Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) Read online

  “Fine, then tell me why you’re so hell-bent on becoming a walking cliché. Athletes Behaving Badly,” he added when she tilted her head to one side in question. “It’s a cliché for a reason.”

  “Ah, yes. The good old ABB. Corrupting young athletes since… I don’t know. Whenever we started paying people to play sports.” She grinned. He grinned right back at her.

  “It wasn’t really a full-on decision to act badly, you know.” She tore the second half of her roll in two, then continued to pick at it so that fluffy white bread crumbs floated to the plate. Her eyes didn’t meet his, in what seemed almost like a retreat. “Well, you know about the tape…”

  She let that sentiment hang, and he didn’t correct her or ask questions. That was answer enough for both of them.

  “Nobody believed me. Nobody… nobody sided with me. Nobody,” she added in a small voice, shredding the remaining half of her roll on her plate. He watched as her slender, strong fingers methodically ripped each piece in half until there was nothing left to rip, then start on another piece. “I lost money, lost friendships—or maybe acquaintances that were friendly since I guess a real friend would have believed me. I lost credibility. No one wanted to bother listening to my side of the story.”

  He nodded, taking a sip of water. If he spoke now, the spell would be broken. She’d clam up. He felt it.

  “So… I figured why not stop toeing the line? Where did playing by the rules get me? A scarlet letter for doing nothing, that’s where. I wouldn’t say I intentionally started looking for trouble. I just… stopped avoiding doing things I wanted to do. Suddenly everyone is on my case about misbehaving.” Her head lifted then, and there was fire in her eyes. “Who gets to decide where the line is between misbehaving and just having fun?”

  “I guess that’s a line each person reading the news story draws themselves. Opinions are like assholes, after all.”

  “Now who’s being cliché?” she teased.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I don’t go out deliberately looking for trouble. I don’t want trouble. I want fun. There’s a difference in my head. It’s just that—”

  “Trouble seems to find you?”

  She scowled and ignored that. “There’s a double standard any way I slice it. I go to a bar and join an innocent lip-sync contest? A guy might do that, and he’s seen as charming and down-to-earth. I do it and people act like I’m, well…”

  “Naked, rolling in Jell-O?” he asked mildly, referring back to his conversation with Sawyer.

  “Yeah, about that.” She smiled slightly, then dragged her spoon through the chili. “Thanks for standing up for me with Sawyer. I think he struggles with this whole concept. You know, a female not sitting down and shutting up when he gives them a dirty look or two. I’m off script, and it scares him.”

  “Maybe if it scares Sawyer, it should scare you too,” he said quietly.

  Kat absorbed that for a moment while she tasted the chili for the first time. He watched as her eyes closed after the first warm sip, and she relaxed. It was physically evident in every inch of her body. Her shoulders dropped, her eyelids lowered, her mouth lost the tight, aggravated, pinched look. Everything in her made the slide from tethered anger to simple relaxation.

  “It’s good,” she said after a minute. “Good chili.”

  She likes my chili. Michael smiled into his bowl and took another bite.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Kat debated asking Michael to take her to work out again but decided to make use of the equipment downstairs in the main fitness area. It was definitely more comprehensive than some apartment workout rooms she’d seen in the past, but not nearly enough for her. But for a day between harder workouts, it would do. What she really needed was a court. Her rackets in her hand, a full cart of balls at the ready, and an entire hour to serve at cones or just to hit the shit out of the ball and watch the fuzz fly.

  That, she was pretty sure, Michael could not deliver. But it did remind her she needed to e-mail Peter and get his advice on finding a temporary coach in the area.

  On her way back up to her apartment from the second-floor workout room, she got a text from Michael.

  Where are you, and why do you never answer me when I knock on your door?

  She smiled, then sent him a selfie from the elevator.

  He responded ten seconds later.

  My door is unlocked.

  Bossy. But she could handle that. Instead of passing his door to head to hers, she knocked once on his and pushed it cautiously open. “You rang, Manny?”

  “Stop calling me that.” He walked out from the kitchen area carrying a bottle of water. She froze, looking at him, unsure what to do with this new information.

  He was dressed in a sweater that was formfitting but not tight and matched his hazel eyes, dark jeans and simple brown shoes. The white edges of a collared button-down shirt peeked out at the wrists and collar. His hair was combed but not gelled or anything fussy.

  He looked amazing. And completely different from any other way she’d seen him.

  That must be why it was throwing her for a loop. It was unexpected.

  “Going to the prom?” she asked, leaning on her crutch of sarcasm to get her over the hump.

  Don’t think about humping. Not when he looks lickable.

  He narrowed his eyes in question, then looked down at his outfit. “No, I’ve got a charity thing to go to.” He popped the cap off the water and took a swig. And gave her a fantastic view of his freshly-shaved throat. God, that was sexy, in a really weird sort of way. She still liked the scruff, but that… was pretty delicious.

  “Don’t you guys always wear your uniform or something to events? Staying true to the team brand or whatever?”

  “I misspoke. It’s a planning meeting for an event, not the event itself. Come with me.”

  She blinked. “Beg pardon?”

  “I see you already worked out. I had practice early this morning, so I’m done. All I have is this meeting. Come with me.”

  “I… I’ll get in the way,” she started to protest, but he shook his head.

  “No, you won’t. Go change and come with me. If you’re good,” he added with a wicked grin, “I’ll show you around town a little. I know you’re bored. I would be too.”

  The offer was a generous one. She debated for a few seconds, then said, “Can you spare twenty? I want to rinse off.”

  He checked his watch, then nodded. “Twenty. Hustle.”

  She did, and was knocking on his door again after nineteen. Luckily, she hadn’t had to wash her hair, which saved time. When he walked out, pocketing his cell phone and keys, she gestured down. “Am I okay?”

  “It’s just a meeting, but yeah.” He hadn’t even looked. She grabbed his arm, waited until he turned and actually looked. And felt a feminine thrill of satisfaction as he looked a little longer than strictly necessary at the dark slacks that she knew made her butt look good, white blouse and heels. The heels gave her an added few inches so she was nearly eye level with him.

  Okay fine, she was still a few inches off eye level. But closer anyway.

  “Yeah, you look fine,” he finally said, but his voice was suspiciously raspy, like he’d choked it out.

  She walked beside him to the elevator, waiting.

  “I think I need a car.”

  He gave her a quick glance then turned back to the elevator doors as if he was going to miss them opening when the elevator came. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like being dependent on you for a ride, and using Uber everywhere is going to bankrupt me. Just a beater get-around car, nothing fancy. I could probably sell it for nearly what I pay for it when I’m done.”

  “You can just use one of mine,” he said absently as he rubbed his chin. How often did he shave that close? She wondered if this was unusual for him, because he couldn’t seem to stop rubbing around his mouth.

  “The Mustang?” she asked hopefully as the doors opened.
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  “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you drive that,” was his firm answer, and he used his hand at the small of her back to guide her into the elevator.

  Michael sat with his business partner and lawyer in the conference room of the law office, going over plans once more for the camp he was working on, ready to rip his hair out.

  “The problem is, if we open the camp to anyone who can pay, outside of these scholarship opportunities, then we are inviting scrutiny. Those paying campers—or more specifically, their parents—might be wondering why some kids don’t have to pay for the privilege of being at your camp, when they do.”

  Michael turned to his lawyer, Martin Bennett, and sighed. “Fine, then we revert back to the camp being only for underprivileged kids.”

  “And it’s not self-sustaining.” Business partner, serial-entrepreneur and business shark, Teddy Chaplin, shook his head and tapped his pen on the conference table. “You’ve gotta have money coming in to sustain the scholarship kids.”

  “You don’t think I can afford to keep the camp running,” Michael said dryly. “Seriously.”

  “The point is, should you have to afford it?” Ted shot back. “There are thousands of kids who would kill to be at this sort of camp. It’s stupid to say no to their money just so a few more kids who can’t pay can come. You’ll have a better quality of camp with fresh money coming in each year.”

  “Why does the money have to come from kids?”

  All three of the men turned to look at Kat, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table. She’d been so silent, so unobtrusive—for once—Michael was ashamed to admit he’d forgotten she’d been in the room altogether.

  “Excuse me?” Ted asked coldly. Michael shot him a warning glare, which Ted ignored.

  “Well,” Kat said slowly, then stopped. “Mind if I move down there, or will I cramp your Boys Club style?”

  Michael smothered a laugh in the palm of his hand, coughing to cover the lingering sounds. “Yeah, come on down. You didn’t have to sit all the way over there to start with.”

  “Didn’t want to intrude,” she said shortly, taking a seat beside his attorney.

  Why wouldn’t she sit next to me?

  And that’s what a third grader with a crush thinks in the lunch room. Grow up, Lambert.

  “It seems to me,” Kat said again, looking a little uncertain, “that an athlete with Michael’s clout would have some sway with businesses. Wouldn’t he? Kids get T-shirts and stuff at camp. Other gear. Why wouldn’t a business make a donation each year to keep the camp running in exchange for the free promo space?”

  “We already nixed that idea,” Michael said gently, cutting Ted off at the knees before he made an ass out of himself. The man was brilliant, but ruthless everywhere. Not just the boardroom. “We don’t want to commercialize the camp. Some stuff is probably unavoidable—banners in the facility we rent out, that sort of thing—but we want to avoid going the way of corporate sponsorship as much as possible. Kids from these sort of backgrounds already feel the weight of charity pressing in on them. We don’t want more than necessary to add to that.”

  “Oh.” She bit her bottom lip, blushing a little. If he were a betting man, he’d guess she’d psyched herself up to make the suggestion in the first place. He hated shutting it down.

  “You see? There’s no other option.” Ted sat back, smug in his rightness.

  “Sponsorships,” Kat said.

  “You just heard him say—”

  “Player sponsorships,” Kat interrupted Ted’s statement. “Bobcats who basically take on a few players and then come to the camp as a coach. One kid equals two fifty, you want to sponsor four, so you write a check for a thousand. But the catch is, you have to then show up and meet the kids you sponsored. And there’s no giveback. No pat on the back, no place where your name appears as a ‘donor’ in the program or on a banner. You’re a coach, period.”

  Michael leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of him. He didn’t want to give her false hope, but he liked where this was headed. “Keep going.”

  “But she—” Ted started.

  “Shut up, Teddy,” Michael said mildly.

  His friend and partner sighed and let his expensive pen drop to the table. “Whatever,” he muttered, swiveling around in his chair.

  “Ignore the ass in the corner. Keep going,” Michael encouraged. He noted from the corner of his eye, Martin was also paying attention. A good sign.

  “A lot of times,” Kat said, looking bolder with his encouragement, “money isn’t the problem. People will write a check just to make the begging stop. The real problem is the energy it takes to run something like this. It’s face time with people that inspire. Anyone can make a donation. Who is going to show up and put their face on the line? Their time and energy?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Michael reached out and put his hand over Ted’s face, smothering whatever his friend had been about to say. “Keep going.”

  Kat glanced quickly toward Martin, who nodded as well. Bolder, she took a deep breath. “You mentor. It’s what you do. You’ve shown me that, and I’ve seen you talk about it. So this camp… It’s an offshoot of the mentoring thing. Catching them young. Right?”

  He nodded, not wanting to break her stream of thought.

  “Why not give the baby Bobcats a chance to practice mentoring themselves? You learn best by teaching, right? So if they’re provided the opportunity to mentor—and there’s a buy-in—then maybe they’ll catch the giving-back bug faster.”

  “I love it,” Martin said, writing furiously.

  “Why the buy-in for specific kids?” Michael asked, interested. “Why not just make them write a check to participate?”

  “Because everyone does better with some skin in the game. But what’s more, when the kids show up, they get grouped together with the player that silently sponsored them. They form their own little team. Maybe they name their team, create a shirt or a flag or something to represent themselves while they’re at camp for those days.” Kat’s smile blossomed, and it was one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen. Her joy radiated. “One of the best memories of my life is when my parents sent me to a sleepaway camp at a university a few hours away. Middle school, so I was about thirteen. The coaches were the university’s men’s and women’s tennis teams, so they were anywhere from ages eighteen to twenty-three. We were divided up into teams, with a coach. For five days we basically lived together, practiced together, bonded. That coach became like our den mother, our big sister, our aunt, our war general. We worshipped her. If she called me up right now and talked to me, I’d drop everything to listen to what she had to say because of that bond.”

  “Form the bond,” Michael said slowly. “Smaller groups from the start, that they stick with the entire week, including the coach.”

  “We had larger drills and stuff, don’t get me wrong,” Kat said quickly. “I can’t tell you how to set up your own camp, that’s not what I mean. It’s just, you know, after camp is over, they’d be going home with a T-shirt or something that didn’t just say ‘Michael Lambert’s Football Camp’ or whatever.”

  He wrinkled his nose at that. Too pretentious.

  “It would say ‘Killian Reeves’s Kickers,’ or ‘Harrison’s Harassers.’” She blushed again, looking down. Then she mumbled, “I sort of suck at team names, so ignore those. They were just examples.”

  “And you’re thinking the guys would stay in touch.”

  “Make it an assumption from the get-go. They don’t have to drop everything and answer a phone call. But an e-mail a few times a year maybe. Or an encouraging letter mailed out the first week of the kid’s next football season. It would go a long way for everyone. The kids would feel like someone gave a damn, and the players would be training themselves to look outside their own ego from the start.”

  She was fantastic. And she didn’t even know it. Without breaking eye contact with Kat, he asked, �
��Martin?”

  “I’ll start something,” the lawyer said, standing. Martin earned his keep by being a perceptive son of a bitch, and right now his lawyer had quickly picked up his papers. Tapping Kat on the shoulder to gain her attention, he shook her hand. “Very well done. Nice to meet you, Ms. Kelly. Good luck with all your athletic endeavors.”

  She chuckled at that, but shook. “Thank you, Mr. Bennett. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Martin let the conference room door close behind him. Michael still couldn’t stop watching her. She was glowing. “Teddy.”

  “Yeah.” His partner sighed. “Do I get a say in any of this?”

  “Is it going to be negative?”

  “It’s not all going to be positive,” he confirmed.

  “Then go out there and write it in an e-mail.”

  “Why can’t I just tell you right now?”

  Kat’s eyes kept ping-ponging between them.

  “Because I want you to get out of the room.”

  Thankfully, his business partner didn’t need to be told twice. “Yeah, yeah,” he said easily, standing. Unlike Martin, he didn’t make a point of saying good-bye to Kat, but he wisely closed the door behind him.

  Then silence enveloped the room.

  “He’s… interesting,” Kat said after a minute. One fingertip traced the smooth grain of the wood of the conference table. “Friend of yours? Or just business partner?”

  “Both.”

  “Interesting.”

  He wanted to know what that single word meant, but he wouldn’t ask.

  “Did you really like the idea, or were you just doing that to make me think you liked it?” she asked on a rush of words. They flew out of her as if she’d been damming them up all day, and the dam couldn’t hold them back any longer.

  “It’s perfect. Needs some tweaks, but I needed the outside perspective, and you provided it. Thank you.”

  Kat’s smile turned satisfied. “Well. You brought me all the way here. I figured I should help.”

  “Come here.”

  She blinked at that. “What?”