to get back to work and relieved to have that resolved. He had a press conference to attend.
She darted around him, blocking the door with her five-foot-four frame. “You aren’t listening to me now. And you haven’t been listening to me for months.”
The team owned tackling dummies for practice that stood taller than Adelaide, but she didn’t seem to notice that Dempsey was twice her size.
He sighed. “What did I not hear?”
“I want to start my own business.”
“Yes. I remember that. We agreed you would draw up a business plan for me to review.” He knew she wanted to start her own company. She’d mentioned it last winter. She’d said something about specializing in clothes and accessories for female fans. She hoped to grow it over time, eventually securing merchandising rights from the team with his support.
He worried about her losing the financial stability she’d fought so hard to attain and figured she would realize the folly of the venture after thinking it over. He thought he’d convinced her to reevaluate those plans when he’d persuaded her to return for the preseason. Besides, she excelled at helping him. She was an invaluable member of the administrative staff he’d spent years building, so that when he finally had the right football personnel on the field, he could ride that talent to a winning year.
That year had arrived.
“I’ve emailed my business plan to you multiple times.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, an unwelcome reminder that Adelaide was an attractive woman.
She was his friend. Friendships were rare, important. Sex was...sex. She was more than sex to him.
“Right.” He swallowed hard and hauled his gaze upward to her hazel eyes. “I’ll get right on reading that after the press conference.”
“Liar,” she retorted. “You’re putting me off again. I can’t force you to read it, any more than I can make you read the messages and emails from your former female companions.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, her rigid spine still plastered to the door, blocking his exit. It had never pleased her that he’d asked her to handle things like that from his inbox. But he needed her help deflecting unhappy ex-girlfriends, preventing them from talking to the press and diverting public attention from the team to his personal life. Adelaide was good at that. At so many things. His life frayed at the edges when she wasn’t around.
Plus, he was devoting every second possible to the task of building a winning team to secure his place in the Reynaud family. It wasn’t enough that he bore his father’s last name. As an illegitimate son, he’d always needed to work twice as hard to prove himself.