Bedding the Bad Boy (Bad Boys of Football Book 1) (2 page)

As my mind wandered back to the firm ass on the PR manager, I didn’t notice the traffic had stopped. I didn’t see the red taillights until they were sitting on my lap.

Damn.

The screeching I’d hoped to hear bellowing in my ear by the end of the night wasn’t the moans of pleasure; it was cries of pain as the Bentley slid under the truck and stopped short of decapitating the darker blonde.

The flashing lights started again. This time, capturing my PR nightmare. Call me narcissistic, but my image was everything. A crash wasn’t exactly on brand, especially a crash involving other people – in someone else’s vehicle no less.

“Are you alright, Beck?” A fan with a camera in his hands asked as he took photos of us.

“Oh my God, he’s going to kill me!” Bimbo number two forced herself out of the back window.

“Who the hell is
he
?” I asked, angry that her first concern was a random dude and not the one she’d flashed her nipples at.

The guy with the camera paused, his eyes lighting up. “You’re Cassandra O’Hara. Damn, your Devin O’Hara’s daughter.”

I crashed the local district attorney’s car with his daughter half-naked in the back seat? The district attorney I endorsed as part of an Up the Vote campaign? What a fucking nightmare!

“Wha
t
the hell was he thinking?” Coach Lawson screamed as he slammed his fists on the conference table. “You have to fix this and fix it now!”

This wasn’t how I’d planned to start my career with the New York Liberties. My biggest concern was proving I meant business. That’s why I’d called an early morning meeting with the team. They needed to know that long gone were the nights out on the town, trying to bed each and every troll who batted her long, fake eyelashes at them. I was in charge. I owned them. At least, that’s what I’d intended for them to believe, even if I could barely keep my personal life together. Truth be told, I was hanging on by a thread -- a very thin thread of broken promises and broken dreams, but they didn’t need to know that.

That’s what I got for letting my heart lead me. A broken engagement. A broken heart and a big move halfway across the country in my feeble attempt to look like I was okay. Stronger. Better than ever without him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t today my first day?” I asked the irate coach.

Bad question.

“You are the fucking PR manager. Your job started the moment you signed that six figure contract, sweetheart. Now, fix it,” Cole Magnus, the team manager, reminded me.

I glared back at his pudgy face and made it clear I was no pushover, despite what my ex might have thought. “Number one, I was not offered six figures. You must have me confused with the other black women you employ in your fine organization. Oh, that’s right; other than the token black cheerleader, there aren’t any black females working for you, are there?”

That shut him up for a moment.

“You work for me. If you intend to continue working for me, you’ll handle this. Get it out of the papers. Smooth things over with the district attorney before he makes it a point to focus his attention on our players. All of our players. If you can’t handle that, find yourself another job. I hear strippers make good money downtown.” Cole sneered at me.

I wanted to slap him. Smack the jackass right out of him, but that would have ruined my nails. I paid too much money to have them perfected for my first day at work. He wasn’t going to make me ruin them now. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry,” I said, without having the foggiest notion how I was going to pull that off.

“You better.” Cole walked away, muttering swear words under his breath.

“Welcome to the team,” the receptionist greeted me with a sinister smirk splashed across her face.

I had no words… Well, no words that wouldn’t get me thrown out of there.

I spent the next hour pacing the floors in my office – a small room the size of my bedroom closet. Basically, it was a desk and a chair. That’s it. No window. Not one single window.

According to all the media outlets, fans were in an uproar over last night’s debacle. Longtime fans sided with Beck. Gave him the benefit of the doubt. The local D.A. wanted him prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Hordes of women, most of whom I assumed, believed the handsome bad boy was innocent, marched in the streets, proclaiming Beck was framed. What had I gotten myself into? I didn’t have time to think about that because loud voices boomed out from down the hall.

“What happened now?” I groaned.

Poking my head out the door, there Beck stood, flanked by support staff and teammates.

Was no one else bothered by the fact this supposed superstar crashed a car full of people into a truck after a night of drinking?

Apparently not, because everyone was fawning over him, checking him for injuries, praying he didn’t get a scratch on his body.

“Mr. Alexander,” I started.

No response.

I suppose the cheers and high-fives around the room were far more important than allowing me to do my job and save his ass.

“Excuse me!” I raised my voice, taking it to street level decibels. “What is going on here? Mr. Alexander, can I speak to you please?”

The hero had the nerve to wink and blow me a kiss, saying, “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

Oh, no, he didn’t!

“Excuse you? I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that. You must have bumped your head in that crash because I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to speak to the woman who was about to save your career that way,” I said, anger mounting in the pit of my stomach. My job was on the line and this piece of work acted like all of this was a big game, like it didn’t matter at all. No skin off his back.

When I thought my message got through to him, the chauvinistic jerk walked over to me and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Sorry, hon, I have to take a leak first. Long night.”

Normally, I’d never let a complete stranger get me flustered, but this man wasn’t exactly any ordinary man. He was the football phenomenon – the one every agent in the business wanted to get their hands on. Not to mention, he was sexy as hell with a body built like an action figure and hauntingly beautiful gray eyes, the kind Hollywood casting agents bent over backwards for in order to get him to sign his name on the dotted line. Sparkly vampire handsome with muscles and a winning smile, full lips, and dark hair. He was the epitome of perfection, if you overlooked his womanizing and partying ways.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” A twinkle in his eye, he continued with the humiliation. “Don’t worry, it’s not a heart attack; it’s just me.”

What a jerk! A fine jerk, but still a jerk.

“Beck, get in here now!” Cole bellowed from his corner office, overlooking the city skyline.

“Aw, looks like we’ll have to take a rain check. These guys can’t live without me,” Beck said as he sauntered over to Cole’s office, pausing to hug support staff and gloat.

I shook my head. I didn’t know if it was in response to his gall or in response to the scent of his cologne, but he shook me. He smelled like musk and sex appeal – my favorite scent on a man.
Damn!

All eyes were on me. I could feel them, judging, taunting me. There would be jokes aplenty regarding how badly the handler mishandled their star player.

Way to make a first impression, Isla. You’re a real rock star.

“Looks like you’ll have to get in line behind the rest of them,” Jared said, eyeing me with the curiosity of a lion assessing his next meal.

“I’m not waiting for anyone. Who does he think he is; some kind of demigod?” I grumbled.

“Demigod? Sorry, but we’re ballers here; we don’t understand fancy, college speak,” Jared teased, much to the delight of others.

Cole glared at me as the others laughed. It didn’t take him long to summon me in what I guessed was the only tone he used with women -- demeaning. “Johnson, get your ass in here now!”

I gulped, pushing my fear as far down as I could get it to go on short notice. “I’ll be right there.”

“Well, hello there, pretty PR lady,” Beck said, his long legs outstretched in front of him.

“Isla,” I said as I climbed over his muscular limbs.

“Sorry, what was that again?” He smirked.

I took a deep breath before answering him. “Look, you can call me Isla or you can call me Miss Johnson, but never – I mean, never ever – call me sweetheart, hon, baby, or any other variety of what you think are terms of endearment. They make you sound like a chauvinistic pig.”

I knew I’d touched a nerve when he sat up straighter in his seat.             

“There, that’s better,” I said, adding a satisfied grin to my face.

“If you two are done dicking around, perhaps we can get some shit done,” Cole said.

Wow, another one who had a way with words. I was going to love working here.

“Listen, boss, everything’s alright. No one got hurt.” Beck tried to smooth things over with syrupy sounding words. “If it’s about that piece of shit Bentley, I already contacted my accountant; I’ll buy the lawyer a new one.”

Cole kicked his desk. “Are you that fucking stupid? You know what; I want you off the team. Pack up your shit and get out of here. We don’t need you here.”

I swallowed hard. Things had taken an ugly turn.

“Whoa,” Coach Lawson stood in between Cole and a smug-looking Beck. “Let’s not go off the deep end. Slow down and think about what you’re saying, Cole.”

Beck put his head in his hands.
What do you know; the jock had a conscience.

I didn’t realize the rumbling I heard was laughter until Beck fell off his seat from the vibrations. He laughed until his eyes moistened, not at all fazed by our stunned responses.

“Get out!” Cole’s face turned purple with rage. “Get your ass out of my office, out of my building. Get the fuck out!”

The smile never left Beck’s face.

What was wrong with this man?

“So help me, if you don’t get him out of here, I’ll call the police,” Cole threatened.

Beck stood up, smoothing his hands over his pant legs. “You don’t mean that. What do you need? Do you want a new car? I noticed your Range Rover is looking a little rough. If that’s what it is, I’ll--“

I couldn’t believe my ears. This man – – a white football player, no less – thought he owned the team. He thought he was running the show. Hell, he thought he
was
the show. I had to stop him. There was more than his reputation on the line. There was my job -- my new job in a new town and a new apartment that had to be paid for monthly or I’d have to borrow money for a bus ticket back to Chicago. Back to the life I left.

Nope. No way, no how. Not on my time. He wasn’t going to take me down with his smug, egotistical, grab-ass ship.

“Stop! Stop talking now!” I tugged Beck’s arm. “If you value your life, you’ll follow me. I’m handling this.” Turning to Cole, I said, “Let me have a heart to heart with Beck and we’ll straighten all of this out, I promise.”

“No! He needs to be thrown out on his ass!” Cole screamed at the top of his lungs.

I turned to look at Beck, who hadn’t budged an inch. “Come with me.”

“Well, that’s a first. I usually give women the pleasure--” He stopped short, looking behind me.

I turned around to find Cole a shade of red I’d never seen on a human being before. “Oh my God!”

Coach Lawson took the opportunity to push me and Beck toward the door. “Get him out of here before he makes Cole have a coronary.”

This time, Beck listened to reason. He walked out, not bothering to wait for me.

“Hey, where are you going?” I shouted at him as I stepped out of Cole’s office.

“I told you, you’ll have to wait in line. I’m a busy man, swee… I mean, Miss PR Lady.” He winked and sauntered toward the hallway. Somewhere along the way, he must have remembered that reporters from all over the world had positioned themselves outside, anxiously waiting for him to emerge with his tail between his legs.

“Alright, I’ll give you five minutes,” he said, grimacing at me.

“This is going to take a lot longer than five minutes,” I said, not realizing how it sounded until the players still milling about started laughing. “You people are pathetic.”

With that remark, they applauded. This job was going to be the death of me, I knew it.

He led me to my office. Apparently, his ownership of all things New York Liberties extended to my office as well. As long as I didn’t let that extend to me and my bottom line, I was in the clear. I hoped.

Holding the door open for me, he motioned for me to step inside. “After you, Isla.”

I hoped he didn’t feel the goosebumps that covered my arms at the sound of my name rolling off his tongue as I brushed past him to get into my small office. “Thank you,” I said.

“Now, tell me how much it’s going to cost to clean this mess up,” he said, settling himself into my chair.

“That’s my desk,” I said.

“You’re right. Here, let me help you to your seat.” He offered me his hand, but no way on Earth was I going to allow him to touch me.

No matter how hard I tried to keep my voice steady, my words still came out like I was jumping up and down. “This isn’t about money. It’s about saving you from yourself. Tell me what happened. Everything.”

His eyebrows quirked up mischievously. “Everything? All the dirty details?” He asked.

My throat went dry.
What was he trying to do to me?
“Yes, everything. Well, everything up to the point you were placed under arrest.”

He laughed a low, guttural laugh. “Arrested? I didn’t get arrested.”

How did he manage that? Who was this guy?

“What happened then?” I braced myself for his reply.

Coach Lawson barged in then, followed by Cole. “Did you handle it?”

I cleared my throat. “We just started strategizing. It’s going to take some time.”

“Well, we don’t have time. What the hell are you going to do? We have the media outside. I have to tell them something,” Cole yelled, his throat now hoarse.

“Don’t worry. We have a plan.” Beck winked at me.

What was he up to?

He grabbed my hand and led me out of my office to the elevators.