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“No, please don’t,” she whispers again.
Before I can say anything else, she downs her glass completely, slams it on the table, and raises a finger toward the waiter. “Bring us another one.”
“Hold that thought.” I shake my head firmly. “We’re done with the alcohol.”
“Why?” Mia frowns.
“Don’t drown your sorrows in booze,” I say in a pleading tone. “You’re already a workaholic. Don’t become an alcoholic too.”
I see Mia comically huff and puff, but she finally lets it go. “So, what do we do now?”
I shrug. “Wanna have something to eat?”
“Um, I was around food all day…” she politely declines.
“Then let me accompany you to your room,” I say, reaching for my wallet to pay for the champagne.
She yawns then nods, slowly standing. We head straight for the elevators. She’s swaying a little, and I try to help steady her without being too handsy.
Mia seems lost in thought, not uttering a single word until we reach the door to her room.
“Do you wanna come in?” she blurts out, still swaying side to side.
But I just smile, cup her face with my hands, and kiss her lightly on the forehead.
“Good night, Mia,” I say, then turn to leave.
Chapter Seven
MIA
We depart for Nashville, the location of the next game, early the next morning. The players and most of the staff, including me, will have a day or two to unwind.
Amanda already flew back to Detroit with Senna, and I’m not about to ask for Ethan’s company after the fool I made of myself, trying to drag him into my bedroom last night.
Needless to say, I regret drinking immensely.
From what I remember of our conversation, we have more in common than I thought, especially since we both recently ended long relationships that weren’t going anywhere. I was also surprised by how easy it was to talk to him.
Ryan might be around, attending games to represent his company's sponsorship of the team, but I can’t burden my ex-boyfriend with my love life troubles, especially when they involve his brother.
With my free afternoon, I indulge in a relaxing pedicure at the spa. I bump into Sarah there, enjoying a pedicure as well, but she’s so busy with her phone that we don’t manage to strike up a conversation.
I call the home office of my company, Starshine Planners, in Detroit.
Tania, my executive assistant and my right hand, is incredibly professional. She addresses me as Mrs. Sanders, even though I have never insisted on it, and she consistently delivers results better than anyone I’ve ever worked with.
We manage several smaller projects in Detroit and the surrounding areas. Since securing the Iron Huskies as our first major contract, Tania informs me that other local sports teams are now expressing interest in hiring us for their events.
“Oh, my,” I murmur into the phone, torn between excitement and worry. “Do we have enough staff for this?”
“We can hire the personnel, Mrs. Sanders,” Tania responds with enthusiasm. “I’ll handle the negotiations while you focus on the Iron Huskies, okay?”
“You are the best, Tania,” I exclaim, wincing as my feet get scrubbed by a pumice stone.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” Tania replies calmly.
I bid her goodbye and try to relax. Once my feet are done, I’m free to go. As I consider whether to get a massage, I spot none other than star player Ethan Matthews himself, in a white robe, indulging in some skincare.
