Page 62 of Her Game Plan

“I know this is hard on you, with him being your boyfriend and all.” Hugo acts like I’m flying around the room in a rage, when all I’ve done is ask for numbers.

“It’s not about our relationship,” I attempt to clarify. “I feel it would be prudent to see the analysis before we decide. If that’s what’s best for the team, then that’s what’s best for the team.”

Hugo stands. “I’ll have everything sent over, then. Let me know if you don’t understand it.”

I hide my grimace at the dig.

My father rises, too, quickly saying goodbye before walking out, Hugo at his heels.

“Hugo,” I call, stopping him at the door. “Why was my father invited to that meeting?”

He pauses halfway to the door, turning around slowly. I can feel the waves of derision flowing off the man, though I’m not sure whether it’s because I stopped him from chasing my dad or because I deigned to ask him a question. “It’s his team.”

“It’s my team,” I correct, leaning my hip against the desk and crossing my arms. “I’m the acting owner.”

“We both know that’s not exactly true, Charlotte.” His tone softens in a way that’s somehow more insulting than if he’d snapped. “This is a major decision that could directly affect your boyfriend. I couldn’t count on you acting rationally when receiving news like that, so I called your father in.”

The fucking nerve of this man. Everything inside me wants to show him exactly what an irrational Charlotte looks like, if for no other reason than to prove that if she were to come out and play, he would need a hell of a lot more than my dad to protect him.

“It is true. And I do not appreciate having my authority undermined by calling my dad to come in. Would you have brought him in for a meeting with Chris?”

A snarky smile crosses Hugo’s face, one that makes me want to throw my shoe at him. “Chris knew how this business was run.”

I force the anger inside me down. “And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“He understood what it took to keep a football team running.” Hugo is invested now, gesticulating as he makes his point. “You spend your days flirting with the players, distracting them from what they’re supposed to be doing. And don’t even get me started on your insistence on being on the sidelines. I let it happen if for no other reason than to show your father how terrible an idea it would be for you to have control over the team in the long run.”

Something sharp and dangerous settles in my chest.

“I am quite rational, Hugo. And it would do well for you to remember that. Either my brother or I will own this team someday. And I assure you, neither of us takes well to sexism or statements that women are too emotional to lead.”

Hugo stares at me. “I see no indication I was wrong.” He turns and starts walking out the door before stopping again. “Oh, and, Charlotte, I assume you, with all your leadership knowledge, understand this conversation must be kept strictly confidential. Any leak of this information could hurt the team in negotiations.”

He taps twice on my doorframe and leaves.

Chapter 24

Callan

I tap my foot impatiently as I listen to Coach Harriger walk through the game plan for tomorrow, his voice echoing off the walls of the hotel conference room. Las Vegas has a strong defense, and it’s important we’re all on the same page. Once he explains the slight shift in routes the receivers need to make, we line up and start slowly moving through the plays. The staff have already taped lines on the floor, and I force myself to care as I drop back into the pocket out of shotgun formation.

I scan, as if reading the defense, looking for Pitty wide, like I’m supposed to do. Unfortunately, part of my attention—too much of my attention—is on Charlotte. I want a repeat of the last away game so bad, but I also know Nan’s comments hurt her. Not that Nan is wrong. Charlotte is using me, just not in the clandestine, use-me-for-my-money-and-fame way that Nan’s always been worried about when it comes to women.

Is it even being used if you’ve consented to it? What about if it doesn’t quite feel like a simple agreement anymore?

“Callan, you with us?” Coach calls.

“Yessir.” Fuck. I push the two women in my life out of my mind, focusing on the one thing that has always been a constant for me—football.

We continue the walkthrough, finally finishing a little after nine. A few of the rookies bemoan the fact we don’t have enough time to go out and hit up The Strip, but the team knows what it’s doing. We’re at least twenty-five miles from the heart of Sin City, and the last thing they were going to do was give a bunch of twentysomething-year-old millionaires a chance to make bad decisions the night before a game. This isn’t basketball, and it’s not 2007.

My heart rate increases with each passing floor as I ride the elevator to my room, the knot in my stomach tightening. I know I need to talk to Charlotte about Nan. I do. But it makes my life easier if Nan’s not Charlotte’s biggest fan. Unfortunately, the ball of nausea that settles in my gut every time I think about how hurt Charlotte was suggests I might be wrong. Maybe we should bring Nan in on the fake-dating scheme. Though, when she hears I’m not technically getting anything out of it, she’s going to have a lot of thoughts.

Thoughts I’m not particularly interested in hearing.

Maybe I can explain to her that I’m getting an amazing friend, roommate, and occasionally mind-blowing sex out of it.

Right. Nan will love that.