Page 54 of Game Changer

I’m left feeling crushed and rejected, like he stomped on me with his massive shoe for no reason at all.

* * *

Dear Kodiaks players, executives, and staff:

You are cordially invited to a barbeque at the home of Harlan and Mari.

4:30PM Sunday

Please RSVP

* * *

NOVA

Harlan wasted zero time “implementing my idea,” to quote him, of letting the players behind the curtain. Apparently, the way to do that is host a spur-of-the-moment backyard event involving the entire organization.

But when Mari got her hands on it, she insisted that adding a few VIPs from the Denver business community was the best use of their sprawling scenery.

While I was pleased Harlan took my suggestion, my first thought was whether one player in particular would be gracing us with his growly, sexy presence.

Thursday’s game was nothing short of a disaster. Clay acted as if I was some stranger he had never met before, treating me with a distant, icy coolness. And I was sure that he had seen my red face and burning cheeks, too embarrassed to do anything but stand there like an idiot.

He’s texted me a handful of times since. I didn’t feel like answering. Getting my heart stomped on twice in one week is not my idea of a good time.

I’m questioning whether Clay will even show up today. Probably not for Harlan’s sake, and he doesn’t strike me as the garden-party type. The knowledge should be a comfort, but it only makes me feel worse.

The caterers arrived around eight in the morning and began unloading their supplies while I helped Mari get everything ready.

At almost noon, I’m about to go change into some cut-off shorts when Mari says, “Hey, tell me you’re not wearing that?”

My heart drops as I glance down at my outfit – a ruffled tank and jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”

Mari rolls her eyes. “You look like a caterer. Themayoris coming, Nova.”

Nowhere did it say “fancy outfit” on the list of items to prepare. Then again, Mari did invite the entire Denver business community.

I go upstairs and strip down to my bra and thong to sort through my clothes, dismissing one item after another. I’m not sure I brought anything appropriate for this event. Hell, even the limited contents of my tiny apartment closet in Boston might not have fit the bill.

Suddenly, a sharp knock comes on my door, and it swings open before I can even attempt to cover myself. Brooke stands in the doorway, looking stylish and polished in a high-necked coral minidress.

“Is that what you’re wearing? Bold choice,” she says as I cover my exposed chest. “But, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure I have it.”

“Are you kidding?” Her gaze scans my body. “You’re gorgeous.”

My hands fall to my sides. If it’s not weird for her, I guess it’s not for me either. I don’t have any particular hang-ups about my figure, but I’ve never had the all-out confidence some women have.

“I’m surprised you’re not in stilettos,” I say.

Brooke crosses to my bed and sits gracefully on it.

“Wedges are lawn friendly. As much as I like to skewer people, I leave the ground intact.” Her legs cross, and she folds her hands on top of them, beaming. “If you don’t have something to wear, I brought options. I’m getting photographed, and I need to look good against the backdrop.”

“That sounds amazing.”